2. Electricity

CHAPTER 2

Electricity

N ick led me to the storeroom. There was a rear door and three windows along the back wall that looked out onto an alley and provided abundant natural light. Shelves along the front wall held inventory of the smaller manufactured items, such as slide whistles, kazoos, and kaleidoscopes. Three long worktables stood in a row in the center of the room. Each held toys in various stages of production. Freshly sanded blocks awaiting paint. Framed dollhouses in need of walls and roofs. Wooden trains waiting for wheels.

I followed him to the small office. It was windowless, yet brightly lit with an overhead fixture as well as a floor lamp with a colorful tiffany shade. He gestured to the safe that stood in the corner. “You can store your purse in the safe. The combination is one-nine-four-three.”

“Do those numbers mean something?” I’d have a better chance of committing the code to memory if I could associate it with its origin.

“Nineteen forty-three was the year the Slinky was invented.”

“Ah. Good to know.” Even if I forgot the number, I could look up the date online. After I stashed my purse in the safe, I gestured to the outlet on the wall perpendicular to it. “Okay if I plug in my cell phone? I thought it was charging overnight, but my cats must have knocked it off the table while I was asleep. I found it unplugged on the rug this morning.” I rolled my eyes. “Little brats.” Oh, who am I fooling? I loved my trio of furry troublemakers.

“Be my guest,” Nick said.

I inserted the plug into the outlet and stuck the connecting end into my phone, but I heard no ping to indicate that the device was receiving electricity. I checked the connection at both the phone and the wall. There didn’t appear to be a problem with either. Hmm. “Is something wrong with the outlet?”

Nick frowned. “The bottom one must work or the lamp wouldn’t be able to light up.” He bent down and unplugged my USB charger, then moved the lamp’s plug into the top socket. The lamp wouldn’t light up now. “Looks like the top outlet doesn’t work.” He proceeded to move the desk over a few inches so that I could access another outlet in the wall beside it. “Try this one over here.”

I plugged in my phone and it immediately lit up, the lightning bolt and ping assuring me it was receiving juice. “All good. Should my first task as your assistant be to contact your landlord and ask them to have the outlet fixed?”

“No need for a repair,” Nick said. “There are enough other outlets in here, or I could put in a power strip if necessary. I would like my landlord to know about it, though. I wasn’t aware of it when I moved in or I would have noted it on my move-in condition form.” He opened the desk drawer, retrieved a business card, and handed it to me. “Here’s his contact information.”

I looked down at the card. It read Dale Dickson, CEO – Dickson Brothers Properties, Ltd. and contained a phone number and e-mail address. I surmised that Dale Dickson must be the one with the reserved parking spot down the block that I’d noticed earlier. I plopped down in the desk chair, logged into the toy shop’s general e-mail account, and sent Dickson a message that noted our discovery. No need to fix the outlet , I wrote. Just wanted to make you aware of it.

I spent the next hour in training. Nick showed me how to ring up purchases and run a daily total on the register. He also showed me where he kept the bags under the counter, along with a roll of craft paper to wrap breakable items.

I knew he’d hired me to handle the business end of things, but I’d always been crafty. I offered him my manufacturing services, as well. “When the shop is slow, I could help with some of the easier production tasks, like painting the blocks and dollhouses.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” he said. “I prefer the woodworking part anyway.” He told me he’d worked as a carpenter for years, and had built dollhouses, train sets, and playhouses on the side for extra money. “I finally realized that my heart was in toymaking, not cabinetry. I like the creative aspects. Making toys is also much easier on my back than heavier carpentry work. So, I decided to give it a go.”

I had no doubt his shop would be a success, especially with my assistance. “Have you considered offering do-it-yourself dollhouse kits online? You could ship the finished walls and chimneys flat, with instructions on how to put it all together.”

“That’s another great idea.”

I beamed and raised my palms. “Told ya I was talented when it comes to business.”

The rest of my first day was spent helping the handful of customers who came into the store, rearranging the toys to use the display space more efficiently, and setting up a designated play area in the front corner near the window. Meanwhile, Nick made a cute freestanding picket fence with safe, rounded tops. We placed the fencing around the play area so that it would be clear which toys were display models to be handled and tested, and which were not. I also made plans for a simple grand-opening celebration to take place the following Wednesday evening. I sent e-mail invitations to local businesses, and designed a flyer that I posted in the front window.

All in all, it was a great first day on the job and, even though none of toys used batteries or had plugs, I sensed some electricity flowing between my new boss and me. Maybe I’ll get more than a paycheck out of this new gig. Maybe I’ll get a new boy toy.

Over the next two weeks, I settled into my new role as assistant manager of Timeless Toys. The grand opening party was a huge success. Many of the locals used their special discount certificates that very night, taking home enough trains to fill a trainyard and enough fancy dollhouses to form a miniature neighborhood. I became quite proficient in painting the wood blocks and dollhouses, and attaching wheels and hook-and-eye connectors to the train cars.

A few days later, it was the final day of October. As I arrived for work, I came across Nick in the office, counting out twenty-dollar bills atop the desk.

I knelt down to stash my purse in the safe. “What are you doing with all that cash?”

“Preparing the shop’s rent payment.”

“You pay rent in cash?” I knew from my accounting courses that cash transactions were a bad idea. They left no paper trail.

“My landlord insists on cash,” Nick said. “He says too many of the tenants’ rent checks have bounced.” He slid the stack of bills into a manila envelope, fastened the brad, and wrote Timeless Toys in permanent marker on the front.

I pointed to the envelope. “How much is in there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Two grand.”

“That’s a lot of cash.” Though I could understand the landlord’s dilemma, there were far better solutions than cash. “Why he doesn’t accept payments via PayPal or Venmo, instead? Or a direct bank-to-bank transfer? He’d be assured the funds were good, and the tenants would have proof of payment.”

Nick shrugged. “It’s a small town. Things are less formal here than what you’re used to. Besides, he issues a handwritten receipt when he picks up the rent. I retain the receipts and I scan them into my computer files, too, just in case something happens to the physical copy.”

Nick was smart to cover his bases in case of a tax audit.

In the early afternoon, Nick stepped out to grab a quick sandwich. I was alone in the store, replenishing the stock of jacks and marbles, when the front door of the shop opened. In walked a fit sixtyish man in loafers, gray pants, and a white button-down shirt under a tweed sport coat. His pewter-colored hair was shorn short, and his face was clean shaven. “Welcome to Timeless Toys. May I help you find something, sir?”

“No, thanks. I’m not here to shop for toys.” He offered me both a smile and his hand. “I’m Dale Dickson, the shop’s landlord. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I just started here.” I introduced myself. “Nick said you’d be coming by. I’ll run and get the rent payment.”

While Mr. Dickson waited at the front counter, I scurried back to the office, used the code I now knew by heart to open the safe, and retrieved the rent envelope. I carried it back to the counter. Mr. Dickson reached into his sport coat and pulled out an old-fashioned receipt book and pen from the inside pocket. He lay them on the counter, counted the money in the envelope, and then wrote out a receipt, signing it with a flourish. He separated the duplicate slips and handed the top slip of paper to me. “It was wonderful to meet you, Ciara. By the way, my brother Chip will be by in a bit.”

“ Chip? Your parents named you Chip and Dale ?” I couldn’t decide if that was humorous or cruel. Maybe both?

“Chip is a nickname for Charles. I handle the financial matters for our real estate business, and he handles the maintenance and repair work. My brother’s a whiz with mechanical matters, but I’m utterly useless with tools.” He issued a self-deprecating chuckle. “Chip will be installing Christmas lights out front today. Time to get Main Street ready for the holidays. We’re expecting big crowds again this year. Take care, now.” With that, he gave me a nod and left the store.

Nick returned a few minutes later with his lunch. He’d bought a sandwich for me, too, a fancy hummus, tomato, and avocado on artisan bread, my favorite. He’s been paying attention.

I took the sandwich from him. “Thanks, Boss. What a nice perk.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he said. “You’re working your fingers to the bone here.”

I shrugged. “I happen to like bony fingers.”

We took our sandwiches to a table in the back room, and engaged in casual conversation over our lunch. I learned that Nick had grown up in Winston-Salem, and had fallen in love with the mountains when his parents had brought him and his siblings up to the mountains one winter to play in the snow. “We had so much fun that they decided to make it an annual event. It was something we looked forward to all year.”

I shared that my first memory of the mountains was also a family vacation. “We rode a train from Bryson City through the Nantahala Gorge. The scenery was so pretty. We saw lots of deer and even a mama bear and her three cubs.” I’d been so excited.

We’d just finished eating our meal when we heard noises coming from out in front of the store. The clunk of a toolbox being set down on the sidewalk. The scrape of a metal ladder on concrete. The clink-clink of a string of icicle lights against the front window as Chip carried them up the ladder. While Nick went back to work on a custom dollhouse, I slid into my coat and stepped outside to introduce myself to the other half of Dickson Brothers Properties. I put a hand to my brow to shield my eyes from the afternoon sun as I looked up at the man. He was a portly, slightly unkempt version of Dale, with hair in need of a trim and at least two days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. He wore a heavy nylon jacket over his coveralls, as well as a flannel hat with flaps on the sides to keep his ears warm.

“Hi, there.” My warm breath created a fog in the air. I offered my name and a hand. “You must be Chip.”

“Sure am.” He offered a smile in return, and reached down to give my hand a shake. “I heard you’re new to town. How are you enjoying life here? I suppose it’s a bit quieter and slower paced than the city life you’re used to.”

“That’s true,” I said, “and I absolutely love it here.” I wasn’t exaggerating. My little rent house already felt like home, and my neighbors were friendly. The lady next door had brought me at least three pies since I’d moved in. I’d reciprocated with a potted yellow mum.

“Glad to hear you’re enjoying life in our little hamlet.” He circled his hammer, gesturing to the store. “You got anything needs fixing while I’m here?”

“No,” I said. “Other than the outlet in the office, everything’s in working order.”

His brows drew inward. “You got a broken outlet? I’d be happy to replace it.” He pointed his hammer at a white van parked at the curb. Lettering along the side read DICKSON brOTHERS PROPERTIES, LTD., same as his brother’s business card. “I’ve got parts in my van. Wouldn’t take but a few minutes.”

“No need. It’s really not a problem at all.”

“All righty,” he said. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

He proceeded to hang the lights and I followed a customer into the store, where I proceeded to sell her three dollhouses, one for each of her granddaughters who’d be coming up from Atlanta for Thanksgiving. Sparing no expense, she purchased dolls and full sets of furniture for each house, too. All in all, she spent over fifteen-hundred dollars in the shop. I’d be getting quite a commission in my next paycheck. Cha-ching!

I went into the back room to inform Nick of the big sale I’d made.

“That’s wonderful!” An instant later, his smile faded and he put his hands to his head. “But at the rate the inventory is going out the door, I don’t see how I can keep up with production.”

It was a good problem to have. “I’d be happy to put in some overtime and help.”

“You would? Thanks, Ciara. You’re a lifesaver.” He grabbed me in a spontaneous hug that was warm and wonderful and which would have been totally inappropriate and possibly actionable in a court of law had I not been enjoying it so immensely.

As if he’d realized he’d inadvertently gone too far, he released me and stepped back, a blush bringing color to the skin on his cheeks above his beard. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to cross a line. Boss and employee, and all that. I just really appreciate all you do for the shop.”

I reached out a hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “No worries, Nick. We both know who’s really in charge here.” With that, I gave him a wink. His expression shifted, now relieved and a bit intrigued. I should have probably been ashamed of myself, but it was darn fun to toy with him.