“So much gut,” she said.
I shook my head but couldn’t hide my smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
She waggled her eyebrows and followed me into the gym.
“Delaney Reed,” Bertie snapped as soon as I stepped through the door. “Jean. We’ve been waiting.” Her tone of voice made it sound like she’d been waiting for hours, but I knew the meeting didn’t even start for another five minutes.
Still, one does not piss off a Valkyrie if one does not want to be made the tasting judge of every weird cooking contest said Valkyrie dreams up.
Images of the time I’d been roped into judging the Rhubarb Rally flickered behind my eyes, and I shuddered.
Never again.
I scanned the room. Bertie was behind the podium at the front. Folding chairs spread out in an arc before her. She looked like a spry, business-savvy octogenarian, her short white hair choppy and her suit jacket a deep, rich plum.
Her gold fingernails were set off by the hoop earrings, chunky bracelets, and cascade of jeweled necklaces she wore. Her eyes were sharp, her make up on point. She posed there, as if perched atop a mountain, scanning the cliffs below for things to kill.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said easily. I strolled to the left where Myra already sat, saving three seats, which seemed odd since there was only Jean and me, but I figured someone would be joining us.
She did these sorts of things automatically. All part of her gift. Right place, right time.
Jean eased down to the chair next to Myra, dropped the mallet into the row in front of her, and sat. I took the seat next to her.
The conversations in the room picked up again. I took a little time cataloging who had come out into the teeth of a storm to listen to Bertie list all the festivals and events she was going to drag us through this year.
The line up didn’t change all that often. The people in attendance were humans, gods, and supernaturals—shop keepers, bed and breakfast owners, restaurant managers, the bowling alley guy, and putt-putt golf owner—who all benefited from the tourist traffic the events brought in.
Mixed in with the business owners were folks who headed up local charities, and hobbyists who were also funded by T-shirt, souvenir, and craft sales at their booths. Then there were the usual handful of volunteers who showed up no matter what the event.
Bertie sorted through sheets of paper, then tapped a stack to line up the edges, and walked out from behind the podium.
“Let’s pass these out,” she said, handing half the stack to a guy named Curt in the first row. He took a sheet and passed the stack to his right. Bertie stalked in front of the gathering, moving to some sort of internal pendulum of her own.
At exactly the top of the hour, she turned and clapped her hands.
“Welcome everyone. I’m pleased to see you’ve come out today despite the rain, as this is one of the most important meetings I’ll be holding this year.”
I settled back. This was the same script I’d heard every January meeting for at least a decade.
“Ordinary is renowned for our delightful, entertaining, and charitable community events,” she said. “This year, I’d like to mix it up a bit.”
Myra leaned toward me and Jean. “Her sister Valkyrie in Boring, Oregon, just announcedherlist of festivals,” Myra whispered. She thumbed through her phone screen, then handed it to me.
I read through them. “They’re all Bertie’s festivals,” I whispered back.
Myra nodded.
“Oh, gods,” I said. “She stole her festivals. This is going to be a train wreck, isn’t it?”
“Chief Reed,” Bertie called out. “Did you have a comment you’d like to share?”
“No. Nope.” I said. “Just exchanging information on a case. About trains. Uh, wrecking.” It was a lie, but luckily no one in the room had the ability to read minds.
Or at least I hoped they didn’t.
“When I say mix it up,” Bertie said, back on track, “what I intend is to invigorate Ordinary’s offerings. To really create something exciting and new that no one can easily copy or steal.
“The paper you have lists last year’s most successful events. To the right of those are my suggested changes. You will note that many of the seasonal events will remain the same structurally but may change in detail or focus. For example, the Rhubarb Rally will now be the Strawberry Jamboree. Many of the same events will be held—the pie contests, canning contests, and, of course, art, but instead of basing the event on rhubarb, we will base it on strawberries. Any questions?”
