Tales of the Witch by Angela Zeman

Author:Angela Zeman [Zeman, Angela & Ebook Architects, Llc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Short Stories, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781453257067
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-06-05T04:00:00+00:00

THE WITCH AND UPRIGHT MAXWELL

OLD MRS. BACHRACH tottered, panting, across the vast room inhabited by the clerical staff of the Garden City, Long Island, brokerage firm. Like a flattened ship’s prow, a broad parcel wound several times with brown paper advanced before her, clutched to her chest. As she advanced, the tape holding the ends together broke loose and the paper unwound until she had a long tail of it drifting in her wake like a Chinese dragon in a New Year’s parade.

B.J. Maxwell hurried to her and grabbed the parcel a moment before the whole thing was due to disintegrate. She thrust it at him with a merry gasp. “I knew you’d catch us in time!” Her slightly askew features betrayed unshakeable good humor as she blew a wisp of frizzled hair away from her left eye.

His exasperation melted. Her constant cheer, like a force, kept him rushing to aid, to open, to carry, to shield Mrs. Naomi Bachrach from the difficulties she chronically attracted in her headlong progress through her happy world. He sometimes thought enviously of her untroubled point of view.

“B.J.,” she began as he piloted her to a comfortable chair in the windowless, glass-walled cubicle which served as his office. “Of all my friends, I think you’re truly the nicest one—now I mean this!” She pressed a hand to her billowing chest. “No matter how often I call, you stop and listen to my silly chatter when I know you’re busy with important things! No, I know it’s true, don’t try to be gallant! Therefore, dearest B.J., I’ve decided that you’re the one to trust with the care of my last little picture while I go away on my cruise.” Gasping, she sank back into her chair, having forgotten to breathe during her determined speech.

B.J., an underweight thirtyish man with thinning brown hair, blinked behind wire rimmed glasses. Finally he pointed at the bundle propped against his desk. “It’s a picture?”

“Yes, dear. I’ve been told it’s worth something and I don’t like going away leaving it unlooked-after.”

He gazed at it in dismay. “It’s pretty large, Naomi. I don’t have space to store something that size in my office, and if it’s val—”

Naomi batted to hold back tears. “Just for two weeks? I saw a program on TV about a cruise to Hawaii, how healthy the air was—it’s so pretty there!—I know that’s what I need. I’m sure if I go on this cruise I’ll feel better again, right away.”

B.J. bit his lip and tried not to notice the incipient tears, but of course, he had noticed them. “You’re not feeling well? Have you seen a doctor?”

“Dr. Sams. He treats all my friends. Not you, of course. I mean, all my other friends.”

“Surely you don’t mean a veterinarian. A cat doctor?” B.J. had long ago discovered that, except for himself, all her friends were cats. Mrs. Bachrach had found four-legged creatures much more tolerant of her particular quirks than the two-legged creatures of her acquaintance. B.J. could hardly blame her for her preference.

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