Dying for a Change by Kathleen Delaney Page B

Sawyer didn’t look or act like a murderer; her grief and shock were too genuine. Those poor people, I thought as I started the car, what a terrible thing to go through. But an unwilling idea crept into my mind. Vera couldn’t really have gone along all those years and believed him. Could she? She was pretty fierce about insisting Hank loved only her. Suppose, somehow, she had been forced to see the truth? Could she have confronted him Sunday afternoon, in that empty house? Finally lost her temper, thrown a brick at him, then, in a fit of desperation as he was lying there, dragged him — no, it didn’t seem possible. Still . . .
    By this time I was back in town, passing the once familiar Emporium. Impulsively, I swung the wheel hard and pulled into one of the many empty parking spaces in front of it. Everyone kept talking about the Emporium and Benjamin. It was time I saw for myself.
    Years ago the Emporium and J C Penny’s were the only places in town to shop. If they didn’t have it, you went without. The Emporium had some of everything. Clothes for all ages, housewares, hardware, even halters, lead ropes, calf nursing bottles, and, of course, rifles and ammunition. It also had one of those wonderful tube systems where the clerk put your money and sales slip in a round cylinder, pulled the rope, and, like magic, it flew up a cable to ladies sitting on a mezzanine, looking down on the lesser mortals below. They leisurely checked everything, put the change back into the tube, and -zip--back it came. Growing up, I thought that flying tube the most exciting thing I had ever seen, and the Emporium the most magnificent store anywhere.
    I walked in, prepared for changes, but nevertheless looking for my magic tube and the ladies who sat serenely about us all. Instead, I found a tired old building, all its natural charm and dignity covered over with cheap plastic and artificial glitz. No more housewares, no more hardware, only a few racks of bad, discount quality clothes, at what appeared to be inflated prices. Hank had been right. Stop N Shop wouldn’t drive Benjamin out of business. He was doing just fine all by himself.
    I wandered around, picking things up, putting them down, thinking someone would appear and offer me help me. Then I could ask for Benjamin. No one did. I kept sorting through the scanty selection, finally ending up with a package of socks in my hand.
    “ Help you,” someone said from behind my back.
    I whirled around to find a wispy little old lady looking at me disapprovingly through too large glasses.
    “ Ah,” I said, feeling as guilty as though I had been caught stealing. “Do you have these in blue?”
    “ No,” she said, and walked off.
    Shopping at the Emporium was a real challenge.
    “ Well, well, well, look who’s here. It’s little Ellen Page. Heard you’d come home.”
    There was Benjamin, coming down the aisle toward me, thrusting his long, bony face toward mine. Amazing how little he’d changed. A little less hair, more sprinkles of gray, but still the same tall, stringy man with slightly stooped shoulders, the same prominent Adam’s apple, and the same pale eyes. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn he even had on the same clothes. Slightly baggy wash pants, plaid shirt open at the throat, an over large green cardigan sweater, never buttoned, that always seemed to be trying to catch up to him.
    “ What’a you think of our new look, Ellen?” He made a great swoop of his arm, taking in the whole store. “Not the same store you knew as a kid, huh?” He looked around with pride. “Surprised?”
    “ Oh, yes.” I could say that with all honesty. “Very surprised. My, it’s been a long time. How have you been?”
    “ Just so so, Ellen.” he said, answering me literally. “Suppose you heard that Rose died. Been almost three years now.” He seemed a little lost, shook himself slightly and went on. “It was after that I did the store over. Needed something to distract