Chapter 5
FREY
When Monday rolled around, I dreaded going to work. Right up until the last minute, I hoped some random thing would save me from the regular morning chit-chat with the council. Could we get an unexpected visit from the governor? Or maybe a flood? A small and non-lethal one, of course.
But as I walked down the main street toward the town hall, Beauville looked as sleepy and harmless as usual.
Jesse was sitting in his chair in the meeting room, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. I pulled out my laptop just to have something to do with my hands.
Chickie arrived next, looking smugger than ever, the bastard. He hung his hat on a hook by the door and sat opposite me.
“Morning,” I said, pretending to read something on my screen. I had zero new emails since last night, but Chickie couldn’t know that.
Morris, our volunteer fire chief who also oversaw the infrastructure maintenance, barged in a little breathless.
“Am I late?” he blurted, looking us over.
“No,” Jesse said, and turned to Chickie. “But where’s your kid?”
“Not a kid anymore,” Chickie replied. “He’ll be here. He’s looking at an apartment two doors down from here.”
“An apartment? Is he already fed up with you?”
My friend snorted. “Ollie’s a grown man. ’Course he wants to live on his own. He’s been taking care of himself in the city for four years. I told him the place above the post office was for rent, so he went to look at it.”
Jesse glanced at his watch, letting out a displeased grunt. But it wasn’t nine yet.
Oliver burst into the meeting room one minute before nine. He looked around, his gaze pausing on my face for only a split second. Then he pulled out the nearest chair and sat down.
“Good morning,” he said cheerily.
We replied in a chorus of hellos.
Jesse cracked his knuckles. “So. The start of a new era, huh?” He raised his eyebrows at Oliver, whose smile grew tense.
Then Monty came in late, but nobody expected him to be on time. Our parks and recreation officer took his job to heart—in a truly recreational manner.
“What did I miss?” he asked as he plonked down onto the last remaining chair to Chickie’s left.
I took a deep breath, and Jesse brushed his fingers over the keyboard, ready to take notes.
Except with the deep breath that was supposed to calm me, I drew in a hint of a smell.
I was so used to the dull scents of my coworkers that I barely noticed them anymore.
But this was Oliver. My mind got dragged back to a summer night ages ago, when this very scent filled my living room.
With all the scientific discoveries we’d made, why hadn’t we learned to erase certain memories? I’d pay a fortune to get rid of the images in my head.
The intricate lace pattern over pale skin.
My skin prickled, and the hair on my neck rose. I wanted nothing more than to burst into fur and run out of the meeting room with my ass on fire.
I cleared my throat.
“Morning, everyone. The first thing on the agenda today is an important addition to our team. I’m very happy we were able to recruit this amazingly talented young man. Let’s hear it for Oliver Klondike, our new treasurer.”
There. That sounded welcoming, but not too personal. My mouth was dry. I should have brought a glass of water.
The guys clapped, and Monty stomped his feet. “Go Ollie!”
Chickie was smiling like the sun. When the noise died down, Oliver spoke up.
“Thank you. I’m happy to be back in Beauville and excited to work here. I spoke with Mr. Hughes, and he agreed to come to the office a few times this week to help me get a smooth start.”
Damn, I should have thought of that myself. Jesse looked at me expectantly.
“That’s great. Thank you, Oliver. Um. What’s next?”
Morris dove under the desk and pulled something out of his backpack. “I got a couple of these again.”
He threw two papers into the middle of the table.
Jesse groaned. “Should we add them to the stack?”
I grabbed one sheet and read.
To Whom It May Concern,
I am writing regarding the so-called “fiber optic installation” project currently turning Maple Street into a dust bowl and obstacle course.
The constant banging, grinding, and beeping, starting as early as 7:03 a.m. (yes, I checked), is intolerable.
My windows are coated in a layer of dust on the inside. How is that even possible?
Furthermore, the workers seem to believe “temporary access” means jumping trenches to get to my mailbox.
Yesterday, I stepped into a pit of orange mud right in front of my door.
My shoes are ruined, and I’m attaching the receipt for a refund.
Additionally, the cones and tape have been arranged by someone with no understanding of geometry or common sense.
The Work Area sign is hidden inside a bush.
If this is progress, I’d rather go back to dial-up.
I expect the mayor and the Beauville public works director to take immediate action and put an end to this nonsense.
Sincerely
Edward Limbaum
“Who’s Edward Limbaum?” I asked. The letter was complete garbage, but who did it come from and why? I knew almost everyone in Beauville, but that name didn’t ring a bell. And why were so many humans suddenly writing us complaints on paper ? What was wrong with an old-fashioned email?
“He bought a cottage on Maple Street a month ago,” Chickie said. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times. A quiet mouse of an omega, big glasses, one of the remote-worker types.”
“The quiet mouse has a sharp quill,” I said.
I handed the letter to Chickie, and Oliver leaned closer to his father to read it. His scent was slowly infusing the air, and a part of me wanted to kick everyone else out so I could sniff it untainted.
Chickie shook his head. “What a pile of crap. I thought the guy looked reasonable.”
“Not long ago, everybody in town was screaming for a better internet connection,” Jesse said.
“We secure a grant, find a great contractor, get things moving, and now they’re sending complaints one after another.
What’s wrong with people? We told them it’s only going to take a month, tops, and we’re on schedule. ”
“Shouldn’t a remote worker want better internet?” Monty asked.
Oliver took the letter in one hand and lifted the other paper, likely a similar complaint. He looked from one to the other.
“This one is anonymous,” he murmured, studying them as if they were forensic evidence.
“Most of them are,” Morris said. “But a few were signed.”
“How many have you received?” Oliver asked.
“Erm. Around twelve, I think?”
“And have you spoken to the people who signed them?”
Morris glanced at me helplessly before looking at Oliver. “Not yet. We were going to. They started coming last week, and these two arrived only this morning.”
Oliver laid the papers on the table. “Why didn’t they email us?” he muttered to himself. “Common sense says most of them should have emailed.”
“Exactly,” I said emphatically.
After flashing me a quick smile, Oliver turned to Morris. “Can I see the others?”
Morris gave me another questioning look, and I shrugged. “Sure.”
He turned toward one of the filing cabinets lining the wall and rooted around in it. Then he handed Oliver a folder.
The room was silent as Oliver paged through the letters, sometimes holding them next to each other.
My scalp prickled, and my underbelly felt weird. The air going through my nostrils felt hotter and hotter. I tried to regulate my breathing. Did Oliver’s scent really have the power to mess with my head this much, or was it just because I was afraid to freak out that I was sort of freaking out?
Then he said, “These have been written by the same person and printed out on the same printer.”
I blinked.
“What?” Morris leaned forward, his expression blank. “How?”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Monty shuffled through a few letters and let out an incredulous laugh.
“You’re right. The font is different, but the ink is fading in the same place on every page.
Here at the bottom left corner. Besides, this guy sure likes the words ‘dust bowl.’ It’s here and here, and in this one, too. ”
“I bet poor Edward Limbaum has no idea someone wrote a complaint in his name,” Oliver said. He was grinning now, a pink flush on his cheeks. He looked happy with his discovery, as he should be.
“But who’s doing it?” Jesse asked.
Chickie slapped his palm on the desk. “Looks like I have a detective job on my hands. Nice catch, Ollie.”
“Thank you, Oliver,” I said, surprised my voice worked.
“Phew.” Morris slumped in his chair. “So nobody’s going to chuck eggs at me next time I take a walk across town?”
“One person might,” I said.
Morris threw me an annoyed look. “Like it was my idea to lay cables all over town.”
“The fiber optic project is great,” Oliver said. “This will boost the town more than anything that’s happened here in the last decade.”
Morris looked unconvinced, but Jesse jumped in with the next bullet on the agenda.
My staff discussed the upcoming solstice celebration and the summer market, and I let my thoughts drift. How come none of us noticed the similarities between the letters? And Oliver took one look at them… He was way too clever to be marinating here. He’d get bored and quit.
Good. Then I’ll be able to breathe again.
Suddenly, a chair screeched. Oliver stood. “Can I open the window?”
Jesse looked taken aback. “Of course. It’s getting hot in here, isn’t it?”
Oliver pressed himself through the gap between the chairs and the wall. Chickie and Morris had to move forward to let him pass. He struggled with the latch. Then the air in the stuffy room moved, and I inhaled a much-needed dose of oxygen. Thankfully, Oliver’s scent weakened.
“Thank you, Oliver,” I said without thinking.
He gave me a puzzled glance. “Of course.”