Calm Before the Witch Storm

by Constance Barker

  “This is a private meeting,” one of the guys Nann didn’t know aimed a gun at her.

  “Tell them they’re wrong about the mill,” Nann tried again.

  “You’re going about buying back the mill the wrong way,” Zinnia said. “You want a strong union, but the union protects your jobs. There aren’t any jobs. You need to buy it back yourselves.”

  “I know you. You’re the artist girl,” the man aiming a gun said. “But what do we know about the new girl? She could be a vampire.”

  “Except she got here two months after Roy went missing,” Branden said.

  “Whoa, whoa, let’s take this down a notch. We being too loud for you, Zinnia?” Tom waved his palms at the floor, and the guns went away.

  “You’re talking nonsense,” Bob angled his head, doubt lidding his eyes. “How are we going to afford hundreds of millions?”

  “You have most of it already. We have most of it already. I inherited my father’s stock in the company.”

  “So we buy it back with our 401K?”

  “Essentially, yeah. The stock isn’t from the mill, it’s from Nationwide Paper. The company is enormous, and the mill is just a tiny part of their holdings. Collectively, we have a good lever in place. With a solid business plan and some start-up capital, the owners would have to listen.”

  “Why would they listen to us if they don’t listen to the union?” Rascal folded his arms.

  Zinnia cast her eyes at the ceiling. “It isn’t what the union is for. Listen, Nationwide may be the bad guys, but they’re not the stupid guys. If they see they can share in the profits, they’d turn that plant over in a heartbeat.”

  “They dismantled most of the Fournier machines. What would we be buying, anyway?” Rascal said.

  “The old art paper machine is still there, the wheel molds might be a century old, but they still work just fine” Jim said.

  “We use a lot of rag in the art paper,” Branden said. “It’s a lot greener than the craft paper.”

  “Oh, you and your hippy-dippy BS,” the man with the gun said. “Mill used to employ nearly a thousand workers. It doesn’t take a thousand men to make art paper.”

  “So we start small and expand,” Jim said, “Like every other business.”

  “Okay, let’s go to the union with it.”

  “No,” Zinnia said, blushing as bright as a stoplight. She had everyone’s attention. “We need to form a committee, an employee committee. We don’t need to talk to Nationwide until a business plan is formulated, and some lenders are behind us. We need to show our lenders and partners that we’re serious. Once we have something solid, we take it to Nationwide ourselves, and bring the union back after there are actual jobs again.”

  A long silence followed. Nann wished she was still invisible.

  “Well, maybe we should adjourn to Margie’s and talk about who we know who might help us,” Jim said.

  “Yeah, c’mon, Zinnia,” Branden urged.

  Zinnia looked at the men, then at Nann.

  “Go for it, Zinn.”

  MOST OF THE GUYS HEADED to the bar to talk a buy-back strategy...Tom and the jerk with a gun headed off to the cemetery. “Stake out,” the guy with the gun said, holding up a stake. No one laughed.

  When they were all gone, Nann headed back to the third floor.

  “You’re not a ghost, are you? You’re a vampire.”

  The marble coffin lid slid at an angle. Empty beer cans fell to the floor. “Sacre vasch, I thought those idiots would never leave.”

  It was no wonder Nann thought she was a ghost. That blue-white skin beneath an elaborate pile of platinum hair. Now, though, red ball gown, coffin, ruby lips and eyes—there was no doubt about it.

  “What are you doing in my rooms?”

  Nann lingered by the door. “You’re trapped here, aren’t you?”

  “I am Charlotte, Marquise de les Yveteaux. No one traps me for long.”

  “Well, it’s been thirty years or so, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Bah!” She waved a hand with very long and pointy nails. “But a moment for one of the undead.”

  Haughty as she was, Marquise Charlotte balked at the sight of a crucifix on her coffin lid. She lifted a corner until the cross slid off.

  “The stories are true, aren’t they? The church was de-consecrated, but the grounds weren’t. So you’re stuck.”

  “If it makes you happy, oui, I am stuck here for the time being. Come. I have “Les Revenants” DVR’d.” The Marquise hopped out of her coffin and headed for the back of the room. She easily opened a door that appeared boarded over. Nann wondered if this was such a good idea as she followed.

  She was surprised to see a small apartment decorated in frail Baroque furniture, a flat screen TV on the fireplace mantel. At the sound of a ding, Charlotte opened a laptop on a side table and settled onto a swan-shaped chaise lounge. “You are here to eliminate me as a suspect, non? Pardonne-moi while I check my Instagram.”

  “You realize that the VHS believes you’re the one taking those boys.”

  “Ta gueule, don’t they watch the television? That boy was unmarked.” She turned red eyes on Nann. “You are a witch, a Druid like your aunt, non? What do you think?”

  The vampire turned back to her laptop. “The new Michael Connelly book is not available until October? Fils de pute!” She closed the lid in disgust and fished the remote from the cushions.

  “I think you’re in the clear.”

  On the television, the selection screen for “The Returned” appeared. Charlotte paused it. “Excuse-moi, but does that mean you have another suspect?”

  Nann hesitated. On the one hand, who was Charlotte going to tell? On the other hand, it appeared she had the internet. “I think a Piper has been summoned.”

  She expected a laugh, a scoff, or confusion. Instead Charlotte appeared interested. “The spirit that devours rats? That might explain where they all went. For some reason, that stinky mill was infested with them, and the town in winter. And now the boys. I know much of this town. I have been here since before it was a town. My husband, the marquis and general, was ushering me to Fort Oswego for a very surprise night attack.” Charlotte gave her a pointy-toothed smile.

  Nann waited for her to go on.

  “Very surprise. Because I am a vampire, you see. I was to kill all the men in the fort. Surprise, you’re all dead!”

  “I get it.”

  The vampire waved her hand. “Anyway, I know nothing of a Piper. The only one who could summon such would have been your Great-Aunt Nancy. But I do not believe she would do such a thing.”

  “You knew my Aunt Nancy?”

  “But of course. We frequently had tea on the new moon. I extend that invitation to you.”

  Nann gave her the eye. “Like that doesn’t sound like the worst idea ever.”

  “You fear I will drink your blood? It is tainted with magic. That is why the scribe and the lézard-fille can remain in their homes without fear. I cannot abide magic blood. If I could, you would be a few pints lighter, sitting in your shop and wondering what happened by now.”

  Nann wondered if she should feel relieved or terrified at the vampire’s words. “Okay. I’m pretty busy right now. I’ll think about it.”

  SHE TOSSED AND TURNED all night, thinking about the Piper, Aunt Nancy’s Tome of Knowledge Dark (which went for big bucks on the antique book market, but went for a whole lot more with its companion book, the Tome of Knowledge Bright, ca. 1678, Oxford University Press), the dead boy and the two still missing. She’d heard about rats in the area, and how they recently stopped being a problem.

  Giving up on sleep, she rose early, nearly stepping on Pokey. “I said you could sleep in the mudroom.”

  Pokey grunted at her and went back to sleep. She needed to get a little transistor radio. Or maybe she didn’t really need to know what the pig said most of the time. It probably wasn’t complimentary this early in the day.

  She showered and did combat wi
th her dark curls, deep in thought. Druids, though magical, weren’t the summoning type. They could summon, of course, but they tended more toward improving life, understanding that the Wheel of the Year turned, and that they were just a cog in the greater scheme of things. Altering the scheme of things was what Nann did, but never for anything other than a positive outcome. Sure, there was a history of human sacrifice. But long ago, traditional Druids stopped stuffing people in their wicker men. It helped keep them below the radar.

  Charlotte said that Aunt Nancy was the only one around who could summon something like a Piper. That didn’t mean she had. Given that boys started going missing around two months ago made her believe the Piper had arrived after her aunt’s death. She paused in the living room, gazing at a photo of Aunt Nancy and Uncle Ed. She felt a pang in her heart. It had been a year since she passed, but Nann still missed her crazy aunt. But being in this house, surrounded by Nancy’s things, made her feel that her aunt was still with her.

  With time to kill, she looked up what she should feed Pokey. As she suspected, it wasn’t Little Debbie cakes and lasagna. She in fact had celery and carrots she planned on cooking (maybe, sometime) along with a couple potatoes. In one of the low cupboards, she found an oblong feeding bowl. Giving the veggies a few chops, she filled the bowl and set it on the floor.

  As she grabbed her conjure bag and keys, Pokey clickety-clacked into the kitchen. He looked at the bowl and gave her a mean look. “What is this crap?”

  Nann realized she’d left the radio in the dining room on.

  “It’s pig food.” Nann saw Cricket back herself out of the garage. “You don’t want to get fat or you’ll get joint pain like my cousin, Myra.”

  “Bring on the joint pain and give me some friggin cake.”

  “I need you healthy if you’re my familiar.”

  “You are my familiar.” Pokey turned angry eyes on her, but they turned crescent shaped, pleading. He put a hoof on her knee. “Oh, please, please, please, give me a Zebra Cake Roll. I’ll stop pooping in the closet. I’ll bring back your toilet seats.”

  “You’re pooping in the closet?”

  Pokey looked away. “What? Oh, no. Of course not. Not anymore.”

  “Eat your veggies. I gotta go to work.”

  At the store, she looked at her completed supernatural section and wondered if she should spread the fixtures out more. For the first time, she had more space than books. At that thought she took in the box stacks. What was she going to do about all of that?

  Zinnia’s truck pulled up outside, thankfully side-tracking her thoughts. Nann walked out to meet her. The bed of her truck was loaded with groceries. Nann grabbed a couple bags. “Hey, can we switch cars for the day? I need to go to the county assessor’s office.”

  They carried the bags upstairs together. “I’m not doing anything today. Why don’t I drive you?”

  Zinnia put groceries away—normal stuff like Cheez-Its and coffee creamer. It reminded Nann to get more veggies for the pig.

  “Don’t you need to keep the gallery open in case there’s a customer?”

  “Oh, I hardly sell anything. I make my money with classes. I’m a CRI, a Certified Bob Ross Instructor, and One-Stroke, and I also give private lessons.”

  “What about your own painting?”

  “Oh, I don’t sell that! I hardly even show anyone.”

  Nann glanced at the covered easels in the living room. “Can I see?”

  “No!” Zinnia’s face was a mortified rictus. It took a moment for her to speak. “I mean, they aren’t finished.”

  “So show me something finished.”

  “Okay, if you promise not to laugh.”

  “Laugh? Why would I laugh?” She followed Zinnia down the hall to a room across from the bathroom. Like the rest of the place, the room was huge. Standing racks dominated the space, with a painting held in most of the slots.

  Zinnia pulled one out. “This is from my Pizza Period. This is Pizza Landscape III.”

  The oil painting depicted the surface of a pizza, close up and in perspective. Each topping was highly detailed. The melted mozzarella seemed to flow. “Wow. I like how the toppings get out of focus in the distance. This speaks to me.”

  “Here’s Pizza Slice In Motion XI. I think the gooeyness of the trailing cheese is particularly good,” Zinnia said proudly.

  “There are so many pizza paintings, you could hold an exhibit.”

  “Eh.” Zinnia waved the idea away. “I’ve moved on.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nann caught a painting of an alligator. The monster reptile lay in a field of wildflowers. It looked content.

  An hour later, they entered the Oswego County Assessor’s office in City Hall. A clerk with a battleship gray bob looked over her glasses at them. “Grievance Day is the fourth of the month.”

  “Actually, I had a question about my tax payments,” Nann said.

  “County or district?”

  “Well, they called it the school tax.”

  “That would be district. A lot of districts now collect tax locally.”

  “Port Argent.”

  “That would be handled by Port Argent Town Hall.”

  Nann sighed. “Can I double check to see if the county tax is paid up?”

  The gray-haired woman turned to her computer. “Certainly. What’s the address?”

  “Thirteen Bluff Road, Port Argent.”

  “And I’ll need some proof of ownership.”

  “Oh.” Nann hadn’t thought this through. “What would you need?”

  “Copy of the deed, a homeowner’s insurance policy in your name, mortgage payment records, something like that.”

  Nann turned her back to the clerk. She hung the conjure bag in front of her. Breathing deeply, she found focus. Then, pinching her middle fingers and thumbs together, she faced the palms up over the bag. Touching her index, ring and pinky fingers together, she reached inside the conjure bag. When she removed her hands, a folded sheet of paper was caught between her fingers. She turned back to the clerk.

  “Okay, homeowner’s policy.” The clerk clacked the keyboard. “Oh, Founder’s House. I thought that address sounded familiar. Yes, you’re paid up, including this year.”

  She handed the paper back to Nann. “Is there some way to actually see the property lines and stuff? I’m kinda unclear on that.” She remembered Cricket parking at the top of the Corner Bluff, and talk about someone buying houses on the west side of Calamity Corners.

  “Of course. You can access the GIS map online, or use one of the computers,” the clerk nodded to the other side of the room.

  Nann and Zinnia huddled around one of the machines. The GIS map consisted of a thousand numbers over a detailed satellite image. They zoomed around until they found Port Argent and Founder’s House.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of land,” Zinnia said. “You own a beach?”

  “Sure, but you have to nearly break your neck to get down there.” Nann moved east to the first property abutting hers. A red line indicating the boundary between Port Argent and Amity Corners ran between.

  “If you could build a road that headed due east, you could be at work in ten minutes,” Zinnia noted.

  Nann was more focused on the property number. There were dozens of lots. Most of them had the same number. She clicked it. “Shoreline Properties, LLC. That’s Barb Buford’s company.”

  “They own all those houses next to your property?” Zinnia looked on. “What’s that one?”

  Nann clicked on a lot about twice the size of her own. “Nationwide Paper, Inc. That’s the mill.”

  “Do you think Shoreline Properties is trying to buy the mill property?”

  She zoomed back. After clicking around, it seemed pretty obvious. “Could this whole thing be about a land swindle?”

  “Shoreline owns all the land on the lakeshore except your house, the mill, and a couple little houses on the west side. Wow, you’re a regular Nancy Drew. Or maybe Nancy Druid!” />
  “Funny, “Nann said. “Let’s get out of here. I need to see a woman about a pig.”

  Chapter 9

  Zinnia chatted about the committee to buy back the mill as they returned to Calamity Corners. “My dad used to work the fine art paper machines when I was a kid. He would bring home fine art paper that had been cut wrong or whatever. It really inspired me. Now, I want to continue his legacy, you know?”

  Nann half-listened, trying to put together a land swindle and a Pied Piper.

  “We’re thinking maybe Kick-Starter, some fundraising events, anything to show a lender we’re serious.”

  Nann gave her the eyebrows. “So it’s ‘we’ now.”

  Coloring, Zinnia kept her eyes on the road. “Well, I do own some stock.”

  “The only reason I know how to drive is because of Jake Romanowski,” Nann said. “I had a yuge crush on him in high school. When I heard he was taking Driver’s Ed, I was there.”

  “How did it work out?”

  “Turns out, Jake was kind of a moron and really handsy. But I did get my license.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because this gives you the opportunity to make a move on that Brendan cutie.” Nann pointed a finger at her. “And don’t tell me the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.”

  Now red as a beet, Zinnia clutched the wheel. “This is more important than that.”

  “So did he ask you out?”

  Zinnia managed a weak smirk.” No.”

  “You mean ‘not yet.’”

  THREE GUYS LEANED AGAINST the pink camo Hummer when Nann pulled into the hardware store lot. She felt their eyes on her as she walked inside.

  Today Gert wore a pop art bucket hat and comic book print scarf. She put down the magazine she was reading. “You need those carpenters yet?”

  “I have a nuisance pig I need removed.”

  Gert’s features froze.

  Nann folded her arms, waiting.

  “I don’t talk about the jobs I hand out.”

  “Then why are there guys prairie dogging me every time I drive in here?”