Calm Before the Witch Storm

by Constance Barker

  “Margie’s?” She raised doubtful eyebrows. “That place is pretty rough. Lots of brawls.”

  Nann doubtfully angled her head. “It’s not even noon.”

  “Maybe it’s okay at this hour.”

  As they locked up and headed to Zinnia’s truck, Nann felt a mental tug. They were being watched. She glanced over her shoulder. Up in a third-floor corner turret on the brick pile, she saw curtains move behind a window.

  “Did you say there wasn’t anything on the third floor?”

  Zinnia’s brows bunched. “Nope. Not a thing. Well, we used to have mice up there, and rats. And raccoons. And skunks got in the garbage a lot. But not for a long time. The mill used to be infested, but it’s been closed for years.”

  Even though the feeling of being watched remained, she saw no motion in the turret window. No more rats and mice. Well, even rats knew enough to abandon a sinking ship.

  When they pulled into the parking lot, Nann stared as two guys burst through the front door, staggering and slugging it out. Most of the punches were misses. The two battled drunkenly around back. She tapped her fingers on the dashboard. “Well, maybe the food’s good.”

  It sure smelled good, the odor of fried food drifting as Nann dragged Zinnia inside. At the bar, a man slept with his face in a plate of burger and fries. Next to him, an older man with gray hair and long beard softly sang Beatles songs as he stared into his beer.

  “Whattaya want?” A woman with salt-and-pepper hair in a severe bun stepped from behind the bar. She aimed a pen at Nann and Zinnia as if it were a sword.

  “Uhmmm...Lunch?”

  “Oh. From the way you were gussied up, I figured you were from the IRS. Oh, you’re the artist girl. Any table.” She shoved laminated menus at them and headed back behind the bar. Nann looked at the menus. One was from a Big Boy restaurant, the other from a Red Barn. Several items on each were redacted with a bold, black sharpie line.

  Zinnia gave her worried eyes. “Maybe we could drive to Port Argent.”

  “C’mon, Zinnia, where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Does food poisoning count as adventure?”

  The burgers they ordered turned out to be really good, the steak fries cooked just right. To her surprise, itty bitty Zinnia put away two double cheeseburgers. Nann sat back with a groan. “I haven’t eaten since the airplane peanuts. And the Danish at Kim’s. And the Baby Ruth I had in my purse. I was famished. Now I’m stuffed.”

  “I might know someone with a car, if you want to look.”

  They headed out of Margie’s but froze at the door when the owner shouted. “Hey! You left money on the table.”

  Nann took a gander. “That’s a tip, Margie.”

  “A what? Oh. Right. Have a nice day.”

  Cars in the lot up the street still sat, the search still on. Nann couldn’t see anything better to do. “Okay, let’s look at a car. Truck. Whatever.”

  A block down on the other side of the street was an auto repair shop. The legend TINKER’S emblazoned a light-up sign atop a pole. Nann didn’t think the name inspired much confidence. Inside one of the two bays, a giant woman held up the back end of a car.

  “Hey, Tink.” Zinnia got out of her truck.

  The giantess craned around and set down the car. “Hey, Zinnia. Truck leaking oil again?”

  “No, it’s fine. This is my friend, Nann.”

  Tink stood about six-two in her work boots. She dressed in a green coverall, her bristle of red hair caught up in a bandana, Rosie the Riveter style. Shucking a glove she stuck out her hand. “Vadoma Tinker. Call me Tink.”

  “Nancy Ann Szymanski. Call me Nann. With two n’s at the end.”

  Tink’s eyes shot to Nann’s conjure bag, then to Zinnia and back. “Is that bag alligator?”

  “No, it’s Sumatran elephant.”

  She cracked a half-smile. “It would go nice with my snow leopard jacket. Love the accent. You from Brooklyn?”

  “Landed this morning.”

  “What brings an urbanite to this sad corner of rural-dom?”

  “She’s opening a bookstore,” Zinnia said.

  “What here? Not Cemetery Center.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “A church burned down three times. I heard the church was de-sanctified, but not the grounds. Heck, maybe after all that, the bad luck has run out.”

  “She’s looking for a car. Do you have any for sale, Tink?”

  “Since the mill closed, I mostly get paid in cars I don’t want. C’mon back.”

  They circled to a parking lot behind the shop. Six dusty vehicles crouched, forlorn. Nann looked at a tiny yellow-green jeep with oversized tires. For a second, the headlights came on. Neither Zinnia nor Tink seemed to notice. “Where are you staying, Nann-with-two-n’s-at-the-end?”

  “On the bluffs above Port Argent. It was my Aunt Nancy’s house. I inherited it. Well, actually, it was a living trust thing. I bought it for a dollar. She had dementia, and me and my mother took care of her for ten years. Now, I’m taking care of her house.”

  “Founder’s House? That’s the only one on the bluff. You’ll practically need an off-road vehicle, come winter.”

  “How about that cute little Jeep?”

  Tink’s eyes narrowed. “The Jimny?”

  “Oh, how adorable! Like Jiminy Cricket?”

  “No, Jimny, like Suzuki. They sold ’em as Samurais back in the day. But someone complained they tipped over too much. That was the end of that. Some fool drove this all the way up from Costa Rica. A local plant manager bought it for his daughter when she went off to college. I’ll tell you, that car can go anywhere, mud, snow, through rivers, over rocks. But it couldn’t go the one place the daughter needed it to—the highway. I’ve gotten it up to about fifty-three miles per hour. So here it sits.”

  The little car tooted its horn, but only Nann turned to look. Did the others not hear it? “I really like it. And if it can’t go on the highway, that’s one good excuse to avoid visiting my mother.”

  Tink’s expression turned thoughtful. “Can you drive stick?”

  “Nope.”

  “What the hell, I’ll give you a lesson. If you like it, we’ll talk turkey.” Tink removed a tarp and unsnapped the roof. “I can’t actually fit inside with the roof attached.”

  “Oh wow! I feel like I’m going on safari,” Nann said when the top was off. “You wanna go for a ride, Cricket?”

  The car chirped its door locks. No one else seemed to hear.

  With Tink instructing, Nann clutched and shifted, driving Cricket up Cemetery Street to the bluffs and back. It felt like the little car was helping her learn to drive it. “What’s this mill everyone talks about?”

  Tink held her bandana on with one hand. “The papermill. Bastards polluted Ten Mile Creek, the lake, then they sold it to some company down south. It reopens every now and then, giving people false hope. That’s the only reason Calamity Corners isn’t a ghost town.”

  Two black-and-white police cars and a van approached in the other lane, lights and sirens. Before Nann could pull over, they made a turn in front of her. She jammed on the brakes. “Sorry! They didn’t use their blinkers.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nann saw that Tink had lost her bandana. Her ears came to high, sharp points. Miss Spock. In an instant, the head cover was back in place.

  Nann faced forward, pretending she hadn’t seen, breath fast from the sudden stop. What was Tink, some kind of elf?

  “That’s the truck lot for the mill,” Zinnia said.

  She looked across the street and down the block at Cemetery Center. “Across from my new store?”

  “You don’t have to worry about it,” Tink said. “The mill is dead.”

  A group of men, some in uniform, walked into view from the far side of the lot. They met the new arrivals about halfway across. From their slumped postures, Nann understood that nothing good was going on there.

  AN HOUR LATER, SHE parked her car (her c
ar!) in front of her new store (new store!) and climbed out. Zinnia’s old red truck pulled to the curb behind her. Men lingered in the fenced lot on the other side of the street. Tom and a few others wandered back to Cemetery Center.

  “What do you think is going on?” Zinnia whispered.

  Nann shook her head.

  “We need to get the VHS back together Tom, I mean, the way that boy looked.”

  Zinnia identified the speaker. “That’s Bob Reynolds, a foreman at the mill. Former foreman.”

  “What’s the VHS?” Nann whispered back. “A club that likes to watch movies on tape?”

  “Shh!” The men got closer.

  “Why don’t we let the police handle it?” Tom said.

  “What if they can’t?” Another man, a tall, bald guy with a blond beard asked. “They couldn’t before.”

  “Ralph Metzger. Likes people to call him Rascal.” Zinnia’s whisper was barely audible.

  “Okay fine. Let’s hold a preliminary meeting in the hall night after next. I have an appointment, but I should be done by eleven.” Tom gave Zinnia and Nann a nod. He’d be right with them.

  “So late?” Bob Reynolds was a whiner.

  “You got anything better to do?” Rascal said.

  “Yeah fine.” He clapped Rascal and Tom on the backs. “Good work guys.”

  Tom walked over when the group split up, his face troubled.

  “What happened?” Zinnia asked.

  “We found a boy. Not Sam Barber, but a boy who went missing a few months ago from Oswego. Roy Billingsly. Ten years old. He just looked like he was sleeping, but he... wasn’t.”

  Nann’s mouth fell open. “Oh my! That must’ve been terrible for you.”

  “What’s even more terrible is that there’s still a missing boy from here. No sign of him. Maybe that’s a good thing.” Tom didn’t sound convincing.

  “Well, on a possibly brighter note,” Nann held up the keys. “I’ll take the space.”

  Tom brightened up, but not a lot. “Okay, good. This town could use something like a bookstore. I can’t say you’ll do well.”

  “Well, what it lacks in foot traffic it makes up for in spookiness.”

  “Tell you what. I’m not in the mood for paperwork right now. But you can have the place for two months free. Minus utilities. It’ll probably take you that long to get set up anyway. I’ll get a lease to you in the next week or so.” Tom stuck out his hand. “Welcome to Calamity Corners and Cemetery Center.”

  Nann didn’t know whether to feel welcome, or afraid.

  Chapter 3

  She caught her reflection in the hotel window. Her dark hair looked like an abused feather duster, all pressed flat on the right side and exploding on the left. “Attractive.” Nann toasted herself with her complimentary continental breakfast coffee.

  Closing her eyes, breathing deeply, she found her inner energy. With a tingle, she released it into the coffee. “I’m but a tiny cog in the wheel of the universe, but I pledge to make it a better place: To lift my world, my community, my family and myself upward in a positive way: To recycle and limit my purchase of single-use plastic: To tend the gardens of the soul.”

  Guys from the car rental agency arrived just after she got out of the shower. Her concealer wasn’t yet blended. Her lips were only lined. One eye boasted mascara. Hair and body wrapped in towels, she handed over the key. “Sorry, getting a late start.”

  “No need to apologize, ma’am.” A fat, unshaved guy gave her the eyebrows.

  “Have a nice day.” She quickly closed the door and put her back to it. “You still got it, Nann. Whatever that’s worth.”

  From the moment she checked out, she felt that the world had been reborn. She owned a car, which lightened her wallet considerably, but, hey, she owned a car! There was a new space to ready for her store. Tonight, she would sleep in her new home. “Brand new world, Cricket,” she said to the car. “Ready to ride?”

  The door locks chirped. Nann interpreted this to be a positive response.

  As she drove, she considered the negative side of things. Boys were missing. A secret society was holding a meeting about it. There was something really odd about sweet little Zinnia. Tink had ears that put all the Lord of the Rings characters to shame. Even Liv Tyler’s character, whatever her name was in the movies. Were any of these people involved in the crimes?

  She drove to a hardware store on the edge of Calamity Corners and parked by a huge Hummer painted in pink camouflage. It was the only other vehicle in the lot, and looked like it could eat Cricket.

  The single employee in the store went well with the only car in the lot. She wore the standard black pants and red shirt of retail wage slaves, but updated the look with a psychedelic paisley pashmina, a magic unicorn dye job and big red pumps.

  “Help you?” The woman’s name tag read Gert.

  “Do you know Liv Tyler’s character in Lord of the Rings?”

  “Arwen. Anything else?”

  Arwen! “Cleaning supplies. Do you mix paint? I need about six gallons.”

  “I mix colors like nobody’s business. C’mon back.”

  Nann followed Gert to the paint station. She always liked the color books and paint shakers, not that she did a whole lot of painting. “I’m looking for primary colors, like Crayola Crayon colors. Can we do that?”

  “What are you painting, a day care center?” Gert fanned open a swatch book.

  “A bookstore.”

  “People still read? Oh, you’re the gal who’s renting at Cemetery Center. Okay, primary colors, red, blue yellow.”

  “Let’s make the yellow gold. I need a good purple and a green. How do you know I’m renting a space?”

  Gert grabbed some paint cans. “I know everything about this town. At some point, everyone needs something at a hardware store. You need painters?”

  Nann shrugged. “Sure. You know any?”

  “I know fifty guys out of work.”

  “Any with ladders and rollers?”

  Gert put a can on the shaker and switched it on. The whole store vibrated. “I’ll send a couple guys. When do you need ’em?”

  “Around ten-thirty, after I’m done sweeping and stuff.”

  Gert stopped the machine and mixed the next batch. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, tell ’em to bring a hammer. I need to take boards off the windows.”

  “I’ll put the workers on your bill.”

  AFTER BLOWING DUST off the built-in check-out counter, she set her conjure bag down and dug through it. Among a pound of loose change, a half dozen lipsticks and her wallet, she came up with a sage wand and a vial of lavender oil. Nann made her way to the center of the store. With a blink and a breath, she set the sage wand alight.

  “For a new beginning, of earning and winning

  A positive space in this negative place

  For meeting my ends and finding new friends

  This I humbly ask before starting my task.”

  As she incantated, she moved to every corner, stepping over low piles of debris. Sage smoke and lavender blossomed into a pungent aroma. Once she hit every nook, including the bathrooms, she returned to the center. Both the vial and burning wand vanished in a flash of light. Beneath her feet, she felt the building shake, just once. Satisfied, she grabbed the push broom. Now the hard part started.

  An hour or so later, she had a huge pile of dust and garbage sitting by the back door. Nann cast around. “I should’ve bought a dustpan.”

  A knock fell on the door. Nann waved Zinnia in.

  “Can I help?”

  “Do you have a dustpan?”

  “I sure do.” Zinnia frowned at the pile. “What you need a wheelbarrow and a shovel.”

  Nann cleaned the display window. Zinnia left and returned a few minutes later with a metal garbage can and dustpan. “I’ll start putting this in the Dumpster out back.”

  “Sweet. Thanks, Zinnia.”

  Zinnia checked her watch. “No problem. I like hav
ing a store neighbor. Tom opens at night. It gets lonely and boring sometimes. Now I have someone to have lunch with, or coffee. Or drinks. Do you drink? I do a lot of drinking sometimes. I hear you’re not supposed to do it alone.”

  She filled the can and hauled it to the Dumpster. Nann squeaked the window clean. Pausing, she looked at the floors. She’d work on that after the painters finished. Zinnia returned for another load, but she checked her watch first.

  “Is that watch band alligator?” Nann asked.

  Zinnia’s eyes went wide with horror. “Oh, Lord, no!”

  “Jeeze Louise, Zinnia, I was just kidding.”

  “I mean—it’s just cheap.”

  “If you have to be someplace, I can do this myself. No biggie. You already helped a lot.”

  Turning her back, Zinnia shoveled more crap into the can. “No, I still have time. I just have... A thing. Later.”

  With dust- and junk-free floors, Nann and Zinnia turned to the other windows. “I’ll need to get a step ladder. This is one tall shop. What was it before?”

  “No idea. It’s been closed since I’ve been here.” Zinnia cleaned a pane, then leaned closer. “Looks like your painters are here.”

  Two men in coveralls walked in. “We got a call from the Agency.” The speaker had spiky red hair and a trimmed beard. His partner was taller and leaner and had wavy brown hair and green eyes. The second one smiled at Zinnia.

  Zinnia’s face glowed red. “Oh, hey, Branden.”

  “Haven’t seen you in a while, Zinnia. You’re looking good.”

  Zinnia faced away. “Oh, right. I’m all dirty. Dusty, I mean. I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Okay, the paint’s in Cricket. Let’s go grab it and I’ll show you what’s going on,” Nann said. She winked at Branden. Branden returned a confused look.

  They brought in paint, ladders, tarps, rollers, pans and brushes. “Okay, this wall is for the gold. It’s going to be the children’s section. On the other side is purple. Purple for paranormal.”

  “Why so many colors?” The redhead’s name was Jim.

  “I stole the idea from Powell’s books in Portland, Oregon. They color-code their whole stores. I thought it would be cheerful, too.”