The Witch is in the Details Page 2

  “But this is—” Zinnia shook her head with an explosive sigh. “You’re still coming, right Nann?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You told the Paines you’d come.”

  Nann fudged. “But my door is broken.”

  Tink snorted. The shop goblin could smell the magic barring the door.

  “Besides, I might have customers.”

  It was Zinnia’s turn to snort. Maybe she couldn’t smell magic, but she ran the gallery on the far side of the building. She certainly could smell bullshit.

  “Fine. I’ll go.”

  Tink put pieces of lock in the pocket of her coveralls. “I’ll get to work on this. You’re going to owe me lunch.”

  “Cricket says she needs an oil change,” Nann said. “Lunch for the lock, and genuine money for the auto maintenance.”

  “Deal.” Tink wandered back to her ancient Chevy tow truck.

  Nann waited for her to drive away. Beneath her Rosie the Riveter bandana, Tink had huge pointed ears. “I didn’t realize Tink hated the mill so much.”

  “Well, even though she’s a shop goblin, she’s still Fae. They don’t like anything that harms the environment.”

  As a Druid, neither did Nann. As a Druid, she also hated to see most of the community out of work. The papermill was in a state of suspended animation, and had been for decades, not quite shut down, not quite running. Maybe the demonstration would change her mind.

  Half an hour later, they stood in the vast, empty pile of dark bricks. Nann said hello to the Paines. Hell, they were both paying customers. Better to schmooze than not schmooze. The concrete floor was evenly pitted with holes, indicators of the giant machines that once stood. Now, only a few pieces of equipment remained, not taking up nearly enough space. Funny, Nann thought, how most of the places around Calamity Corners were overly large and mostly empty.

  A voice boomed over a makeshift PA system. “Hello everyone, I’m Bob Reynolds. On behalf of the Amity Corners Papermill Employee Buy-out Committee, welcome.” Nann knew Bob. He was a member of the local vampire hunters club. She noticed a bunch of them here, apparently they were mill employees when they weren’t hunting vampires.

  “That’s an awkward name,” Nann whispered to Zinnia.

  “We tried an anagram, but ACPEBOC was even more awkward.” Zinnia pointed out members of Nationwide Paper’s board of directors. “You know the Paines. That’s Sam Laden, CFO; Brock Miller, corporate secretary; and Joe Fitzgerald, vice president.”

  Miller walked around as if he were about to fall down at any given moment. Fitzgerald was glad-handing, patting the workers on the back. Laden kept his hands in his suit coat pockets and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet.

  “So Roger is CEO and Cindy is, what?”

  “Another VP. She’s—”

  “Let’s start with Branden Morris and our new beaters,” Zinnia was cut off by the PA, followed by golf tourney applause. Zinnia let out a ‘yay!’ and gripped Nann’s shoulder. Nann was pretty sure the two were dating. Branden, along with his friend Jim, had painted her store. They had also been hired to kidnap Pokey. Of course jobs were tough to come by around here. Still, she was on the fence about the two of them.

  Branden’s face beamed like a stoplight as he took the mic. “Well, um, first of all, these aren’t new beaters. They were considered obsolete when the rest of the machines were... Anyway, even though they aren’t efficient at pulping wood, they work really well for other materials. This one is for recycled cotton fibers. This one is for renewable plants like flax and hemp.”

  “Woo-hoo!” “Four-twenty!”

  Nann didn’t see who called out. It served to make Branden stammer, his color deepening.

  “Not that kind of hemp. Like rope. Industrial. Anyway.”

  He stepped back and hit two hanging switches. The machines looked like enormous bathtubs with a big gear on one side. Water gushed in from above. Shredded fabric moved on a belt to the first. A bunch of broken up twigs rolled into the second. As the gears started to turn, Nann understood the need for the PA.

  “It’s more expensive to pulp hemp than flax,” Branden belted out, “and there are cheap sources of linen recyclables. Flax makes linen. But for strength, you can’t beat hemp.”

  The ancient machines ground on. Nann had to take a step back from the noise. Standing apart from the others, she saw Roger Paine gesticulating wildly at Sam Laden. Sam, scowling, arms folded, merely shook his head. After a few moments, Cindy intervened, dragging the two men back to the demonstration.

  Soon, both tubs were filled with foamy white slurry. Branden kept a running commentary. Nann eyed Zinnia. “This is boring.”

  “Just wait. It gets better.”

  Nann doubted it. An acrid smell filled the air, heat and humidity rising. Branden kept on, talking about cooking the pulp, and how this batch didn’t need a lot of bleach, but the fibers did need breaking down. Nann now understood Tink’s aversion to the smell. The grinding roar continued for nearly half an hour.

  Mentally, she compiled of things she’d rather be doing right now. Cleaning the public restrooms in the store. Getting a bikini wax. Shoveling Pokey poop into the compost bin. Instead, Nann watched the slurry roll down a trough into a vat. Bob took over the mic. “I’m sure we’ve all seen paper made by hand, but probably not like this.”

  Jim the painter, Branden’s friend, stood on one side of the vat, a guy she didn’t know on the other. Together, they angled a six-foot square frame into the bubbly white goo. After a couple swishes, they counted three, gave it a shake, and pulled it out. Two other guys, one of them Rascal Metzger, another local vampire hunter, peeled a wet sheet from the frame. They placed it on a pallet. A fifth guy spread some sort of fabric over the first sheet. The process started again.

  Nann returned to her list: colonoscopy, a round of eyebrow and nose hair plucking, shaving her legs. After a hundred million years, the five guys finished making a substantial stack of paper. A sixth guy pulled up in a forklift and whisked the pallet away. The crowd followed. Nancy considered walking all the way back to the store. But Zinnia pulled her along.

  As Nann turned, she bumped into a broad-shouldered guy with Grecian Formula hair. He smelled strongly of mouthwash. What was his name? Brock Miller.

  “Pardon me, Miss.” It sounded like he’d swallowed gravel, but he had a nice smile. Nann noticed a touch of sadness in the man’s eyes.

  They watched a huge press squeeze the water out of the paper. They watched it take a ride on a conveyor belt. They watched as each sheet was picked up with its cloth cover and dragged through the air like a sail. Bob gave the play-by-play. He talked about drying, sizing, and a bunch of stuff Nann had no idea about.

  “Blah-blah-blah,” she whispered to Zinnia. “This is boring.”

  Zinnia shushed her. “The board looks really interested.”

  Pulling hair out of the shower drain, her thoughts returned to things she’d rather be doing; waiting at the DMV, doing taxes. Brock stepped away from the crowd, taking a nip from a pocket flask. Maybe that was the secret to enjoying this.

  “Now, before you think that this semi-hand made process is all we have going, let me introduce you to an old friend,” Bob walked the crowd to another part of the mill. “She may be nineteenth century technology, but she still works just as well today as she did in 1914. There are only a few like her left in the world, mostly in Europe.”

  Bob walked along a squat machine. In the middle was a giant wheel made of wire mesh. “Modern versions of this machine are mostly used in soft paper production, as we all know. But this particular machine predates cheap and readily available wood pulp. Because Fourdrinier machines work well with wood pulp, they became the standard. This old girl was sidelined. However, if fed the proper diet of rag, linen and hemp, she makes what we feel is the finest paper in the world. Gentlemen?”

  Nann was hoping for a dance number. The buy-back committee, minus Zinnia, took positions at the machine. A swi
tch was thrown. She felt her teeth rattle in her skull and took a step back. The big wheel spun through a trough of slurry. An endless sheet of paper rolled away, back the way they had come. The guys huddled at their stations over heavy rolls or big steel boxes. The machine chugged away.

  She checked the time on her phone. Looked at Facebook. Checked her on-line orders—oops, one to send out. Zinnia frowned at her. Eventually, the din subsided. They followed along the paper path to a take-up roll. Bob went to a shelf and retrieved a sheaf of previously cut paper. He passed it around.

  “A watermark can easily be added for security paper. This is guaranteed not to fade for about a century, good for archival material,” Bob went on. Roger held a sheet up to the light of a high window. Joe Fitzgerald and Cindy marveled over a sheet. Sam Laden used his cell phone’s calculator. Nann noticed a sparkling flash on his left hand before it, the other hand and the phone disappeared into his pockets again. Wedding ring? Brock Miller quickly passed his sheet of paper back.

  “With this proof of concept, the finest nineteenth century-style paper, along with the finest art paper, and our financiers’ backing, we hope you’ll accept our plan to purchase this mill from Nationwide, and allow us to produce this paper for the company. Thank you all for coming.”

  Roger stepped next to Bob and took the mic. “Thank you all for this demonstration. I know a lot of volunteer time went into it. I will make my announcement regarding the buy-back program at the town hall meeting tomorrow night. For the rest of the day, since most of our board members are natives to this part of the country, I suggest you enjoy a day on Lake Ontario before it’s back to the grindstone.”

  He smiled at the smattering of applause.

  Laden moved closer to Cindy. “You know, a couple more hand vats and deckles, a couple shifts on the mold machine, and this place could run in the black.”

  “In the black,” Cindy agreed, “and the green.”

  He turned toward Nann. “Nann, right, with two n’s at the end? What do you think?”

  “Oh, I don’t know anything about papermaking.”

  “Perfect.” Laden’s hands were shoved in his suit coat pockets. Nann wondered at his body language. He didn’t seem to lack self-confidence. Maybe he had something to hide. “I’d appreciate an outsider’s perspective.”

  “It seems like all positives,” Nann said. “Guys get to go back to work, the environment isn’t impacted so much, the company gets to sell unique products.”

  Sam Laden raised his brows at Cindy. “Everyone is happy.”

  Cindy’s eyes were elsewhere. Nann followed. She saw Roger, Cindy’s father, face dark, expression grimly thoughtful.

  Chapter 3

  Tink had Cricket up on a lift. “So how’d it go?”

  “Boring.” Nann stood in the office doorway looking on. “But the board seemed impressed. Sort of.”

  “I hate that mill. I get it, people are all out of work, hanging on, waiting to be rehired or finally cut loose. But look at all the damage the company did. The waste-sludge mountain range. The first growth forest cut down.” Tink did something with a wrench and lowered Cricket to the ground. “Y’know, industry like that killed Lake Erie for a while. It’s still recovering. I don’t want Ontario to go the same way.”

  Nann nod-shrugged. “I know what you mean. That cooking, grinding machine smelled like the bathroom after Aunt Nancy used it following a fruit salad cleanse.”

  “I think it’s good they’re going greener. But still...” Tink grabbed a hanging hose and plugged it into Cricket’s engine. “Everything looks okay. You’ll need brake pads with your next oil change.”

  Half an hour later, Nann exited the Topps Market in Port Argent. When she put the bags in the back, she overheard a heated argument. Across the street, a group of people exited a restaurant. Nann recognized Barb Buford, real estate agent, and Blake Simmons, Port Argent town councilor. The two of them were mixed up in a company called Shoreline Properties, LLC. Nann thought their plan was to buy up land along the shore of Lake Ontario and make it into an extended resort. More importantly, she was convinced they nearly stole her house.

  The man they were arguing with was Roger Paine. Well, that was interesting. Nann was pretty sure the mill was a property the redevelopment company was trying to get ahold of. If they were arguing with Paine, did that mean the mill was going to reopen? She tried to get closer without them noticing. Before she could get within earshot, they parted, stalking to their vehicles and driving off.

  Steeped in schadenfreude over Lakeshore Properties’ woes, she drove home to a night of pig scratching and binge-watching Netflix.

  “YOU GOT ANY PAINT LEFT over? You’ll need to finish this new frame board.” Tink sat on the sidewalk, putting the lock on the store back together. The shop goblin stuck out her tongue in concentration.

  Zinnia flounced out of the gallery doorway and headed toward them. She wore a red dress with polka dots and heels. Blonde tresses were gathered in a sophisticated updo. Tink shot a look over her shoulder.

  “Date with Branden?”

  “No, the town council meets tonight. Roger Paine is going to announce the mill opening.”

  Tink made a huffing sound and returned to her work.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high, Zinnia,” Nann said. “We don’t know what he’s going to say.” Although if Lakeshore Properties was upset with him, what else could it be?

  “Don’t be negative. I’ve worked hard on this buy-back thing.” Zinnia’s brows drew together as she looked her two friends over. “You are coming to the meeting, aren’t you?”

  “No.” Tink said.

  “Eh...” Nann said.

  Zinnia stamped a heel. “You have to come! This is a big deal for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get five guys to agree on anything? Do you know how boring it is talking with venture capitalists and bankers? Even if this goes through, I’m not even a mill employee. I just get some crappy dividend. Probably less than I’m getting now. Say you’ll be there.”

  “All right, all right, don’t go all alligator on us,” Tink said.

  Zinnia glanced furtively up and down the street. “Ixnay on the lligator-ay, Elf!”

  “Well, ixnay on the leff-, liff-,” Tink shook her head, unable to come up with pig Latin for elf. “Shut up with the Fae talk.”

  Nann held up her hands. “Don’t fight, you two. I’ll go to the meeting, Zinnia. I know it’s important to you.”

  “Thanks, Nann.”

  “Even if it is all about getting closer to Branden.”

  Zinnia fisted her ample hips. “Is not!”

  Tink finished and stood up. “We’ll all go. We’ll listen to the council talk about not having a budget for anything. We’ll listen to Paine’s announcement. Then you’re buying us a couple rounds at Margie’s.”

  “Domestic?”

  Tink snorted and folded her arms. “Top shelf girl-drinks, baby. The sweeter the better.”

  “Fine. Great to know I can bribe my friends into doing something important to me.” Zinnia stalked back to her gallery.

  “That dress is really cute on you, by the way,” Nann called.

  Tink added: “Those shoes make you almost adult height.”

  Zinnia gave them the finger and entered the building.

  “I love giving her a hard time,” Tink said. “It’s funny when she gets all feisty. All that teeny-tiny anger.”

  “It’s all fun and games until she turns into an alligator and bites your foot off,” Nann said.

  “Oh yeah, huh?” Tink’s face slackened in consideration. “Although I’ve only known her to take really long bubble baths when the moon changes her. I think we’re pretty safe from her inner gator.”

  As Tink predicted, the meeting was a long litany of budget whining, discussion tabling, proposals, and other sleep-inducing topics. Not wanting to drive home and back, Nann spent a few extra hours in the store going over the catalogs for new releases, searching eBay for deals, pack
aging a late order for the morning mail. Still, she’d arrived early. That gave her the opportunity to sit way in the back.

  Despite the boredom of local politics, the room was packed. She watched Barb Buford, Blake Simmons and company arrive to huddle on the far side of the room. Barb gave Nann a single dirty look.

  She recognized members of the local vampire hunter society, at least the ones who worked at the mill, in attendance. The bulk of the people she didn’t know, but assumed they also had a stake in the mill reopening. Or closing. Tink arrived, dressed in her mechanic’s onesie, and sat next to Nann.

  “Good seats,” she said, putting her boots on the chair in front of her.

  But when Zinnia got there, she dragged the both of them to the front row. It made it tough to fall asleep up there without being noticed. Nann endured quietly. Tink’s head bobbed a few times, which earned her an elbow from Zinnia.

  “While the following item is not on the agenda, and is technically part of the public speaking, we are indulging an announcement from Roger Paine, president and CEO of Nationwide Paper, regarding the Amity Corner’s mill,” a town supervisor announced.

  The air tensed. Nann saw reporters with notebooks leaning forward. Men shouldering cameras moved forward from the back of the room. Roger Paine took the podium to polite applause. He gave his daughter Cindy a nod. Nann noticed Cindy stone faced and rigid, knuckles white as her hands clutched the arm rests of her chair. The other board members sat around her, eyes locked on the company president. Sam put a reassuring hand on Cindy’s shoulder.

  Nann saw Brock Miller pull a flask from his pocket and take a nip. That would probably make the meeting more interesting, she thought. “Here, here,” Miller toasted.

  “Thank you for indulging me, councilors.” Paine took a few three-by-five cards from his pocket, bumping the edges straight on the podium, hesitating for a moment. Nann thought he looked confused. Gathering himself, he leaned closer to the microphone.