2. Margo

2

MARGO

M argo prowled the empty bakery.

Harriet had decided to close the shop after Christmas while she went overseas with her new gnome lover, having distributed generous holiday bonuses so that everyone could enjoy a little time with their families or do some traveling.

But Margo didn't have a family outside of the other bakery employees, and she didn't have any interest in traveling.

It surprised her how much she missed the business being open. It was such a sense of satisfaction, keeping all the moving pieces in sync, knowing that she was keeping people full and happy, part of a team .

Trolls didn't usually take day jobs at all, but the city was cracking down on vagrants, so her usual home beneath the river bridge had been cleaned up, and she'd been kicked out. There was a well-lit bike path there now, and a lot of graffiti that she would never have tolerated. But well-mannered bridge trolls didn't have a place in the rank and file of city administration, and without a deed, she had no claim on the space. She'd been cast adrift, forced to look for a place to rent and a job to pay for it.

Harriet's bakery, Patty Cakes, had not been her first stop.

Margo had applied at the city junkyard (the dogs were afraid of her), a bodyguard service (the other bodyguards were afraid of her), and a temp agency that flatly rejected her on the basis that she wouldn't fit in standard office chairs.

"You can't expect a company to make concessions for a temporary secretary," the recruiter had said apologetically. "It's just not reasonable."

No one would want you, was the unspoken message from every one of them.

Shifters were one thing. Trolls were quite another.

Margo came upon Patty Cakes by word of mouth, because Harriet had a habit of hiring misfits and drifters and Margo realized with chagrin that she was both of those things.

"Do you have any baking experience?" Harriet asked her, eying her from toe to nose. Harriet was tall and slight, but Margo was much taller and not at all slight.

"No," Margo admitted.

"Customer service?"

Margo thought about that carefully. "In a manner of speaking. I've done…transportation oversight. Bridges, mostly."

Harriet blinked at her. "So, more like security?"

Margo stifled a sigh. It was the obvious role for her and she knew better than to be picky about employment by this point. "Yes."

"Oh," Harriet said, shaking her head. "I have all the security I need right now. What I really need is a business manager. "

"To manage the business?" Margo almost salivated. She knew that trolls weren't associated with brains or organization, but she had always loved contracts and rules and making moving parts fit together.

"That is what a business manager does," Harriet said dryly, turning away.

Margo felt her cheeks heat. She was so tired of being underestimated. Impulsively, she caught Harriet's arm, and was surprised by the woman's unexpected strength. "Look, I'm a troll, not a politician or public speaker. But I can set up spreadsheets and organize a work shift. I know labor laws and can see three violations from your front door. I'd make sure your business was running smoothly and keep you out of trouble. No one shorts me or gives me excuses."

They looked at each other appraisingly, and Harriet finally chuckled. "You know what? I think you'll do just fine here. Let's do a month's trial and see if we can still stand each other. You might be exactly what this place needs. I've got hiring papers, do you have a mailing address?"

Margo's moment of hope froze into despair. "I'm…between places."

"I seem to have a type," Harriet snorted. "I have a spare room in the basement that is not at all cleared for residency if you don't want to be picky or legal and don't care about the damp."

Margo thought wistfully about her below-bridge abode that was a bike path now. "It sounds perfect. "

It was, arguably, short of perfect. There was a disaster every week, by the end of her trial month, Margo was positive that Harriet was using the business as a front for money laundering, and the staff was the surliest, most motley crew she had ever been a part of.

And Margo had never been happier .

Best of all was Eva.

Eva was as petite as Margo was monstrous, with fluffy light hair trimmed short, and big, shy blue eyes in a heart-shaped face.

Another of Harriet's obvious pity hires, the sweet, skittish woman was in Margo's ledgers as her personal assistant, but she didn't seem to do any actual administrative work. She made terrible coffee, stuttered on the phone or in the face of any visitor who spoke above a whisper, and had no idea how Harriet's file system worked.

In fact, she seemed to be working as Harriet's exclusive tailor, concocting frivolous and fancy dresses with no purpose that Margo could discern.

That was not Margo's first clue that there was something underhanded happening with Harriet's business.

"You're wondering why I need a ballgown to be a baker," Harriet said, when Margo brought in the suspect books and gave a violet velvet gown on a dressmaker dummy a long suspicious look.

"I'm wondering why we have a seventeen thousand dollar cash payment for a two hour catering job marked Candid Cupcakes ."

"Hmm," Harriet said, pursing her lips. "That one is probably a little obvious."

"If you're going to be doctoring your records, you shouldn't make them that blatant," Margo said blandly. "It's just…tacky."

"You don't care what I'm really doing?" Harriet said shrewdly.

"I care that you'd do it so stupidly you drag the rest of us down with you," Margo countered. She'd lost any civic loyalty she felt when she was evicted from her ancestral bridge, but the staff of Patty Cakes had become like family .

Harriet was refreshingly honest. "Look, Nancy Drew, I steal expensive things from rich people who won't miss them, and this business is a front for laundering money and hiring people who need work because life dealt them a hard hand," Harriet said bluntly. "I understand if you have an ethical problem with that and will grant you two weeks severance if you choose to leave."

Margo spent several sleepless nights wrestling with her conscience and finally came back to Harriet's office with a counter-proposal.

"I'll be your manager, but only if you actually let me manage."

Harriet furrowed her brow and gestured for Margo to go on.

"Let me make the business solvent in actuality, not just in image, and I want to set up a retirement fund for the employees and offer better benefits and hours."

Harriet grinned dangerously. "Are you unionizing my staff?"

"Would that threaten you?" Margo growled back, even as she recognized that she was treading on dangerous ground.

Harriet only laughed in delight. "Do it, Delores!" she commanded, referencing the famous union hero, Delores Huerta. "Keep your correct ledgers and I'll keep mine, and I'll absolve you of any wrong-doing if I'm discovered. You keep the riff raff down and the staff from thinking they could take advantage of me, and I'd be sorry to lose you."

That had been the start of a long and successful partnership, and Margo was happier than she'd ever been in her life, too smart to yearn for more that she knew she couldn't have.

The bakery was quiet now, closed for the holiday between Christmas and New Year's, and Margo missed the bustle of the diverse crew in the bakery. No one was swearing in the kitchen or dropping pans. There were no customers, no bakers, no candy makers with wooden spoons going after knuckles. The only one in the whole building was Eva, two floors above, and Margo told herself she was imagining the creak on the stairs when she heard it.

Then the front door gave its cheerful alert and Margo was up from her bed to march up and see what could possibly have drawn Eva out from her cozy, quiet rooms.