7. Callum
Callum
Hey, Cal, it’s Tammy. And Jeff! Can you believe it was fifteen years ago to the date when we surprised you boys with Columbus Crew tickets?
With all the jumping up and down, it was impossible to get a clear shot, but the blurry picture popped up on my phone today.
We practically had to drag you out of the stadium, because you didn’t want to say goodbye.
It’s funny how the tides turn. Now, we’re the ones having a hard time saying goodbye.
Even when we visit him, it’s always “see you later” or “until next time.” Do…
Do you ever visit him? A few months ago, we saw a hacky sack nearby, and we thought you might’ve gone to the…
Sorry. Just had something stuck in my throat.
Well, we won’t say goodbye to you either, Cal. For now, we’ll say, we love you. And we’re here, waiting for you, whenever you want to see us.
* * *
Am I stalking her? This definitely feels like stalking, but she told me to come to her office. To my surprise, it’s in the town square. I’ve passed it multiple times, and if I’d been paying attention to anything other than a work assignment, I would’ve seen it.
I glance at my watch. 8:00 a.m. She said “stop by next week,” and first-thing-Monday-morning is technically next week, in the way that stores jump the gun by putting up Christmas displays before Halloween.
But I couldn’t wait any longer; my curiosity nearly killed my cat.
Literally. I exhausted Zebra with my nervous energy, and now she won’t even look at me.
The idea of finally getting answers from Peyton kept me up even later than usual last night. I didn’t try to look her up on my own. I want her to tell me. I’m buzzing with anticipation as I run through all sorts of employment scenarios in my head.
I’m nearly positive they’d train on accents at Quantico.
Unless her American accent is also fake, and she’s a sleeper cell spy.
But a covert operation in Waterton seems unlikely, and good agents don’t invite you to their base, so that’s out.
I also crossed criminal-on-the-run off my list. Kevin does background checks on staff, and jail time would’ve come up.
My list of options is so whittled down that I only have professional prankster business??? and victim of memory loss???? left.
The decal on her glass door says “Good Taste” in sage-green letters, nearly identical to the color of her eyes.
From the outside, the space looks nice. Ivory and green pumpkins rest on a couple of hay bales, which are covered with plaid flannel blankets.
Yellow lights line the border of the window, reflecting off the pane.
I check myself out in the glass, sighing at my work uniform.
Peyton has seen me in khakis and a white polo a concerning number of times.
Nothing I can do about it now. I twist the watch on my wrist nervously—I have an inspection after this.
While I could rearrange my schedule, I try to visit establishments during their slowest times of day if I can.
No use adding stress on management during peak hours.
Should I wait outside for a while? Overhead lighting is on inside the shop, but I don’t see anyone inside.
No. I’m going to go in. I think.
Stop looking in the window like a weirdo.
A bell chimes when I walk through the door.
The forest green wallpaper is the first thing I notice.
White birch tree branches appear to be painted on the paper, and the attention to detail on the shading is nice.
A few plants hang from the ceiling in ivory netting.
I take a seat next to a copper-colored end table in one of the leather armchairs by the front window.
“Shit!” A woman’s voice cuts through the silence. I’m not familiar with the low, annoyed tone, so I mind my business and stay seated, bopping my knee up and down.
“Double shit!” That’s Peyton’s voice, and I get up to follow it.
I navigate around cardboard boxes stacked to half my height until I find them in a walk-in closet.
A blue-haired woman holds the bottom of a small ladder that’s clearly only for display, scooting it back and forth underneath the ceiling. On top of the ladder is…
“Peyton? What’re you doing up there?”
The woman with blue hair startles, nearly letting go of the decorative ladder, and Peyton lurches to the right. I immediately grab the middle of the ladder to steady it.
“Jesus, Callum! You scared us!” Peyton shrieks, hugging the top of the ladder.
I’m grateful they can’t see what’s surely a blush climbing up my neck. “I’m sorry. I heard a commotion and wanted to make sure everything’s okay… I mean, you, um, invited me to visit. Remember?”
The blue-haired woman quickly glances my way. “You’re Peyton’s Callum? Oh my God! Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you, because of… well. Um, sorry, again. Nevermind. Anyway, I’m Romy. How’s Christopher? You probably don’t remember me, but I used to take lessons from him.”
Her awkward introduction-apology doesn’t even register, because I’m too busy focusing on the part where she referred to me as Peyton’s Callum.
Peyton squeaks. “Um, Romy? Callum? Girl clinging to the top of a rickety ladder up here!”
“We’re trying to reach the batteries on the top shelf to replace the smoke detectors,” Romy adds.
I frown and reach up to yank on the short pull chain hanging down from the lightbulb. “You don’t have working smoke detectors here? How long have they been out of operation?”
She sniffs. “It’s not like it’s a violation or anything.”
My brows knit together. “It is a violation, Peyton. It’s literally a violation. If I was inspecting you—erm, I mean—your office, I wouldn’t give you an ass—pass. I wouldn’t give you a pass.”
“Jesus,” Romy murmurs.
Peyton shrugs. “We aren’t under your jurisdiction, Inspector. Nary a raw bird in sight. And other than Romy’s cedar bundle and a few candles, we’ve never set fire to anything in here. You have nothing to worry about.”
My mouth twists. “And while that reassurance inspires a lot of confidence, I still recommend detectors that work.” With one arm wrapped around the ladder, I stand on my toes to reach up with the other to grab a pack of batteries on the top shelf of the closet.
“Here.” I hand them to Romy before looking at Peyton. “Now you can get down.”
“Actually, I’ll trade you jobs.” Romy sets the batteries down on the bottom shelf and reaches out to take my place steadying the ladder.
For a moment, I wonder why. Then I realize that Peyton hasn’t moved an inch, like she’s waiting for me to move.
I carefully peel myself away from the ladder, and Romy takes over. I grab the batteries, and Peyton takes it one rung at a time, her legs brushing Romy’s side on the way down. On my way out of the closet, I bump into something soft.
“Is this a seahorse costume?”
“Yep!” Peyton says cheerily.
“Why would you have a…? Nevermind,” I sigh, as we all head back toward the main area.
Peyton sits down in her office chair. “You’re probably wondering…” She trails off when she sees me grab the small foot rest next to her desk and slide it underneath the hanging smoke detector.
“Keep going,” I tell her as I replace the batteries.
But neither of them speaks, looking on from their desks in silence.
I glance at Peyton in the middle of reaching for a detector, wondering why everyone’s so quiet, but she’s just staring at me with her head softly tilted.
Her eyes go a little heavy-lidded, and I wonder if she’s somehow enjoying watching me changing the batteries.
I give it one more moment of thought before deeming the idea ridiculous.
Why do they even have battery-operated smoke detectors to begin with? Hard wired detectors are safest and within code compliance for businesses. Batteries are usually just back-up in case the power goes out.
Five minutes later, the batteries in all three detectors are replaced.
Romy blinks at me. “Wow. After the stress of the ladder situation, I was two minutes away from just, like, hiring that out.”
I scratch the stubble on my chin. “You would’ve paid someone to replace your smoke detector batteries?”
Romy smacks her lips. “Frankly, I’d pay someone to kill a bug on my behalf. Neither of us will do it.”
Peyton nods. “Usually, we just pretend we didn’t see the bug and go about our day until it vanishes. Then we don’t come back to the office until we forget that the bug ever existed.”
I sit in a rolly chair opposite Peyton’s desk. “And when you leave the office, you…”
Her eyes spark with delight. “Are you asking me what my job is, Inspector?”
Romy sighs. “Have mercy on the man, Peyton. He changed the batteries for free.”
“I am… drumroll please…” Peyton starts gently banging her desk.
“No. We’re not doing that,” Romy interjects.
“A tastemaker!” Peyton wiggles her fingers as she says the word.
I blink and wait patiently for context.
Peyton frowns. “Wow. I thought after all the build-up, you’d have more of a reaction. Not gonna lie, Callum, it kind of hurts.”
Shit. I rub the corner of my mouth nervously. “Sorry, I’m just waiting for an explanation. What’s a tastemaker?”
Her eyebrows reach her hairline, as if she’s somehow shocked I don’t already know. She clears her throat dramatically. “You’re asking the wrong question, Inspector. What you should be asking is, ‘What isn’t a tastemaker?’ Because we do a little bit of everything. Let me explain.”
She turns her monitor around toward me and scoots her chair to the side of her desk. With a click of her mouse, an image pops up on the screen.
“These are all the pictures I’ve taken over the past month at work.
The one you’re looking at right now is from an alumni event at a private high school about twenty minutes from here.
A few guests canceled at the last minute, and they had important donors attending, so they hired me to pose as a successful alum and work the room. ”
“What do you mean by ‘work the room?’”