Shelves clean.
No fingerprints on glass.
Associates attentive.
Customers greeted.
Nothing immediately troubling.
Then she noticed the first small thing.
A white woman in yoga clothes lifted a handbag from an open display and carried it fifteen feet toward a mirror.
No one reacted.
A Black college-age woman reached toward another bag.
A sales associate immediately appeared beside her.
“That one is very delicate.”
The young woman withdrew her hand.
“I was just looking.”
“Of course.”
The associate remained there.
Ava watched through her sunglasses.
Not proof.
Maybe employee happened to be nearby.
Ava continued.
On the accessories wall, another customer examined silk scarves.
Near the center counter, an older woman tried on sunglasses.
Ava picked up a structured olive clutch.
It was beautiful.
Handwoven leather.
Subtle clasp.
No visible branding.
Her mother would have loved it.
Ava opened it.
Checked the lining.
A male sales associate appeared.
“Can I help you?”
Ava looked toward him.
“No, thank you.”
He remained.
She waited.
He smiled without warmth.
“That collection is limited.”
“I assumed.”
“Very limited.”
Ava looked back at the clutch.
She closed it.
The associate still did not leave.
“How limited?”
He blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You've said limited twice.”
“What number?”
His face changed slightly.
“I'm not sure.”
“So you're warning me about scarcity without knowing the inventory.”
“I was simply explaining.”
Ava set the clutch down.
“Thank you.”
She walked away.
The associate watched her.
Ava could see him in the mirror.
Another small thing.
Still not proof.
She moved toward the rear display.
A black handbag sat behind glass.
One of Loretta's original designs had inspired the shape.
Ava stopped.
A young associate named Rachel—Ava remembered the employee roster—approached.
“Would you like to see it?”
“Yes.”
Rachel unlocked the case.
She lifted the bag carefully and placed it on a suede mat.
Ava touched the leather.
“Beautiful construction.”
Rachel smiled genuinely.
“It is.”
“Where is it made?”
“Florence.”
“Small workshop?”
“Yes. Family-owned.”
Rachel brightened.
“You know leather.”
“My mother did.”
Rachel stepped back.
“Would you like to try it?”
Ava nodded.
Rachel handed it over.
Ava placed her own bag on the counter and slipped the black bag over one shoulder.
She turned toward the mirror.
Good proportions.
A little heavy.
She checked the strap.
Then heard someone behind her.
“Ma'am.”
Male.
Firm.
Not an employee.
Ava turned.
A police officer stood near the entrance to the display area.
Thirty-eight, maybe forty.
White.
Short brown hair.
Muscular.
Navy uniform.
Protective vest.
Badge.
Radio.
His name tag read KELLER.
Ryan Keller.
Ava recognized the name.
Not personally.
From work.