In Absentia

He suddenly seemed at a loss for words and seemed only half as brave and determined as he had been when he walked in. Linda didn’t help. She was still trying to gauge whether he was married or not; she couldn’t read this one. So far she didn’t have a clue what he had come in to get, and, although she prided herself in figuring customers out down to how much they were willing to part with, Mr. H. always said not to assume too fast that the customer is looking for something cheaper than you might otherwise convince them they can’t live without.

“Is this Mr. Hudson’s shop? Mr. Mortimer Hudson?”

“Yes, it is.” Oh, Lord, Linda thought, maybe the man wants to make trouble with Mr. H. for knocking him down after all. “Did you want to talk with him?” Linda asked, willing the man to say that wasn’t necessary. “I think he might be in back, but he’s working on a setting right now, and we don’t like to disturb him when he’s doing that.”

All of a sudden the man looked about ten years older and defeated.

“But if it’s important,” Linda rushed on, “I can go get him.”

“No, it’s OK,” Chet said. “Maybe you can help me. I’m told that a colleague of mine used to shop here. And I think he knew Mr. Hudson.” There was a pause, as Chet absentmindedly played in a tray of cheap stickpins on top of the counter. “Do you—?” He cleared his throat and looked up at one of the dim corners of the ceiling. “Do you perhaps keep any records of things ordered but never picked up?”