Page 78 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

At another desk off to the side, where tours gathered, Richard, the museum director, looked up, obviously eavesdropping. He always studied Char with a frown, like he failed to recognize her. Then, after a beat, his scowl would deepen as though recognition had finally dawned, and that dawn was a vile orange instead of the expected beautiful array of pastels.

It pretty much made me want to push my fist so far into his face he’d need dentures.

As far as I knew, they hadn’t had a run-in other than the number of times Char had taken him to task over a few of the museum’s plaques and their inaccuracies. She’d confided to me once, after giving Richard a blast, that he should read the books they kept stocked in the museum’s gift shop.

I’d laughed over that one for weeks.

But if I were a betting man, I’d say it was the Christmas party for staff and members that had turned Richard. Apparently, slaughtering the museum director in an ancient history trivia game wasn’t a good way to earn his friendship.

Not that I figured Char wanted to be friends with the man. She’d once said he probably drove a diesel Dodge Ram with a lift kit and oversized tires on splashy rims to compensate for ‘other things.’ I’d checked the staff lot and confirmed that she was correct about his choice of transportation.

“My roommates and I are going to make a park once we tear down the warehouse,” Char was telling Greg.

“Why? Wait.” He held out a hand to stop her from explaining, his eyes dancing in a way that made me bristle on Char’s behalf. He found her amusing, something he poorly masked at times. She was smart and deserved more respect from him. She’d learned more about our exhibits than anyone else that worked here, and all so she could be closer to her dad.

“Is it an amusement park?” Greg asked, “No, no.” He held up a hand, head down like he was thinking. Then he lifted his stupid smirky face and gave Char a 100-watt smile. “Make a wicked warehouse bar!”

“No. It’s going to be a park.” She wasn’t smiling any longer, and I felt conflicted. She didn’t like Greg. That was good. But the guy was being a jerk to her. That was not good.

“You know,” she prompted. “Playground, benches, dog area.”

I found myself edging between Greg and Char, ready to shove Greg’s face into the admission desk the second he tried to belittle her and the idea. It was a huge undertaking; unrealistic, really. But if anyone could pull it off, it was Sunshine Char.

“So you’re paying money to do this?”

“A bit, but a lot of great agencies and companies are helping us out.”

“It’s called being a nice person, Greg,” I said coolly. “And I think it’s awesome she’s trying to improve Everstone with a green space.”

“It’s weird, man. Nobody we know is doing stuff like that.”

“Char is.”

“But why? Are you nesting or something? Move somewhere else if you hate Everstone.”

“Haven’t you heard of nature deprivation?” she argued, heat spreading through her cheeks. Her hands had gone to her hips and there was fire in her eyes. “My neighbourhood deserves and needs a park. Kids are getting hurt.”

“But…” He was squinting at her. “Why you? This sounds really hard.”

“Why not me?”

“Let’s go.” I pulled on Char’s elbow.

“Because it’s a city problem, not yours. This is why we pay taxes. You could be spending the time and money bettering yourself.”

Beside me, Char gasped. I’d been successfully herding her away from Greg, but now we both whirled on him.

“Uncool, man.” I was already reaching for his collar, but stopped myself before grabbing him, aware Richard was watching.

I wanted to quit this job on my own terms, not get turfed. I eyed Greg, considering her. Getting turfed could be worth it.

“Not like that.” Greg rolled his eyes like he hadn’t blanched at the way I’d lunged at him.

“Then how so?” I growled.

Greg gestured toward the various exhibit rooms, his face red, words spluttering from his dumb mouth. “Go to school and nerd out over all this ancient crap. She obviously loves it.” He scowled at us both and stormed off.

As much as I hated to admit it, continuing her education in an area where she was passionate wasn’t a bad idea. Too bad it was Greg who’d suggested it.

---