Tom Norton had worked his way up through the trenches; years of rock-turning and late nights and hours on hold had left him with permanent lines between his bushy eyebrows and around his mouth and a decided rightward tilt to his neck. His wife had left him a few years ago for someone younger and handsomer, but Molly had always thought Tom was relatively pleasant-looking, even if he was fast approaching retirement. He was tall and broad, but not paunchy, and he still had a full head of dark hair, though it was graying now, and blue eyes that glittered. Or, as right now, snapped.
Fern Haggerty sat at the desk. Of an age with Molly's parents, if they'd been alive, Fern had dyed red hair done up in a bee hive, black glasses to match the era, and clothes from a clam bake movie. She was one of those old bitties who always managed to be either a borough worker with access, a post office worker, or a waitress, and she let it be known that if it was worth knowing she knew it.
Police Chief Markus Oden was wedged behind his desk. Wedged, because the small room was barely big enough for a desk and two chairs, let alone his bulk behind it. He managed to stand and stick out his hand. His hazel eyes were full of sympathy, but he didn't mention it, and Molly was grateful. When he withdrew his hand, he ran it through gray hair that never made it to the top of his head and pulled on his earlobe. It was a gesture with which Molly was familiar, and it made her smile. Oden must have a lot on his plate.
All of these are secondary characters, but I really like the way I described them!
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