Page 44 of Reptile Dysfunction

“Morning, Arthur!” I reply, even though I’m in a rush. “Another beautiful day in Curiosity.”

“Good, good,” he says, but his face crumples into a look of consternation, and I get the feeling the greeting was more of a pleasantry than a real question.

“Listen,” he continues, gesturing for me to come closer. “There’s something I think you should know.”

“Oh?” I ask, surprised at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“That Charlotte Lieberman,” Arthur says quietly as if someone else might overhear. “Well, maybe it’s nothing, but she’s been asking some strange questions. I got an email from her in the middle of the night, asking for the official quote I gave for Pickle Fest. Mabel from next door got the same email,” he adds, jerking his thumb to the vegetable florist next door.

I can’t help but frown at this, wondering what it might mean.

“Well, she is covering Pickle Fest for the Herald,” I say slowly, trying to come up with a logical reason for Charlotte’s questioning.

“Does her story include all the financials for the festival, though?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow.

I don’t have an answer for that, unfortunately.

“Look, I don’t want to put a damper on anything between you two,” he says knowingly. “Just thought you should know, considering some of the other articles she’s written about you.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” I tell him with a weak smile. “I appreciate it.”

He gives me a nod, and I carry on down the street, glancing at the florist as I pass. Mabel is watching me through the window, and I get the feeling she was probably listening to the conversation I just had with Arthur. She gives me an awkward wave from the window, which I try to return with a friendly smile. I have the feeling it comes out as more of a grimace.

The warm thoughts of Charlotte that accompanied me this morning are quickly cooling, and the more I think about what Arthur said, the colder they grow. I try my best to shake away the disappointment I feel, figuring Charlotte must have a perfectly good explanation for her questioning, but even that fades as I walk into my first meeting of the day.

“Hello, Soriah,” I say as I enter Inkstinkt.

I try not to gag at the medley of smells that accosts my nostrils the moment I step inside, but unfortunately, my snakes don’t get the memo. They immediately begin writhing and hissing.

Luckily, Soriah, as a hydra, remains unfazed.

“Morning, Mayor Wendall,” say her three heads in unison. “I just finished printing off the programs,” adds the left head with a smile.

I grin despite beginning to feel nauseous from the air. “I can’t wait to see them,” I say, grateful for some good news to distract me from the issue with Charlotte.

“Right this way,” says the right-hand head. Soriah leads me behind the counter to a stack of boxes.

On top of one lies a sample of the program, and Soriah picks it up deftly with her tail, handing it over to me for inspection.

The program looks excellent, everything I hoped it would be, and when I take a whiff, I get the unmistakable scent of dill pickles.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Soriah,” I tell her with a grin.

All three heads blush at this. “I’m so happy to hear it,” the middle head says with a smile. “I thought when I got a request for the invoice this morning that maybe there was a problem.”

Her words bring me crashing down from the high of seeing the Pickle Fest programs come together so beautifully.

“Oh, you got an email, too, huh?” I ask, unable to mask my disappointment.

“Yeah, I thought Charlotte must have joined the planning committee,” replies Soriah’s left head. “She seemed to be very interested in the financials. I thought maybe she was working with Barry. Is something wrong?”

Soriah’s left head looks worried, while the middle head appears a little nervous. The right-hand head is busy snapping at a fly that’s buzzing around the printing office.

“No, no,” I say, even as I try to gather my thoughts. “Everything’s fine. Could you have the programs delivered to town hall, please?” I ask, trying to cover my distress.

“Of course, I’ll get them there during the week,” the three heads all reply.

“Thank you, and great work again,” I say, hurrying out of the store before I really give away the creeping pain in my chest.