Delilah Jones liked to pretend that everything was simple.
She got to work at the Lower New York District Wasp Station every morning at seven thirty, made a fresh pot of coffee, said goodbye to the night shift, and welcomed the fresh faced, usually hungover, daytime crew.
There were a few of them that she tolerated, several that she hated, and one or two that she almost enjoyed. Of course, you wouldn’t know that from how she greeted them, golden curls bouncing around her head, blue eyes bright and flashing.
“Morning boys!” She would chirp, taking her seat at the front desk with a cheeky smile.
“Morning Miss Delilah!”
Delilah Jones worked from eight to five every day, taking her lunch in the wasp breakroom in the back, where she pretended to be minding her own business. It was a wonder what the wasps would talk about, amazing the assumptions many of them made about who was listening.
There was one deputy that had his eye on Delilah, and not in the way she was used to. He had a tendency to watch her closely when she left her desk, tried to peer over her shoulder as she worked. She would clench her jaw, give him a sharp smile, and remind him that he didn’t have access to all of the database. It was her job to do the intake reports for everyone, and he didn’t have access to the reports that everyone was submitting.
He would respond to her falsely cheery reprimand with his own barbed words about a secretary getting ahead of herself.
If he wasn’t careful he might find himself in a compromising position with that kind of attitude. It would be a damn shame if one of the criminals he was tailing happened to get a heads up. It would certainly mean he wouldn’t get the promotion he was gunning for.
Miss Delilah left work at five every day. Miss Mimic started work shortly thereafter. She always found it funny how a simple change in hair color and demeanor could fool people so effectively.
Miss Mimic had a knack for always knowing where the police were going to be, how hard on her tail they were, when to throw them a bone that would help out with one investigation or another at the most opportune moment. The wasps that had gotten close to her would remark on the almost supernatural ability Miss Mimic had to vanish like smoke right before their hands closed on her.
Maybe if they were more careful about what they said in the break room, they’d have less of a problem.