As for Than, it was time for his walkabout to be over. I needed all hands on deck in order to cover everything that was happening. That meant the god of death had to come back and pull his weight as one of our Reserve Officers.
Dinghy Street was busy with people coming and going. Pickup trucks and vans lined either side of the road, and a variety of supplies and building materials were being ported from the vehicles to the Grand Old Ordinary Show Off stage.
And it was grand. Just two days ago, this had been nothing but a dead end with a weedy piece of dirt behind it, and behind that, the chalk line snap of the Pacific edging the sky.
Now it looked like the Hollywood Bowl made out of a patchwork quilt of wood. The stage sat beneath an arched ceiling that stretched back like the inside of a cornucopia. Different shades and types of wood created each of those inner arcs, all sanded and polished to a rich glow.
Lights hadn’t been strung yet, nor curtains hung, but if the gorgeous green and purple and gold that I caught hints of among the supplies counted for anything, it was going to be a fabulous stage.
Much too pretty for even the best armpit farter.
The audience area was being prepared too. Since it was an outdoor event, there were places for blankets and chairs right up against the stage, and on the hilly rises on either side, which were two vacant grassy lots.
I knew Bertie would provide benches and chairs in neat rows for those who didn’t like sitting on the ground.
Another small structure was being built to the left of the stage. That would be for the contestants who were waiting their turn.
But even in a crowd of people—construction workers, designers, volunteers in purple and gold and green T-shirts withO, Show Offprinted across the back and front—Bertie sparkled like a jewel.
She wore a hot pink pantsuit, complemented by an orange and purple scarf, and so many bangles on her wrists I was surprised she could lift her hands to point at people, or check things off the clipboard she had tucked under her arm.
I parked my Jeep at the far end of the block and got out. The air was fresh and breezy and full of voices, laughter, and construction tools really going at it.
It was just cool enough, I was glad I’d thrown on my windbreaker.
Bertie’s voice carried over all the rest of the noise. “No, I want the aisles wider. You are placing wheelchair access to the outside, correct? If not, I could assign you to something with fewer moving parts. How do you feel about sweeping the sidewalks?”
Tark, the man in front of her and currently the target of her scorn, was part troll. He just rolled his eyes at her. “How many years, Bertie? How many years have I done this?” He hefted six folding chairs in each hand.
“Correctly or without complaining?”
“Both.”
“Zero.”
He chuckled and puckered an air kiss her way. “You know you love me.”
“I do nothing of the kind.”
“That’s all right,” he said, already backing away with the chairs and a big old grin. “I love you enough to make up for it.”
And then I saw something I’d never see in my life. Bertie blushed.
She actually bit her bottom lip and her whole face went an adorable shade of pink, totally clashing with her pantsuit.
What in the hell? Bertie never clashed. Never.
Did she have a crush on Tark? Were they dating? With some effort, I pulled my gaze away from Bertie and stared after Tark.
He’d turned his back and was lumbering toward the stage, carrying those chairs like they were feathers. Half troll meant he was short—the top of his thick, black curls put him a few inches under five feet. It also gave him massive shoulders, a barrel body, and legs like steam train pistons.
He was funny, a little grumpy, and a total powerhouse. I could appreciate all those things about him.
When I turned back to Bertie, it looked like she was appreciating all those things about him too.
Don’t tease the Valkyrie, Delaney. No teasing,my sense of self-preservation warned.
“Looks like somebody’s got a boyfriend,” I sing-songed. What could I say? My sense of self-preservation wasn’t worth missing out on this chance.
