Spirits in the Grass by Bill Meissner

Author:Bill Meissner [Meissner, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC026000
ISBN: 978-0-268-08670-1
Publisher: University of Notre Dame Press
Published: 2013-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

“You have an appointment?” the woman blurts to Virginia at the reception desk of city hall. From behind, Luke notices how the secretary, whose name tag says Phyllis Dietermann, peers skeptically above her pink half-shell glasses, scrutinizing Virginia’s worn jeans, her khaki T-shirt, the multicolored bead bracelets she wears on her wrist. Phyllis’s face is ruddy and puffed out, as if someone cut a potato lengthwise and inserted one half under each cheek.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m here to look at the land deeds.”

“Hmmm.” Phyllis acts put out, as though, at Clearwater city hall, she’s had hundreds of visits from pesky archeologists. Luke figures it’s all part of her daily routine, this making strangers feel uncomfortable. Phyllis puts down her copy of the Inquirer, pages idly through an appointment book, then slowly lifts her plump body from the padded swivel chair, her burgundy blazer bulging at the hips. “I don’t know what we got, but I guess you can have a look.” She waddles down a varnish-scented aisle between shelves. A ’50s bouffant hairstyle rises from her head, and as she pauses between the stacks, the scent of her Liz Taylor perfume catches up with her in sickly sweet ripples. A bare bulb hangs from the tin ceiling of a dim room; its walls are covered by warped oak bookshelves. She pulls on the cord, and the bulb jumps to life with a yellowish glow. She nods at some faded file boxes. “You can look there, I s’pose.”

Virginia leans over to glance at some file tabs.

“What’s he doing here?” Phyllis gives Luke, who lingers at the back of the aisle, her best disapproving look. “Don’t know if just anyone’s allowed to be back here. Except by appointment. The mayor said…”

“It’s okay,” Virginia interrupts. “He’s assisting me.”

“Assisting you.” Phyllis repeats the words as though they were profane.

Luke likes the way Virginia handled this little resistance by Phyllis, who has, he notices, become quite territorial about her job. Under Phyllis’s reign, everything at city hall seems to have taken on more significance than it deserves. As she heads back, she still manages to keep a watchful eye on her desk, with its row of pens, its perfectly stacked manila file folders, its cut-glass case filled to the brim with paper clips. Luke has known Phyllis for years; she always seems to be talking about the local accidents or disabled people, and he’s overheard her at the drugstore saying, “They might just as well pull the plug on her, what with those burns she got in the fire,” or referring to “that poor boy with the bright purple birthmark all over his face,” or, “Old Stanley, he’ll end up with stumps for legs. Can you imagine?”

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