Mother’s Day Present
“Can you gift-wrap that?” he asked.
The teen-aged clerk gaped at him. “This?” She swallowed. “Not really. We’re mainly a hardware store. Try the drugstore down the street. They sell wrapping paper.”
“Good idea. I can buy a card there, too.”
“Kind of an unusual present, isn’t it?”
He smiled. “It’s for Mother’s Day. Mother’s an unusual woman. Unique, really.”
“She must be.” The clerk rang up the sale. “That’ll be four-seventy-seven with the tax.”
She handed him the bag into which she’d put his receipt and the box of rat poison, and Norman Bates headed to the drugstore.