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Show CHAPTER ELEVEN The next day she worked the late shift. And it was right at closing time, five minutes to midnight, when the man came in. Sharon knew because she had just glanced at the clock and thought how glad she was, her feet were aching. Shifting her weight to one leg, she had kicked the shoe loose from her other foot, hooking her toes on the side so she could slip it instantly back on without a customer noticing. She was off tomorrow, she would do some shopping, then tomorrow night-Christmas Eve-she was going with Roger to The Lighthouse. She hadn't a customer in almost ten minutes, that was a relief. It gave her a chance to straighten the displays, so that Myra-the other clerk-wouldn't be behind when she came in tomorrow morning. A few minutes before, Steve had come in off his last delivery run, and had stopped to banter with her before going on back to set up for tomorrow; her mind was on him when a voice came from behind her: "Come here!" Automatically slipping her foot back into her shoe, she turned around with a bottle of aftershave in each hand. Down at the cash register was a tall, shrunken man, with wild eyes. In one hand he clutched an ordinary brown paper bag. But his other hand was concealed in the pouch of his sweat jacket, with a hard bulge. It was a dirty blue sweat jacket, which hung loosely from his emaciated shoulders. He slipped the hand back out from the pouch, exposing the blackish butt of a pistol. Her own hands began shaking. Tighter, she gripped the bottles |
