Chapter Fourteen

I was exhausted on Monday, which was my own fault. “Or Richard’s,” I told Sunny. “You know I attended yesterday’s matinee as well as the Saturday evening performance of that dance concert, and then Richard asked me along when he and the rest of the dance faculty went out for drinks …”

Sunny swept back the curtain of my hair that had veiled my face when I’d slumped over the circulation desk with my head in my hands. “And you drank too much, because you were surrounded by a bunch of people that you have little in common with and who intimidate you with their perfectly toned bodies and athletic prowess.”

“Bingo. I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

“Yep, you are.” Sunny patted my back. “I’m sure it wasn’t so terrible.”

I straightened with one palm pressed against my forehead. “Oh, most of them are polite enough. But they were all talking shop and I had nothing to contribute, so I just sat there silent as the grave, drinking like a mourner at a wake.”

“You could’ve just talked about personal stuff. Asked a couple of them how things were going in their life. Told some stories about your own work. You know, made small talk.”

“Right, because I’m so good at that. Anyway, they were all so wrapped up in discussing their upcoming choreography projects and professional performances, I didn’t think my library stories would thrill them too much. Sadly, Karla had to go home right after the performance, so I didn’t have an ally, other than Richard, of course. And I didn’t want to force him to entertain me.”

“I suppose Meredith Fox was there?”

“Oh, yeah.” My eye roll rewarded me with a stab of pain. “She’s been hired to do some major revival of a Merce Cunningham piece at Lincoln Center, so of course she constantly inserted that little tidbit into the conversation. Honestly, Sunny, I tried, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Which meant I couldn’t help but worry that the whole crew thought I was the most boring little mouse ever. I distracted myself by drinking.” I groaned and rubbed at my temple. “But I should have stopped before that last martini.”

“I just hope Richard was driving.”

“Of course. Poor thing, he realized early on that he’d have to limit his drinks because I was going to be incapable of driving him home.”

“He took one for the team. Good for him.” Sunny clasped her hands together, jangling her enameled bracelets. “And I’m glad you decided to go to the event with him, even if it did mean arriving early.”

“It was a double-edged sword, actually. Sure, riding in with him turned out to be a good decision. But it also meant I couldn’t escape the evening festivities unless he missed them too. Which I didn’t want him to do, so …”

Sunny looked me over, her expression filled with mock solemnity. “The things we do for love.”

I made a face at her, then grimaced when a spasm of pain shot through my head again. “Yeah, kick me when I’m down. Some friend you are.”

“Enough of a friend to tell you what a fool you are to care what those people think. And enough of a pragmatist to know they probably weren’t feeling anything negative concerning you.” Sunny pointed a finger at me. “In my experience, other people don’t think about us as much as they think about themselves. I bet they were all worried you’d find them boring, or not on your intellectual level, or something.”

I met her amused gaze. “You’re probably right. Remind me of that again, like, every day, would you?”

“Sure, boss.”

I looked her over, noting the dark circles under her eyes. “What about you and the grands? How are you guys holding up?”

“Oh, we’re doing fine.” Sunny looked away as she swept back her long hair and swiftly tied it up into a ponytail with the elastic band she’d been wearing on her wrist. “It’s stressful, with the media hounding us and the authorities basically staking out our home and asking questions of all the neighbors and so on, but we’re hanging tough.”

“I’m sure. Just let Carol and P.J. know I’m thinking about them, would you?”

“Of course.” Sunny turned back to face me with a sad smile. “They’ll appreciate that. Now, given your less-than-clear head, do you want me to show Zelda how to use that new shelf-reading gizmo? She’s over in the stacks, waiting to start her volunteer hours.”

“No, no. I said I would train her and I will. I just hope she doesn’t talk my ears off.”

Sunny’s peal of laughter rang through the quiet library. “Zelda? Not talk? What planet are you living on?”

“Hangover world,” I muttered.

I grabbed a tablet computer and the new handheld device I’d recently purchased with some funds donated to the library back in the spring. It was the same contribution that had allowed us to name the archives and install new carpeting and furniture in the children’s room—an unanticipated windfall from an unexpected source.

I was certainly grateful to be able to afford this new device, which promised to be a real time-saver. Waved over a shelf of books, it could read the bar codes inside the volumes and transmit that information to our integrated library system, or ILS. Using a portable tablet, we could connect to our catalog and compare the device’s information against our collection records, which meant we could immediately see which items were checked out versus those that might be misshelved or even lost.

I walked into the stacks and located Zelda in the cookbook section. She was leaning against the shelves, flipping through one of the books, but snapped it shut and reshelved it as I approached.

“Is that the new toy?” she asked, her light-brown eyes bright with enthusiasm.

That wasn’t surprising. Zelda was enthusiastic about everything.

“Yes, and it’s actually pretty easy to use,” I replied, biting back another grimace as a sharp blade of pain pierced my temple. “The device does most of the work.”

Zelda looked dubious, but took the tablet and reader from my hands. “Lydia said you had a devil of a time setting it up, though.”

“That was no fun.” I made a mental note to remind my aunt that sharing anything with Zelda meant it was no longer a secret. “But once we figured it out, it worked like a charm.”

I leaned over her shoulder and walked her through the use of the device while she chattered about the latest news, including the pie recipe she intended to enter in the county fair.

“Oh, don’t tell me that,” I said in mock horror. “I don’t want to accidentally share any of your secret ingredients with Aunt Lydia. We need to make this a fair fight.”

Zelda snorted. “Fair? When is going up against Lydia or Jane Tucker going to be fair?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “But I may have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

“I bet you do.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask about Richard’s performance yesterday. Lydia was raving about Saturday night, but I bet you were there for the Sunday show too.”

“Yes, and he and Karla were just as brilliant on Sunday as they were on Saturday. They received standing ovations both days.” Knowing how information shared with Zelda always seem to travel farther than I could ever imagine, I didn’t add that Meredith Fox had not received such an honor. Instead, I pointed my finger at the tablet. “Now, you just have to press that tab, and see—easy as pie.”

Zelda tossed her crisp curls. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—in my experience, pie is never easy.”

“Easy to eat, maybe. Not to make. But anyway, I think you have the hang of it now. You can start in the one hundreds, and just go through as many sections as possible in an hour or so. It doesn’t have to all be done today.”

“Okay, dear, I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will. And thanks again for volunteering for so many hours this fall.”

“No problem at all.” Zelda gave me a sly smile. “Part of it is to free up Sunny, you know. To allow her to do more canvassing of Taylorsford and other campaign work.”

Despite my thundering headache, I managed a smile in return. “At least she doesn’t have to worry with managing the Heritage Festival this year. That donation we got back in the spring means we don’t need to raise money during the festival this year. So, thankfully, no yard sale.”

“I’m sure you’re happy about that,” Zelda said, testing the reader over a shelf of books. “My, my, it does work well.”

“It’s definitely going to make inventory and shelf-reading much easier. And yes, I am thrilled to escape having to set up and run a library sale this year. Instead, we can participate in a more literary fashion.”

“That’s right, you’ve organized some sort of read-in?”

“A read-a-thon,” I said. “We have Emily Moore reading some of her poetry, which will be the real highlight, but we’ve also invited patrons to read from their favorite books. There will even be some special time slots when town leaders and others will read selections from books written by people from the area.”

“Including Paul Dassin, I hope.”

“Oh yes. I have a special reader lined up for that.”

Zelda glanced over her shoulder. “Richard, of course.”

“Yeah, along with Aunt Lydia. I’m surprised she hasn’t told you that yet.”

Zelda waved the wand reader through the air. “She may have mentioned it. The truth is, I’ve been so consumed with Sunny’s mayoral campaign that I tend to not pay as much attention to other things these days.”

“Well, see if you can focus on the shelf-reading, okay?” I forced another smile before adding, “Find Sunny if you need help. She’ll be at the desk. Meanwhile, if you’ll forgive me, I must go and take care of some back-office tasks.”

I didn’t tell her I needed to rest my throbbing head. That wasn’t something I really wanted to share. If Zelda knew it, Aunt Lydia soon would, too.

She hadn’t seen me stagger in the night before. Fortunately, when Richard brought me home, Aunt Lydia had already been in bed. He’d managed to guide me up the stairs and into my bedroom without waking her.

After I’d changed into a nightshirt and crawled into bed, Richard had placed a full glass of water and a couple of aspirin on my nightstand before promising to lock the front door behind him on his way out.

A true gentleman, despite my unappealing behavior, I thought, as I made my way into the workroom. I need to thank him again today. Several times, if necessary.

Before settling in to tackle a waiting pile of interlibrary loans, including one for myself, I swallowed down some additional aspirin with a full bottle of water. After sending off my special request for a copy of Emily Moore’s elusive first book of poems, I examined the stack of books I needed to mail out, as well as the printout detailing the additional items I needed to request from other libraries. But first, I thought, I’d better check the mailbox to make sure there aren’t some additional ILLs.

The mailbox was mounted on the stone exterior wall of the library, right outside the staff door. It was an old metal box, with a slit in the top that would accommodate only letters or other flat mail. Any packages had to be delivered inside, which often made our postal person grumble. But I refused to change over to a newer, larger box. I didn’t want anyone depositing books or other library materials in the mailbox instead of the exterior book drop.

Unlocking the metal box, I yanked out a handful of items before slipping back into the workroom and allowing the door to slam behind me.

It was mostly ads and catalogs. I tossed those in the recycling bin before sorting through a few invoices for book and media purchases, a letter requesting information from the archives, and an electric bill. At the bottom of the pile was a piece of mail addressed directly to me.

That was odd. I held the envelope up to the fluorescent light hanging over the worktable. It was printed, not handwritten, but there was no stamp or return address.

I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The text was also printed, and there was no signature.

CEASE YOUR INVESTIGATIONS AND RESEARCH INTO THE JEREMY ADAMS CASE UNLESS YOU WANT TO SUFFER THE SAME FATE, AS WELL AS PUT YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY IN DANGER, it said.

I stared at the page for a moment before opening my fingers and allowing the paper to flutter to the surface of the worktable. Rigid as an automaton, I slipped my cell phone from my pocket and hit the quick-dial button to reach Chief Deputy Brad Tucker.