Mortimer, proprietor of "Fix it or Forget it," would know what to do. After all, he was Agnes' brother. Charlie crossed the street in a few quick strides. He had entered the general store nearly every day of his adult life, but this was the first time he could remember being so very angry. The bell jangled to announce his arrival and Charlie didn't stop to smell the paint thinner and saw dust in the air.
"Mortimer, she's done it. She's gone too far!"
The shop owner looked up from his morning newspaper behind the counter with a grimace. He folded the paper with purpose, rubbed his eyes behind his spectacles, and sighed,
"Charlie. I told her you'd be hotter than the Gobi, but she wouldn't listen. Never would listen to me anyway."
"Well why didn't you stop her? Lock her in the tool shed, something!"
"She called me from Arizona. It was too late. Charlie, old friend. . . . I think she's . . . sweet on you." With this admission, Mortimer began folding and refolding his newspaper and glancing nervously at the door.
Now, this was not what Charlie expected. Instantly the situation shifted. Charlie was no longer angry. This news effectively transferred the situation from the realm of revenge to the shifting uncertainty of woman trouble. Charlie was terrified.
"Sweet on me. You think? Now why would she go and do a thing like that?"
"Now, I don't know. I can't be sayin. She's been your friend for nearly 50 years, Charlie. There's no telling when a thing like that gets a brewin'. She's been baking you a lemon meringue pie every Christmas for a decade. . . "
"Well, zounds, Mortimer, now what am I supposed to do?"
a.) "Run for the hills, my friend. this is no place for a man of principles."
b.) "Have you thought about calling on Julia? Its been 12 hours and she may be less inclined to kill you."
c.) "Agnes said that when you came to your senses you'd call her. She's staying at your mother's house. . . "