Double Booked For Death

Deciding there was no need for the moment to put her store manager to the test, she rang off and then went to call Ted.

The security man arrived a couple of hours later, dragging an oversized case on wheels behind him. A blond bulldog of a man, Ted had a tendency to punctuate his conversation with mock shots from finger pistols.

“I know you’re in a hurry to get it done today, ma’am, so here’s the plan.”

Pow, pow.

“If it’s okay by you,” he went on, “I’m gonna get it all set up this afternoon and come back tomorrow to hide the wires all nice and neat.”

It was okay by her, Darla assured him. Grinning, Ted blew imaginary gun smoke from the tips of his forefingers and then dragged his case to the back.

The rest of the afternoon proceeded with no particular drama. And, much to Darla’s relief, customers began to trickle in as well. It was not quite at the usual pace, but the earlier drought seemed to have ended. For his part, Hamlet spent the afternoon sulking high above the action. His self-imposed exile had come after he attempted a stealth attack on Ted. That assault had backfired, however, when the man calmly pulled out a can of compressed air from his case and puffed it in the cat’s general direction.

The resulting hiss from the can, which sounded like an even larger, more obnoxious feline than the one doing the stalking, had sent Hamlet scrambling for cover in a most undignified fashion. Safely ensconced among the various flavors of Soup books, he had alternated between napping and sending Ted the green stink eye. Darla had received her share of nasty cat looks, too, even though she had been careful not to laugh at his comeuppance. Obviously, Hamlet was aware that she’d authorized Ted’s presence in the shop, and he made sure that Darla knew it.

Lizzie had proved almost as great a distraction as Hamlet, announcing her own technological expertise and offering to help Ted out. Rather than using the spray can on her, however, Ted had distracted her with a manual the size of an old Sears catalogue that he asked her to review in case he needed help later. As Lizzie staggered off self-importantly under the burden, he and Darla had exchanged glances. Ted mouthed a single pow as he triumphantly shot off one of his finger pistols, causing Darla to swallow back a laugh lest the woman hear it and realize she’d been had.

Ted proved as good as his word. A little before six, he called the three of them—Jake had rejoined them by that point—over to the store’s computer to demonstrate the equipment.

“What you got here is my custom EZ-Does-It kit,” he explained proudly. “You got your six cameras: two down here, two upstairs, and one each outside at the front door and back. The outside ones and one of the cameras on each floor are your night vision.”

At Darla’s nod, he went on, “The other two, they’re your standard-resolution indoor dome cameras. They’re hooked directly into your computer system so you can watch and record right there on your PC. If you’ve got another computer upstairs in the apartment, you can log into this system from there. There’s even a microphone to the audio input on your computer if you want to listen to what’s going on.”

He shot a look at Jake and then clarified to Darla, “Of course, it’s illegal for you to record anything unless the other person knows he’s being recorded. I’ll leave you some stickers you can slap on your front windows to let people know they’re under audio and video surveillance.”

He pulled up the monitoring screen, which was divided into six sections, each a bird’s-eye view from one of the cameras. He spent another half hour showing them how to switch to a single channel, zoom in live, and review previously recorded images.

“Now, the way you got this place divided up with all this shelving, we still got a couple of blind spots on both floors,” he reminded Darla. “But, hey, I can always expand the system if you want, bring in another camera or two.”

“No, this looks wonderful,” Darla exclaimed, feeling like a combination spy and casino security guard as she stared at the small picture of the four of them gathered near the register. Funny what was visible from up above. She’d never noticed until now that Jake had more than a few gray hairs among the black curls. Neither had she realized until this moment that her own hastily plaited French braid was decidedly off-kilter.

Putting a self-conscious hand to the offending hairstyle, she asked Ted, “I don’t suppose you have a dummies’ version of the manual to go with all this?”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, there’s a one-page checklist at the front of the binder. That’s all you should actually need. You have any problems, though, you call old Ted for help.”

Right on cue, the finger pistols went off. She thanked Ted, choked a little at his invoice—“Just pay me tomorrow, when I finish the wiring”—and then showed the man out.

After locking the door behind him, she returned to the counter to find Jake and Lizzie focused on the live-action shot being broadcast from outside the front door, where Ted stood at the curb, alternately hiking up his trousers and adjusting the resulting wedgie. He repeated the gesture several times, while a grinning Jake zoomed in and out.