Most of the volunteers and some of the cops headed back toward Calamity Corners even as fresh volunteers and cops were arriving. The sky would stay bright for hours at this time of year. Even so, Nann didn’t want to be out here after sundown. She spotted Keith Schwenk talking to other deputies. He gave her a nod, but Nann didn’t want to interrupt.
They saw Tom in the truck parking lot, talking to Rascal Metzger, Bob Reynolds, and a bunch of others Nann didn’t know. The VHS, she thought.
“I’m too beat,” Bob said. “All I want is a hot shower and a cold beer.”
“Tomorrow night, then,” Tom said, followed by a murmur of agreement.
Nann gave a little wave, pretending not to eavesdrop. She had to agree with Bob, though. It had been a sweaty day. Tomorrow, with the books arriving, would be even sweatier. Making her goodbyes, she checked that the store was locked and hopped into Cricket.
“NOT YOU AGAIN. I’M really tired.”
The pig sat in the kitchen, glaring at her with its red eyes. It was getting old. He gave her a few angry grunts. Then he ran into the living room. When he galloped back, she could hear his words on the radio.
“Why have you not sacrificed your garbage to me, Druid?”
“I don’t have enough to take out yet.”
The pig hung his head. “Oh.”
“I still have Little Debbie Zebra Cake Rolls.”
“Oo!” The evil glow in its eyes vanished. When the pig wasn’t all demonic, Nann thought he was adorable as all heck. But with a head shake, Evil Pig returned.
“You’ll not re-domesticate me! I’m—”
“Feral master of the forest. Yeah, yeah. Well, go back to the forest. I don’t want a feral pig in my house.”
“Your house?”
She took a step closer. “And why are you stealing all my toilet seats? I only have one left. I’m on a budget, here. Shoo!”
The pig took a step back, but then held its ground. “No inexperienced Druid can banish me. Bow before me.”
“Shoo, I said. Go master the forest.”
The small animal stood in defiance. After a moment, it slumped. “There’s something dark and scary in the forest. I think it wants to eat me.”
Nann sighed in sympathy. “I’m working on it.”
“What, with the alligator cow and the butch elf?”
“Hey! Those are my friends!”
“They are not what they seem.”
“Look, I don’t want a feral pig in my house, and I certainly don’t want a mean one.”
The pig paced back and forth. “I could sleep in the mudroom.”
“You’re totally adorable when you’re not being evil. I can’t have your negativity in my space. So shoo.”
The pig sulked toward the kitchen door. “Fine. I’ll sleep under the porch. Termites, hear my summons! Join me beneath the boards.”
“Under the porch?” Nann had a sudden insight. “Are you Pokey?”
The pig gasped, eyes wide. “Use not that name!”
“Oh. My. Gosh. I thought Aunt Nancy was talking about a dog all these years. Or a cat with serious issues. You’re Aunt Nancy’s familiar.”
“I am master of my own destiny!” The pig resumed pacing. “I throw off the iron collar of domestication!”
While Pokey ranted, Nann walked to the radio. It had push-buttons for different stations. She reached out—
“Don’t touch that!”
—and changed the channel. The demonic red glow faded from Pokey’s eyes. He now looked like a regular potbellied pig.
“Oh, I feel so much less evil now.”
“Thank the goodness for that.”
“Could I get that Little Debbie snack?”
Nann walked back in the kitchen and unwrapped a Zebra Cake Roll. Pokey wolfed it down in a single bite.
“Thank you. Can I sleep in your bed?”
“You can sleep in the mudroom until I’m sure you can behave yourself.”
“BOOK DAY.” NANN ROSE with sun shining through the windows and nearly stepped on the pig next to her bed. “I said mudroom.”
Pokey rose, staggering a little. He grunted and oinked at her. Nann cast around the little guest room, but didn’t see a radio. She went downstairs to make coffee, Pokey on her heels.
“What’s for breakfast?” Nann heard the radio in the living room.
“I don’t have any Pig Chow. I’m not even sure what pigs eat.”
“The usual stuff. Birthday cake, ice cream, fried cheese, Snickers.”
Nann opened the one cupboard she had stocked. “I’m having Apple Jacks.”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Later I’ll do some research on what to feed you.”
Pokey faced away. “Oh, don’t do that. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“Uh-huh.” Mr. Coffee made the horrible belching sound that signaled a full pot. She poured two bowls of cereal and put one on the floor. Milk went into her bowl and her mug. “I won’t be home until late. The books from my store are arriving.” And she wanted to spy on the VHS, if she could.
“You could just leave the rest of the Little Debbies.”
“I’ll get something on the way home.”
Chapter 6
This morning, the hardware store parking lot was full. All of them gave her hopeful looks as she got out of Cricket and went inside.
“What’ll it be today?”
“Four toilet seats.”
Gert led her to the toilet seat aisle. “You need help today? I know fifty guys out of work.”
“Yeah, I saw a bunch outside already.” She pulled her cell phone from her conjure bag and checked the trucking app. “I’ll need maybe four guys, but not until eleven.”
Gert stacked the toilet seats in Nann’s arms. “We’ll get you set up.”
“Could you... Do you know if any of the guys are members of the VHS?”
“You wanna hire guys who belong to a society that hunts vampires.”
Nann realized how silly that sounded. “Whatever. I just need four guys at eleven.”
She headed back to Cricket and put the toilet seats in back.
“If it’s a vampire, we’ll find it.” Nann overheard.
“Vampires, come on. It’s a serial killer. You need to leave it to the cops.”
“Cops can’t do anything against vampires. We’ve been there before.”
She started up Cricket. Nann didn’t believe there was a vampire running loose. Vampires didn’t eat pork, as far as she knew. Pokey wouldn’t be afraid of a vampire. But the little pig, feral master of the forest or no, was afraid of something out in the woods.
Waving to Zinnia in her gallery, Nann carried two toilet seats into the store. She noted some broken tiles as she installed. Her money was running out quick. Tiles would have to wait until she made some money. If she made some money.
With a squeal and a hiss of air brakes, the trailer appeared on the curb. Nann signed the order and paid the driver. She tried not to wince at the price. He opened the trailer door for her and drove an empty tractor away. Nann tried not to stare at the trailer, filled front to back, top to bottom. Instead, she focused on the fixtures. Her mother had them loaded last. She saw black shelves and cabinets, and glowing pine double shelves for the children’s books, her boxed computers, her office desk, and the sliding library ladder. Beyond that were boxes upon boxes of books.
It was going to be a long day.
Zinnia walked out of the gallery rolling a dolly. “Can I help?”
“I got some guys coming, but it might be a good idea to get the computers in the office so they don’t get smooshed.”
Looking into the tightly packed truck, Zinnia’s mouth fell open. “Where are you going to put all those books, Nann?”
“I can’t even think about it. Yet.”
“THE COLORED DUCT TAPE on the boxes matches the colors on the walls.” Nann directed. Two bookcases and three cabinets, all in black, went in the purple section. So did the sliding la
dder. The fixtures and furniture didn’t take long to move. Nann tried to listen in on the working men. She only heard snippets about the VHS meeting, or about the mill. She was otherwise too busy getting out of the way, or answering questions.
A sense of dread fell over her as dollies rolled down the truck ramp stacked with boxes. Cubist mountains appeared at the edges of the store, getting higher and wider as she watched. Greenpoint Books on Manhattan Ave. and Eagle St. in Brooklyn was a long, narrow store with built-in shelves on all the walls. The fixtures there were a tight squeeze. Here, there were no shelves, and the space was wide and, save the box piles, empty.
“Wow, that went quick,” Zinnia said. “What’s the plan?”
“Step one: stop feeling overwhelmed.”
“Okay. Step two?”
“Don’t panic.”
“It can’t be that bad. Everything is so organized.” Zinnia peered at the nearest box mound. “Look, it says, ‘Military and Naval History, east wall, section three, shelf three.’ You got this.”
“Except I don’t have a section three, or a shelf three. I got section nada, shelf bupkis. I’ve never had to move the store. My gramma and great-aunt worked there when they were kids, they bought it from the original owner. My mom worked, there, I worked there, and it’s always been on the same corner.”
Zinnia put a hand on her shoulder. “Remember step two.”
“I was gonna hire some guys to build shelves, but I didn’t realize how many shelves I would need. The books have always been, well, shelved. I know how many linear feet of books I have, but how does that break down? Oh. No. It might cost thousands! I don’t have thousands!”
“Remember step one.”
“My online bookstores are all on vacation, but I can’t start them up until I can find books to ship. It would take forever to search the boxes. That’s how I make most of my money. I’m starting to think this was a terrible idea.”
“You’re running your words together. Back to step two.” Zinnia pursed her lips, gazing around. “My dad always said if you have a big project, start with what you know, and the rest will come. You have the black bookcases and the yellow ones. You can set up the office, the computers. I’m sure you can use Tom’s wifi until you get your own. I’m here to help.”
Nann’s eyes snapped from one stack of boxes to the next. She knew that she would need shelves. How did that tiny shop in Brooklyn hold so many books? A tug on her arm brought her around as Zinnia dragged her into the office. She snapped out of it. A little.
“Well, this is nice. My last office, I had to watch my weight or I couldn’t get behind the desk.”
“See? Things are looking up. Do you want to arrange things differently?” Zinnia sat in the office chair, the only one.
Nann sat on a low filing cabinet and scanned the space. “Well, since I only see two outlets, maybe we should just leave it like this.”
“There aren’t a lot of outlets in my store, either. Makes it tough for a gallery. It’s good we have windows.” She dragged a box closer. “This is the check-out computer. You have one for the office?”
Nann nodded to the corner. “Over there.”
“Why don’t I set up the machines. I know the password for Tom’s wifi. Maybe later you can surf the internet for bookshelves.”
She felt a little calmer. “All right. I guess I’ll start on the supernatural books. One way or another, I gotta get this done.”
ZINNIA DUCKED OUT AN hour or so later, surprised that she had customers in the gallery. Opening boxes, organizing, alphabetizing, shelving put Nann in an almost meditative state. Most everything was packed in order, so aside from some oversized volumes, she had the open cases filled in a few hours. The more valuable books remained boxed. These would go in the locking cabinets. Just as soon as she remembered where she put the keys.
Office stuff, she thought. Zinnia had left the computer on. She’d been looking at bookshelves on Craigslist. Nann balked at some of the prices and closed the program. She found the box of tools, which contained a smaller box of keys. They were the long-barreled type she thought of as skeleton keys, two copies for each cabinet as well as a selection of big and small padlocks. She put three on her key ring, and the copies in the top desk drawer. There were a couple box cutters in the box as well. “Little late now,” she said to herself.
Back in the retail space, if she just looked at the full shelves, and nowhere else, Nann felt a sense of accomplishment. Tomorrow, she would finish the section. Soon after, the children’s books. After that...
Her cell rang, and she searched around for her conjure bag. “Greenpoint Books,” she answered automatically.
“Nancy, it’s Barb Buford.”
Before she could correct Barb, the woman went on.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. I think you’d better come to my office right away.”
She checked the time on her phone. After six. It must be important if the real estate agent was calling so late. “What is it?”
“I think we should talk in person. See you shortly.”
Really? Her stress level rose a notch. It wasn’t like she could use a break from Box-world. Nann didn’t like Barb’s tone. It felt like a summons.
She locked up and hopped in Cricket. The little car took off on its own. Nann tried to turn it around, but the car drove up Cemetery Street all the way to the end, at the top of Corner Bluffs, and turned to face west. A neighborhood spread out down the hill, the houses getting lost in the trees in the distance. Beyond, she could see a couple sludge waste mounds, and in the far distance, the land rose to another bluff.
“Is that my house? Are you telling me I can see my house from here, Cricket? That’s nice, but I need to get somewhere.”
The engine revved a few times, impatiently.
“I don’t get it.” For the ridges and hills, she couldn’t see the papermill. It was too deep in the valley. “Is it about the missing boys?”
Cricket idled, but nothing more. Nann didn’t speak Car. She wondered if Tink did. After a while, she began to feel like an idiot. What was she doing, sitting in a car and waiting for it to speak to her? She drove off, Cricket relinquishing control.
Even if she could see her house (well, sort of) from Corners Bluff, it still took a half hour to drive to Port Argent. Barb’s office was on the residential edge of the tiny downtown, across from a brick church. The building was in essence a house, the bottom part used for business. Even so, there was a dog door still in place on the entrance. Nann paused. On the one hand, she thought it was cute. On the other, maybe this was a subtle manipulation. Barb Buford, Your Hometown Real Estate Agent, the plaque above read.
Three men sat in the living-room-cum-conference room with Barb, who stood when Nann entered. “Please, have a seat. These are the town supervisors, Blake Simmons, Doug Baker and Gene Wozniak.”
“Welcome to our town, Miss Szymanski. Your Aunt Nancy was quite a woman, and your Uncle Ed was instrumental in construction around here.” Blake, who looked like an athlete gone to seed and wore a toupee, shook her hand. He seemed to be the leader.
“Pleased to make your acquaintances,” Nann said, “But you caught me at a busy time.”
“We’ll get to the point then.” Wozniak had a thick neck, blond fuzz and sleepy blue eyes. He pushed some documents her way. “According to our records, Founder’s House is in arrears with the school tax.”
“How can that be? The property tax isn’t due until October.” Nann felt the frostbite of fear in her heart.
“No, that’s right. Due by October thirty-first. Halloween,” Blake smiled. Good Cop.
Samhain, Nann thought.
“Those aren’t the taxes we’re talking about. For the past ten years, no taxes have been paid on the property. There may have been some miscommunication, since your aunt was living in New York City for those years.” Wozniak. Bad Cop.
“No, that’s not right. We paid those taxes. Ask Mr. Greenbaum. He was Aunt Nancy’s lawyer.” Wha
t the heck was this?
“We’ve tried to reach him, but his office has been closed. Mr. Greenbaum says he’s semi-retired, but the reality is, he’s living the life of a retiree, even if he still has a few clients left.” Blake sat back in his office chair. “That leaves you in a spot, Miss Szymanski.”
Doug Baker, a skinny little guy who sat between the two others, like a mass market paperback between two Oxford English Dictionaries, slid the documents across the table at her. Nann saw a figure that made the chair fall out from under her. “Seventy grand?”
“Give or take,” Baker said. “Including late fees.”
“This is BS. How could this go on for ten years?”
“We apologize for the oversight, but in fact, it wasn’t until the living trust deeded you the property that anyone had cause to look,” Blake frowned.
Wozniak moved in like a shark. “Unfortunately, if we don’t have the tax money by the end of the month, the house will go up for auction.”
“Now, hold on there, Gene. Nancy has options. There are offers on the property, after all,” Barb jumped in. She was conveniently armed with documents herself. Nann had a stack in front of her. She looked at each man and Barb in turn. This was a total set-up.
“I’ll have the paperwork for you in a couple days,” Nann said (hoped). “I’m sure this is all a filing error.”
“Why, that’s entirely possible,” Blake said. “All we need are the copies of the paperwork.”
“Before the end of the month.” Now it was Gene Wozniak’s turn to smile.
“NO FREAKIN WAY,” SHE said, driving Cricket home. Mr. Greenbaum, who tended Aunt Nancy’s living trust, made regular phone calls, and sent copies of all pertinent documents to her and Mom. The trust included maintenance on the house in Aunt Nancy’s absence. There were copies of all the documents there, too. “Somewhere,” she said aloud. Both she and Mom were meticulous records keepers. You had to be when you owned a bookstore.
Given her current stress level, she wondered if she had planted the wrong kind of potato.
Calm Before the Witch Storm Page 5
