Zinnia's ears perked up again when she heard the man demand, “And why's it called City Hall, anyway? Wisteria is a town, not a city. This building should be called Town Hall. Why is it City Hall? Well? Can you answer me that?”
Carrot, flummoxed, turned to her coworkers for help.
Zinnia tilted her head to the side, equally flummoxed. She was new to the office, but not to Wisteria, and yet she didn't know the answer. Why was the big municipal building called City Hall? She'd never given it a second thought until now.
Dawna, however, had something to say. The stylish black woman got out of her chair and sauntered over to the reception desk. She leaned over it right next to Carrot. Zinnia noted that Dawna's nails were the same shade of orange as Carrot's hair, and Carrot's nails were black, matching Dawna's hair. Zinnia liked that they matched. She appreciated things that matched in general. It was good to take pleasure in the small synchronicities of life.
Dawna spoke in an exasperated yet civil tone. “Mr. Wheelchuck, we went over all of this last year when you came in. Number one, you need to go get your permit up at the DMV. That's the D-M-V. The Department of Motor Vehicles. It's on the second floor.” The man tried to interrupt, protesting that he knew what DMV stood for, but Dawna cut him off with her voice, growing louder. “Number two, the town's founding families laid out plans for a whopping big city, and they marked a spot on the map for this building as the City Hall site, so when folks built it, that's what it was called. And, more importantly,” she put both of her hands around her mouth, like a bullhorn, “nobody ‘round here cares what it's called!”
“You're too smart for your britches,” the old guy said. He'd been pointing one gnarled finger at Dawna, and now he turned it to jab at Carrot. “And you're not smart enough for any britches. Whoever did that to your hair, I hope you made them pay for their crimes.”
Dawna turned away from the man and returned to her desk, hands raised and head shaking. “I can't even,” she said. “I. Can't. Even.”
Carrot went back to apologizing to the customer and trying to convince him to go to the DMV. “It's only one floor up from here,” she said.
“Does it look like I can take the stairs? I don't have any feet, orange-head! A sea monster bit my legs off at the calf. Have you ever seen a sea monster?”
Carrot turned to her coworkers again, her big blue eyes pleading.
Zinnia was new and uncertain, but she was willing to give it a shot. She started to rise from her chair when a hand landed on her shoulder, pressing her down and delivering a static shock of electricity at the same time. She looked up at the friendly face of Annette Scholem, the chatty older woman who'd been training her.
Annette winked at her. “Don't worry about this one, Nina.” Annette had been calling Zinnia Nina all day. “I've been here six months longer than you, so I'll jump on this grenade, so to speak.”
Annette walked gracefully toward the reception counter, arms outstretched so that her colorful jewel-toned caftan caught the breeze and fluttered. She looked like a beautiful butterfly swooping down to bring peace to all humankind in the midst of a bloody battle.
“Good afternoon,” Annette chirped to the man.
“What's good about it?” he quipped back.
Annette tilted her head back and laughed, her curly brown hair shaking in a merry way.
She walked around to the other side of the counter, her colors fluttering. Her head and shoulders were still visible to Zinnia. She laughed once more, tipping both head and shoulders back, and then dropped from sight. She'd thoughtfully taken a seat in one of the reception chairs so she could be eye level with the man.
“Mr. Wheelchuck, my name is Annette Scholem,” she said in a professional, friendly tone—not patronizing at all. “I'm fairly new here, but I believe I can help you with your request.”
“I just want a permit,” he said. He was still gruff, but not as loud.
“So I heard,” she said. “Do you want to know a secret?”
He answered hesitantly. “Depends.”
“I have a magic button, and it lets me access the permit applications for the DMV.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding both interested and surprised. “So, you're the smart one around here. Where's this button?”
“It's on my laptop,” she said. “Carrot, will you bring me my laptop so I can help this gentleman?”
Carrot was only too happy to oblige. The laptop wasn't Annette's, technically. It was a banged-up old thing anyone could use if they had to work off-site. Carrot grabbed the hefty thing and brought it to Annette without a peep.
Annette and Mr. Wheelchuck continued to speak, but quieter now, so Zinnia couldn't catch all the words. She lost interest and returned to her work. Somehow, in between their chats about social activities, Annette had managed to train Zinnia on enough of the basics so that she might be able to put in a half-day's work.
Zinnia very quickly found the “magic button” to access the DMV permits. It turned out any one of them could have helped the man with his request after all, if they'd tried. Her heart dropped, feeling heavier than usual. She hated it when someone's accusations of laziness or ineptitude turned out to be true.
Dawna's chair squeaked as she rolled over to the work station Zinnia and Margaret shared. She was coming to see Zinnia, since Margaret wasn't at her desk at the moment. She'd been called away for some issue at one of her children's schools.
Dawna had her purse on her lap and was rummaging for something. “Gum?” She offered sugarless gum to Zinnia, who accepted a piece.
“Thanks,” Zinnia said. “Sometimes I forget how much I like gum until someone offers me a piece.”
“You don't keep gum in that big ol' purse of yours?”
“I like to keep it empty, just in case.”
Dawna gave her a confused look. “You mean for packing around your thermos full o' tea?”
“Exactly,” Zinnia said. And sometimes eyeballs of various sizes. Plus powders and ointments and salves. Just the usual witch stuff. She put the gum in her mouth. “Mmm. Good gum. Thank you.” Zinnia hoped she wasn't being too strange. What did people say to each other while sharing gum at an office? She had no idea. Her casual socializing skills were rusty. “Mmm,” she said again. “Really good gum.”
Dawna chuckled and slapped the half-full pack onto Zinnia's desk. “Here. Keep the rest, New Girl. I've got plenty.”
They chewed gum and listened to the pleasant sound of Annette's voice as she soothed the savage beast at reception.
“It's just one of those days,” Dawna said. “We get a difficult walk-in about once a week. You'll get used to it.” She looked pointedly at Margaret's empty seat. “Too bad your friend Margaret wasn't here. She has a real knack for chasing them off.”
I'm sure she does, Zinnia thought but didn't say.
“At least we always have Annette,” Dawna said.
“She must have an endless supply of patience,” Zinnia said.
“I'll say,” Dawna replied. “That woman is a saint. The only way I was going to help that man was with the back side of my hand.” She shrugged. “Or the front of my hand. Slaps are pretty effective. It must be the noise it makes. Slap! Smartens 'em right up.”
Zinnia giggled. She didn't usually laugh at threats of violence, and she couldn't remember ever slapping anyone, but Dawna's enthusiasm was contagious.
Dawna looked down at her purse and zipped some interior pockets. Zinnia caught a glimpse of a designer label. Unless she was mistaken, the purse was the type that cost more than a good used car. How did someone on a municipal support-staff salary afford a purse like that?
“Hello?” Dawna waved her hand in front of Zinnia's face. The orange nails were startling, coming toward Zinnia's face that way. They looked strong and sharp.
“Sorry,” Zinnia said. “I was just in a daze, admiring your purse.”
“It's a knockoff,” Dawna said quickly. She whipped the purse off her lap and slung it from the back of her chai
r. She seemed about to roll away but didn't. In a whisper, she asked, “Hey, what do you think of Gavin?”
“He seems nice,” Zinnia said politely, which was exactly what any sane person in her position would have said.
“We hook up sometimes,” Dawna said. “Annette doesn't approve.”
“She doesn't?” Zinnia hadn't taken Annette for the sort of woman who intruded on other people's romantic lives.
“She thinks I should find someone better than Gavin. She offered to go out as my wingwoman sometime. You know what a wingwoman is, right?”
Zinnia smiled patiently. “I may be a few years older than you, but I'm well aware of wingmen and wingwomen.”
The main door creaked open. The clip-clop of Margaret's boots announced her return. “I'm ba-a-a-ack,” she sang as she returned to her desk. “It turns out two of my least bright children were caught running an illegal gambling ring, betting on hamster races at the school.”
Dawna let out a low whistle. “Sounds to me like those two are a couple of smart cookies. When it comes to gambling, it's the bookies who make the money.”
“You may be right,” Margaret said as she dropped wearily into her seat. “It's a shame they weren't smart enough to not get caught, the little monsters.” She leaned to the side and looked at the back of Dawna's chair. “New purse, Dawna?”
“This old thing?” Dawna grabbed the purse and tucked it under her arm as she wheeled her chair away. “Secondhand. Bought it online from one of those auction sites.”
Zinnia opened her mouth to ask Dawna why she would buy a knockoff through an auction but stopped herself. Clearly, Dawna was lying about the purse. There was no point in catching her in the lie and embarrassing her. Zinnia would simply file the detail away in her Dawna file.
Within seconds, Dawna's place next to Zinnia's desk was taken by Karl Kormac. His inexpensive suit was already looking more wrinkled than it had been when he'd arrived two hours earlier. Karl leaned across the desk and lifted the lid on a jar of candies that had been sitting there when Zinnia had started working there.
“Don't mind if I do,” Karl said to no one in particular, grabbing a handful of sweets. He popped one into his mouth and asked Zinnia, “How's our new hire working out?”
“Great, thank you,” Zinnia said. “Annette did a great job showing me how to use the system.”
Karl sucked noisily on the candy, clunking it against his teeth. “She is an amazing woman,” he said. He glanced over at reception, where Annette was still helping the elderly customer, who was now laughing along with her. Karl said, “That Annette Scholem certainly knows how to soothe the savage beast.”
Zinnia said, “That's funny. I was just thinking the exact same thing.”
“You must be psychic,” Karl said.
Across the desk from Zinnia, Margaret sniggered.
* * *
2:35 pm
(Still One Year Ago)
Jesse Berman meandered out of his office and looked around the open area where most of the department employees worked. His office, like Karl's, was separate from the others, due to either his seniority or the complexity of the special buildings permits he worked on. Zinnia hadn't yet learned which.
His eyes, a boyish shade of bright blue, stopped roving when they found the candy jar on Zinnia's desk. He walked toward the candy as though being pulled by a tractor beam. He leaned his tall, muscular frame across the desk and lifted the lid off the jar. Zinnia could look away, but she couldn't help but smell him. The scent of his skin was intoxicating. He was a dozen years younger than her, pulsating with vitality. His dark brown hair was short, but not too short. He had a stubborn curl that made the longer hair on top swirl this way and that. His head was only inches from hers. She could reach up and tousle his hair so easily, if she wanted to. What would it feel like to run her fingers through those thick, dark locks? Her whole body felt warm. Was she having a hot flash? No! It had to be Jesse's presence. Either that or the office's wonky heating system was hot flashing everyone.
Zinnia pretended to be fascinated by something on her computer screen. It was the interdepartmental TPS reports. So interesting! She could be a good actor when she needed to.
“You know, this desk of yours has a certain reputation,” Jesse said.
She tore her gaze from the TPS reports, met his eyes, and got lost in their bright blue waters. “My desk?”
“Your desk is the sweet spot.”
She felt her cheeks flushing. “Oh?”
“Thanks to your predecessor,” he said, smiling. His teeth were straight and white, but not scary blue-white like Gavin's.
“My predecessor was sweet?”
“Sweet enough to keep a jar of sweets.” He unwrapped a hard candy, bright yellow, and rolled it between his fingers. Zinnia smelled the lemon flavor wafting off the candy. Her mouth watered.
“Sweet enough to keep a jar of sweets,” she repeated.
Jesse continued to smile. “Hey, how many times do you think we can say the word sweets in a conversation?” He paused and added flirtatiously, “Sweets?”
Her cheeks no longer felt hot. They had to be on fire. Actually burning.
Across the desk, Margaret groaned, “Get a room.”
Jesse straightened up, put one hand on his hip, and said to Margaret in a mocking tone, “Jealous?”
She snorted. “Jesse Berman, the only reputation that desk has is that you and Karl visit it three times a day, and it costs one third of our petty cash fund to keep filling it with candy.”
“Everyone eats the candy,” Jesse said. “Especially you.”
She snorted again. “I never, ever, ever touch that candy.” It wasn't true. Zinnia had watched Margaret stuff a handful in her mouth that very morning, right after her kids' school had called about the hamster racing.
Jesse winked at her. “Sure you don't.” He gave Zinnia a wink as well. “See you later, keeper of the sweets.”
After he'd returned to his office, Margaret fixed Zinnia with a serious look.
“What?” Zinnia rearranged the perfectly square office supplies on her desk. Margaret was probably about to say something bossy. Zinnia had an overwhelming urge to hit Margaret on the head with a pad of Post-It notes. Their relationship was a complicated one, and it would feel good to finally clear the air with a bit of old fashioned witch-on-witch pummeling.
“That's my warning look,” Margaret said. “It's also good for confessions. I give the look, and my kids feel guilty about whatever it is they've done and promise not to do it again.” Her expression got even more focused and serious.
“But I haven't done anything wrong,” Zinnia said.
“Steer clear of Jesse Berman. He's a heart breaker. He and Carrot had a thing for a while.”
Carrot? Zinnia glanced over at the young, orange-haired woman, seeing her in a new light.
Margaret said, “He called it a casual, just-friends thing. But Carrot, being Carrot, started to fall in love.” Margaret got a far-away look in her eyes. “Ah, young love.”
“Are they still involved?”
“Not at all. He broke her heart, and she was a mess. More so than usual. But she's okay now. She's seeing someone else, a guy named Sefu that everyone calls Steve. He's a bit skinny for my taste, but he is polite. And he's a lawyer. As far as I'm concerned, she totally upgraded.”
Zinnia turned and studied the orange-haired young woman with the tattoos peeking out from under her shirt. Was that Jesse's type? She was such a meek little thing, like a damsel in constant distress. Zinnia had liked Carrot, but now, in the light of this revelation, she reminded Zinnia of a shivering Chihuahua.
“Now you understand why I gave you the warning look,” Margaret said.
Zinnia shrugged. “Carrot is a bit young for him, anyway.”
Margaret chortled. “And Jesse is a bit young for you.”
“We ought to let him be the judge of that.”
Margaret's look of warning turned to one of surprise, and then
shifted further, into something like... admiration?
“You go, girl,” Margaret said. Admiration it was.
They both got back to work.
An hour later, Annette came over to their work station for some candy and to check on Zinnia.
“Look at you go,” Annette said, watching Zinnia type. “You're a fast typist. How many words per minute is that?”
“Oh, about a hundred, give or take,” Zinnia said, pretending she didn't know. She regularly clocked one hundred twenty words a minute, but didn't want to brag.
Annette patted her on the shoulder. “I'm glad we hired you, Nina.”
Zinnia's typing slowed. Was Nina a common nickname for Zinnia? She didn't think so. A few people had tried calling her Nia, but it hadn't stuck.
“Nina, how do you feel about bowling?” Annette had a hopeful expression.
“I don't have any feelings about bowling,” Zinnia said. It was true. She had zero feelings about bowling.
“You'll love it,” Annette gushed. She looked over at Margaret and said, “What do you think, Margaret? Now that Nina has filled our empty desk, we have enough people to meet league regulations.”
“Great,” Margaret said flatly. “Also, her name is Zinnia, not Nina.”
Annette laughed merrily and apologized to Zinnia for calling her the wrong name. “It's just how my silly ol' brain works,” she explained. “The letters of people's names get mixed around. Don't you worry, Nina. I'll get it right eventually.” And she did. After a few months.
Chapter 16
Now
Friday, 10:15 am
It was Friday, at last. The Wisteria Permits Department had almost made it to the weekend without losing another person—not since Karl's departure, anyway. It would be nice for everyone to wake up tomorrow morning and finally have a day away from the place where their coworker had been killed by a wolf.
“Coffee break,” Dawna announced at quarter past ten. She stood and looked around at everyone expectantly. “Why's everyone still sitting? I said it's coffee break time. If you wanted to work through coffee break, y'all should have become entrepreneurs.”
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 2 Page 76