“Well, maman wanted me to check on you, see if you needed any more dinners made for you,” Zed told her. “She’s loving having more people to cook for.”
Ingrid emerged with an enormous dish of ice cream, stacked with many flavors, whipped cream, bananas, and sprinkles.
“Good gravy,” Cordelia marveled.
“We call it the Mayoral Special,” Ingrid told her. “If anyone else can finish it alone, we immediately rush them to the clinic.”
Zed tied his hair back and dug in. “I regret nothing.”
Cordelia spent a pleasant hour in the shop, chatting with Bonita and Zed over ice cream. Zed did in fact, finish his Mayoral Special without having to seek medical attention. By the time Zed needed to leave for a meeting with Bael, she felt much better about her weird interaction with Brendan and mankind in general.
With her stomach full and her mind at ease, Cordelia walked back toward the research village. She needed to check in with Jillian, avoid Brendan, maybe go to the library. Zed said they had a heck of a collection of books on the paranormal. But he wasn’t allowed in the building anymore, for reasons.
Passing the grocery store, she eyed the stately brick library building across the street, wondering if she should stop there first. Probably not. She hadn’t brought a set of gloves to protect her from those highly circulated books, no matter how lovely. She turned back towards the village, nearly bumping into a large body. She jumped back before any sort of vision could form in her head.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, recognizing one of the men she’d met at the pie shop. The man with the walrus mustache, who had pothole problems. Waylon? Whit? Walt!
“That’s all right,” he said, shuffling the bags of groceries he was carrying. “I should have watched where I was going.”
“Do you need help carrying those, Walt?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, it’s not that much with me shopping for one. Still getting used to that.”
She seemed to recall that he mentioned his wife, Lettie, passing before he moved to Mystic Bayou. “How long since your wife passed?”
She could have laid hands on him and figured it out herself, but she figured this was more polite.
“About a year now,” he said. “I thought maybe a change of scenery would do me some good, but I miss her just as much here as I did back home. It’s not something you plan for, being alone. Hard to make the adjustment.”
Cordelia wondered if Walt and Bonita might get along. They were both lonely and…well, she didn’t have much more to go on, besides that, but she’d seen relationships built on less.
“Forgive a nosy old man, but you and that young man at the pie shop the other day. The Irish fella. Are you an item?” he asked. She burst out laughing, because apparently, Walt’s thoughts were also running towards matchmaking.
“Oh, no, Brendan’s just my neighbor. And my coworker. Partners on a project together, actually.”
“So, clearly, you have nothing in common,” Walt scoffed.
“I don’t really date,” she said. “Difficult history.”
“Sweetie, you’re too young to have a difficult history,” he said, waving her off dismissively. “I’ve spent a lot of time alone and let me tell you. Life is better when you’ve got somebody.”
“I will keep that in mind,” she promised.
“Well, if your tastes run toward older men who can cook for themselves, let me know.” He raised his grocery bags and gave her a wink, making her laugh again. “Can I walk you back to your trailer?”
“Thanks, but no, I have to make a stop first,” she said. “Nice to see you, Walt.”
“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Walt called.
As she walked toward Jillian’s trailer, it occurred to her that she’d had more conversations that day than she’d had over the span of weeks when she was in DC. She’d expected herself to be exhausted, drained to the point of needing to nap, but instead…she felt fine. Cheered up, even. Maybe she was becoming a more social creature? Maybe she would emerge from this bayou as less of a hermit.
Probably not.
She walked into the lobby to find an affable young man behind the welcome desk. Before she could introduce herself, “Leonard” waved her in.
“Hello, Ms. Canton. Jillian said you could stop in anytime, no questions asked.”
She laughed. “Well, that is a liberal policy.”
“Oh, trust me it is,” he insisted. “She’s not that way with just anyone. That should tell you how important she thinks your work is.”
Cordelia poised her hand to knock on Jillian’s door, only for it to swing open. Jillian beamed at her, putting her arms forward as if to pull Cordelia into the office. But she stopped herself. “Hi! I’m so glad you stopped by. I’ve been so worried, but Brendan assured me that he sensed regular movement inside the trailer.”
Jillian motioned for Cordelia to sit in one of the comfy chairs in front of her desk and she took her own seat.
“I was, I am. Honestly, I was probably more embarrassed than anything else. I’m so sorry, Jillian. The artifact just overwhelmed me,” Cordelia said. “I appreciate all of the time you’re giving me to recover…and the daily reminder emails. I feel very protected here. Not all League supervisors treat their employees this way.”
“Honestly, I would have been shocked if something like this didn’t happen,” Jillian assured her. “It was an experiment. And now we know how much the casket affects you. Just rest up and try again.” She pulled a notebook from a pile on her desk and poised a pen over. “But I can’t help but notice that your report is a little sparse on the detail, other than ‘I passed out.’ Can you tell me anything about what you saw when you made contact with the casket?”
“I didn’t see anything, to be honest,” Cordelia confessed. “All I felt was this longing. It’s really strange. It’s like no one has ever touched this thing. I couldn’t feel any human emotion coming off of it. I only felt the thing inside it because its emotions are so strong. It’s nothing but pure want. I’m not sure it is human or shifter or anything we’ve ever seen.”
Jillian frowned. “That lines up with what Dani said. Any thoughts as to what it could be?”
“Old. It’s been this sad and this strong for a very long time. And it’s getting impatient.”
“I want you to be careful,” Jillian told her. “Even more careful than you have been. Treat the casket like a hostile witness, as it were.”
“No problem,” said Cordelia.
Jillian’s expression softened. “And Brendan? How’s your working relationship with him? He seemed very concerned about your well-being.”
Only years of practice kept Cordelia’s facial response in check. What sort of game was Brendan pulling, pretending to care about her to Jillian while pushing her to return to work? Her disappointment with Brendan fell even deeper. Being pushy with Cordelia was one thing. He wasn’t the first and she doubted he would be the last. But sucking up to their superiors by singing the song of the oh, so very concerned? That was just sneaky and dishonest.
Cordelia thought about telling her about Brendan’s aggressive insistence that morning, but it felt like, well, tattling. He hadn’t insulted her or created a hostile work environment. He’d just been a jerk. Coworkers were allowed to be jerks to each other every so often as long as it didn’t become a pattern. And seeing her mother in her backyard? Well, how was she supposed to explain something that even she didn’t understand?