The Greengrocer's Dilemma

It had been a long day, and Danny White was closing the shop. He was the sole proprietor of 'A Bite At The Cherry'. A hipster's hangout, the health shop consisted of a smoothie bar, a nut station, vegan food, and a massive fruit and vegetables section. His grandmother would have been ashamed at the old shop's metamorphosis, but the rapid fall of the greengrocer had been inevitable. For Danny, inheriting the old family 'fruit and veg' retail business was not the legacy it once was; changes had to be made.

I can hear you asking, 'What is a greengrocer?'

Sadly, that means you are probably American. Danny was also American, but his grandparents were from the old country. Over there, the title of 'Greengrocer' signified you were part of a noble profession. The greengrocer was a purveyor of fruit and vegetables. That was the land of the butcher, baker and the candlestick maker. Every person allocated a profession and a trade along with a small shop; all located within a community looking out for each other. Each business was handed down to the children, and the pattern continued again and again.

Danny liked the title; he was proud to be a greengrocer. He loved the shop's name, for it spoke of taking opportunities as they were presented. He had certainly done that. Life was good.

He looked at his kingdom, smiled and clicked the lights off. In-between the bookcases of cookbooks he saw the blue glow of a cell phone.

He was not alone.

Danny flicked the lights back on.

“Alright, alright, I can see you there. Out you come,” shouted Danny.

Nervously he grabbed a broom from behind the counter and adopted a defensive stance.

A woman walked out barefoot into the light. She was in her mid to late thirties yet dressed like someone much older. It felt wrong. Her ensemble included a long, white, cotton nightgown topped with a lilac-coloured quilted frock coat. The woman had a sad expression. Her tangled blonde hair was swept off to the side and matted, and her makeup was smeared across her face.

Danny could see the lady was no threat and lowered his weapon.

Now this next bit is important. Danny had a major character flaw. It was his disastrous white knight persona; it was about to kick into gear. He believed this lady needed saving. Sadly no one had the courage to tell Danny that his horse had died long ago and his shiny armour had gone rusty in the rain.

Walking towards Danny in silence, the intruder just held up her arm holding the phone. The screen was flashing and Danny could see there was an active call in progress. Danny raised the phone to his head, and spoke.

“Hellooo…”

“Who is this?”

“Danny White, I own a shop over in the riverside district.”

“Is she there?”

“The lady in her pyjamas, yes”

“Oh thank goodness.”

“Can you keep her there?”

“Why?”

“We have been looking everywhere for her, we can send someone right away, to pick her up.”

“Okay.”

“Give us your address.”

Danny handed over the information and was just about to ask for more details when the lady grabbed the phone and hurled it into the wall behind him.

"What are you playing at?" said Danny.

He went over and picked the phone up and could see it was ruined. Danny turned around and looked at his new guest. She was giggling and holding her arms together and rocking in a pivot, pretending to be girly and innocent.

"No more talkin'," she said.

Danny shook his head and signalled to one of the stools at the smoothie counter. She took a seat.

Danny’s behaviour may seem strange to you, but remember now, he was fond of fixing broken birds, metaphorically speaking.

“Who was that on the phone?” said Danny.

“I was callin’ to report a murder,” she said in an ominous voice.

“That was the police? You called them to report a murder?”

She nodded and held out her hand.

“My names Lottie.”

Danny shook her hand and continued.

“I think I'm going to need some more details.”

“No.”

“Hey lady… I mean Lottie, you are an uninvited guest here. Phoning the police is serious. I need some answers.”

“Make me a drink, then I’ll talk,” answered Lottie.

"What do you want?"

"Whiskey and coke."

"Not that kind of bar."

Lottie's face opened up, and she stared blankly at Danny. Her bottom lip started to tremble; clearly, she was on the verge of tears. Danny was never any good around sobbing women. He reached into one of the fridges and pulled out a flask of homemade lemonade.

"However, Lottie, you are in luck. I just happen to have some right here."

He flipped up a glass, added some ice, poured in the cloudy liquid, added a straw, and slid it over to Lottie. She grabbed it with both hands and took a large gulp.

"How is it?"

"Mmmmm, good."

Then she belched, startling Danny.

"Okay, Lottie. Tell us what happened?"

"I don't know."

"Now, Lottie, you promised."

"Okay, okay, I confess I killed him."

She held her arms up in mock surrender and stared at Danny. Looking into those eyes, a tiny pinprick of darkness stared back at him. Danny felt his blood turn ice cold.

"Who did you kill, Lottie?" whispered Danny.

"Just some guy."

"Did you know 'this guy'?"

"Yes, he's my husband."

"Oh wow, Lottie!"

Lottie reached her hand out to touch Danny's. He pulled it back before she had a chance. Lottie's face contorted into a snarl. Then in the next second, her face was back to the coquettish, girlish innocence of earlier.

"I'm hungry." She declared.

"Okay…. Erm, would you like a muffin?"

"No, I wanna cheeseburger."

Danny handed her a muffin, and she returned his gesture with an intense stare. Silence hung in the air for just a little too long.

"Is there a problem?" said Danny.

"Yeah, Dummy, you haven't cooked it."

Lottie picked up the muffin and launched it at Danny. Just through pure pitcher's reflex and possibly nerves, he catches it. Lottie, clearly impressed, nods approvingly. Danny takes the muffin and breaks it in half, and pretends to cook it on the back counter. He even makes a hissing sound to simulate the meat frying. Lottie plays with her fingernails. When Danny stops the hissing for a second, her head snaps up, and she says.

"Now go easy on the mustard, and don't cheat me on the cheese."

"Yes, ma'am."

Danny assembles his faux burger and places it on the plate, and hands it to Lottie. Stony-faced, she picks it up, stares at it and takes the smallest of bites.

"How is it?" said Danny

Lottie's face bursts into a massive grin.

"It is A-MAZ-IN'. Johnny, you are too good to me. You are simply the best."

Danny lets the mistake slide. Lottie looks at him and continues.

"Well, officer, do you have any other questions?"

"So how did you… erm… kill your husband?"

Lottie looks at him and rolls her eyes.

"I don't know."

Then very casually, she reaches into her pocket and places a flick knife on the counter. She looks at Danny, takes another bite of the muffin and beckons with her hand to ask her more questions.

"So, how did it happen?"

"We argued, he ate his breakfast, I killed him… yada, yada, yada."

"What did you argue about?"

"The price of milk," snorted Lottie, who began giggling.

"Where did this happen, Lottie?"

Lottie stayed silent and just stared at Danny. He had positioned himself to the other side of her so he could grab the knife. But, instead, she nonchalantly reached down and moved it to her left out of Danny's reach without even looking.

At that moment, a black van pulled up outside the shop. The door slid open, and a white light spilled out into the street. Looking at the interior, Danny could tell it was a private ambulance. Two large orderlies climbed out and approached the shop, they rattled the locked door. Lottie stared at the interruption and back at Danny.

"Aww… Johnny, you shouldn't have done that. Snitches get Stitches!"

She grabbed the flick knife, and the silver blade shot out. She stood up on the footrests of her stool and swung the knife in a large arc towards Danny. Dodging the attack, Danny grabbed the back of her frock coat and pulled it over her head. Dragging her then over the counter, Lottie crumpled into a heap on the floor. He ran around the counter to the door, opening it.

The two orderlies ran into the shop. Lottie was back on her feet with the knife in her hand. Bouncing on her toes like a boxer about to go into battle, she stared at her assailants and let out her cry.

"Come on then, you motherfuckers. Let's have it."

All in all, it had turned out to be quite the evening for Danny and the strange lady found wandering aisle seven.

***

Thirty minutes later, the place was a hive of activity. Lottie was subdued on a trolley smiling and chatting away like a little bird. There were two police cars present. One of the orderlies had a beautiful black eye. Danny was talking to a detective.

"She is from the 'Pear Tree Residential Centre'," said the officer.

"No, no, that doesn't sound right, 'The Pear Tree' is an old people's home", Danny explained, "My Grandmother lived there."

"No, it is not."

"I know what, I know. What are you trying to pull here?"

"'The Pear Tree' is actually a safe community for sufferers of dementia."

"But she must be only thirty-five?"

"She is thirty-seven."

"And she has dementia?"

"Yes, a very special type. Frontotemporal Dementia. Very tragic."

"I know it's not my place, but I really think she might have killed or at the very least hurt somebody."

"She didn't kill her husband."

"What? How do you know?"

"I am guessing she told you she killed her husband. Correct?"

"Yes."

Danny stared long and hard at the detective. At the long lines of his face, his bulbous nose and the glassy blue in his eyes. The colour was amplified by the smallest tear growing in the corner..

"Are you sure?" asked Danny.

The detective returned Danny's gaze and simply nodded and said,

"It's impossible. She's my wife."

Danny's mouth opened when he realised the deeper story and implications of everything that had swirled into his life that night.

Danny now knew he had only felt the tornado briefly in passing. The man opposite him had rode the storm for years. He had done it for love. He had been the man who had been speaking earlier on the phone.

The detective smiled at Danny.

A smile that spoke a thousand words but never shared the meaning of a single one. He softly touched Danny’s arm, closed his notebook and turned and walked away.

Thank you for reading my story

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