Beginning of Feast of Fools
I sat at my desk searching through the inbox on my email. God, I had so much crap, that if my email were a land fill, a bunch of abolitionists would assassinate me.
Amelie walked in with a small red folder. She handed it to me. "Deliver this to Oliver, please."
I scoped it. It had her seal on it. Important business, apparently.
"Myrnin can't do it?" I whined.
"He's…" she trailed off, looking for the word, "eating."
Oh, God.
"Uh, okay." I stood and grabbed my sunglasses from off the desk. "Make it quick, you have to balance the water bill."
I sighed and left. God Morganville was so hot. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put a town in the middle of nowhere should be murdered. I walked down the street, folder in hand and entered the Common Grounds. It smelled strongly of coffee. Ugh.
I walked in and immediately saw that bitch Monica. Monica Morrel. Myrnin told me that she had pushed Claire down a flight of stairs. And I also hated her because she was so perfect. And I couldn't date her brother. Sigh.
I walked to the counter and asked for Oliver. The barista nodded to the office door to the right. I smiled a thank you and walked over.
I knocked and Oliver's growl could be heard. "Who is it?"
"Maya. I have a folder from Amelie."
His voice lightened a bit. "Come in."
I walked in the small office and set the folder on his desk. He took it with a small smile. Holy crap. Oliver smiling. It's the end of the world!
"How are you this morning, Maya?" he asked, looking through the papers.
"Um, fine?" I answered, confused, "Amelie is getting on my last nerve, though."
He chuckled. "Who's nerve hasn't she gotten on?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Okay. Who are you and what have you done with Oliver?"
He looked up. "I'm just in a good mood, is that so awful?"
The phone rang. He answered. "Hello?"
A pause.
Oliver gave a low lazy chuckle. "Well," he said, "If it isn't little Claire. Eve didn't want to hear it, but I'll tell it to you – it's nice that you turn to me in your moment of need. It is a moment of need, I assume? And not an invitation to socialize?"
I heard a small voice on the other end. "Someone's here. In the house."
The warmth drained out of Oliver's voice, leaving a sharp annoyance. "Then call the police if you have a prowler. I'm not your security service. It's Michael's house. Michael can-"
"Michael can't do anything about it, and I don't think we should call the cops. This man, he says his name is Mr. Bishop. He wants to talk to Amelie, but I can't get her on the-"
Oliver cut her- assuming it was a her- off. "Stay away from him," he said, and his voice had grown edges, "Do nothing. Say nothing. Tell your friends the same, especially Michael, yes? This is far beyond any of you. I will find Amelie. Do as he says, whatever he says, until we arrive."
And Oliver hung up on her.
"What was that about?" I asked, baffled.
"Nothing that concerns you," He growled, standing up, "Now get out of my office."
He walked right past me.
I smiled as I watched him stomp out the door after giving an order to the barista.
"Now that's the Oliver I know."