sandwich at my desk for lunch. I shared it with Trixie and Twinkletoes, who had what I thought was an odd affinity for a cat—a love of bread!
Pleased with my progress, I pulled a couple of employee files to see what Oma did when hiring someone new. It didn’t seem too difficult. I was flipping through them when I heard the sliding glass door whoosh open and angry voices.
Zelda backed into the doorway to the office. Without turning to look at me, she said, “I think we’ve got trouble.”
Ten
The very first face I saw belonged to my own Aunt Birdie. The scowling expression of my mother’s older half sister was the norm for her. Aunt Birdie complained about everything. As usual, she had dressed stylishly in a black faux fur coat with a fluffy white collar that did nothing to soften the gaunt lines of skin stretched thin over high cheekbones or the angry blaze in her eyes.
Peaches Clodfelter followed her. The pompous woman had once been married to the richest man in Wagtail. She had fallen on hard times but she still managed to have her brassy orange hair swept up in a lacquered coif that must have been done by a hairdresser. Lean and angular like Aunt Birdie, her nostrils flared, and she jabbed a stick-thin finger at me. “How dare you?”
“Have you no shame?” asked a man whom I didn’t know. Sparse black and gray hair stuck out from his very round head. His lips were so thin they were little more than edges for his mouth. He wore his shirt unbuttoned at the neck,making room for a substantial double chin. In spite of the cold weather, he wiped sweat off his forehead.
Each of them clutched a small folded sheet of paper.
I forced a little smile. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what we’d like to know!” said Aunt Birdie. “The gall. The unmitigated gall! How could you do this to your own aunt?”
Zelda and I exchanged a look.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The three of them glanced at one another.
“You first,” said Birdie.
“No, no. You’re family. You go first,” protested Peaches.
I reached across the reception desk and each of them sheepishly handed over their slips of paper. With Zelda looking over my shoulder, I unfolded them one at a time. Evidently they hadn’t seen one another’s papers because they all leaned over to read them upside down.
The first one said:
Peaches Clodfelter’s daughter is in prison.
The second one was worse.
Larry Pierce, chef at Café Chat, is having an affair with Peaches Clodfelter.
I looked up at the chubby man. “I presume you’re Larry Pierce?”
“What if my wife hears about this?”
I could see panic in his eyes. I unfolded the third one.
Birdie Dupuy stalks Max Hemmerich.
I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. I couldn’t imagine Max, a sophisticated bookaholic, being interested in staid Aunt Birdie.
She had turned the color of cooked beets. “That’s just not true! I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”
Peaches guffawed. “Not true? It’s hysterically funny! You follow that man everywhere.”
“I do not. But I bet your daughter Prissy looks awful in those orange prison jumpsuits.”
Peaches gasped. “How can you be so cruel? You know that’s the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
Could they all be true? I read them again. The only one I knew for sure was that Peaches Clodfelter’s daughter was in prison. I eyed Larry and Peaches. An unlikely couple, but didn’t they say opposites attract? And hadn’t Aunt Birdie arrived at the meeting last night on Max’s heels? “I’m sorry about this, but I don’t know why you came here. I didn’t have anything to do with these,” I said.
“You’re the mayor,” spat Peaches. “You have to do something!”
“I am not the mayor. Oma is the mayor, and she’s away. There must be some kind of vice mayor or someone filling in for her.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I realized that old Mr. Wiggins was the vice mayor. No wonder
Pleased with my progress, I pulled a couple of employee files to see what Oma did when hiring someone new. It didn’t seem too difficult. I was flipping through them when I heard the sliding glass door whoosh open and angry voices.
Zelda backed into the doorway to the office. Without turning to look at me, she said, “I think we’ve got trouble.”
Ten
The very first face I saw belonged to my own Aunt Birdie. The scowling expression of my mother’s older half sister was the norm for her. Aunt Birdie complained about everything. As usual, she had dressed stylishly in a black faux fur coat with a fluffy white collar that did nothing to soften the gaunt lines of skin stretched thin over high cheekbones or the angry blaze in her eyes.
Peaches Clodfelter followed her. The pompous woman had once been married to the richest man in Wagtail. She had fallen on hard times but she still managed to have her brassy orange hair swept up in a lacquered coif that must have been done by a hairdresser. Lean and angular like Aunt Birdie, her nostrils flared, and she jabbed a stick-thin finger at me. “How dare you?”
“Have you no shame?” asked a man whom I didn’t know. Sparse black and gray hair stuck out from his very round head. His lips were so thin they were little more than edges for his mouth. He wore his shirt unbuttoned at the neck,making room for a substantial double chin. In spite of the cold weather, he wiped sweat off his forehead.
Each of them clutched a small folded sheet of paper.
I forced a little smile. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what we’d like to know!” said Aunt Birdie. “The gall. The unmitigated gall! How could you do this to your own aunt?”
Zelda and I exchanged a look.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The three of them glanced at one another.
“You first,” said Birdie.
“No, no. You’re family. You go first,” protested Peaches.
I reached across the reception desk and each of them sheepishly handed over their slips of paper. With Zelda looking over my shoulder, I unfolded them one at a time. Evidently they hadn’t seen one another’s papers because they all leaned over to read them upside down.
The first one said:
Peaches Clodfelter’s daughter is in prison.
The second one was worse.
Larry Pierce, chef at Café Chat, is having an affair with Peaches Clodfelter.
I looked up at the chubby man. “I presume you’re Larry Pierce?”
“What if my wife hears about this?”
I could see panic in his eyes. I unfolded the third one.
Birdie Dupuy stalks Max Hemmerich.
I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. I couldn’t imagine Max, a sophisticated bookaholic, being interested in staid Aunt Birdie.
She had turned the color of cooked beets. “That’s just not true! I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”
Peaches guffawed. “Not true? It’s hysterically funny! You follow that man everywhere.”
“I do not. But I bet your daughter Prissy looks awful in those orange prison jumpsuits.”
Peaches gasped. “How can you be so cruel? You know that’s the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
Could they all be true? I read them again. The only one I knew for sure was that Peaches Clodfelter’s daughter was in prison. I eyed Larry and Peaches. An unlikely couple, but didn’t they say opposites attract? And hadn’t Aunt Birdie arrived at the meeting last night on Max’s heels? “I’m sorry about this, but I don’t know why you came here. I didn’t have anything to do with these,” I said.
“You’re the mayor,” spat Peaches. “You have to do something!”
“I am not the mayor. Oma is the mayor, and she’s away. There must be some kind of vice mayor or someone filling in for her.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I realized that old Mr. Wiggins was the vice mayor. No wonder
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