Chapter Twenty-Two

THE WEEDING PROJECT was a monster that had taken over the library. Nan needed help; she had to get rid of all the books she’d pulled off the shelves. She met with Lolly, glad to still feel a ping of admiration for the superwoman. Lolly exuded everything Nan wished she had: strength, vigor, confidence, joy. As long as they didn’t share a woman, like a bad French farce—one coming in the front door as one left by the back door—this would work out fine.

“Oh geez, we haven’t had a book sale for a really long time,” Lolly said. “I’ll have to look up how we do that.”

“I don’t mean to press you, Lolly, but I’m in a time crunch here,” Nan said. “How soon do you think you can get this ramped up?”

“You know me. I’m a fast, lean, running machine. But the others…” Lolly rolled her eyes.

Nan knew what she meant about the Friends of the Library members. Many were retirees; they were so booked up with traveling, dinner clubs, lunches out, gardening, babysitting, volunteering at the hospital, chair yoga, painting classes, and pickleball games that they were almost impossible to convene.

Lolly chirped reassurances that she’d get the group working on it as soon as possible. Nan believed her.

Jeremy wanted to help with the book sale. “I’m strong; I can lift the boxes. Can I be a volunteer?” He looked like a different boy now than the one she’d first met—a happier, round-cheeked boy with eyes that lit up when Nan talked about books with him. He’d been reading college admission and scholarship guides lately; she’d seen Amo bending over them with him. Library magic—that bringing together of people who needed to meet one another—shining through once again.

“No,” Nan said. “I won’t have volunteers here. We are a volunteer-less library. But you can help with the book sale.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Trust me. It’s better for the library not to use that v-word. Remember Ms. Spitelli in your school library.”

The middle school had a new professional librarian now—and he was an Air Force veteran, of all things. Johnny Button, Nefertiti’s nephew. Suddenly all the boys thought reading was very cool. They even joined the book club Mr. Button started. Jeremy was the president of the club, of course.

He talked nonstop about him to anyone who would listen: what Mr. Button read (travel, history, poetry); where Mr. Button went to college (online for undergrad while he was in the Air Force, then Chicago State University for his graduate degree); what Mr. Button ate (vegan); why was he a school librarian (so he could have summers off); his favorite country to visit (Iceland, the Land of Fire and Ice).

We can’t all be as glamorous as that Johnny-come-lately. Nan sniffed to herself, a bit resentful.

While he chattered, Jeremy hauled boxes into the meeting room, sorted books into subject areas, and pulled out ones that looked too beat-up for anyone to want. He made signs on the computer and mounted them into sign holders.

Friends of the Library members unpacked a few boxes, then gathered to chat at the side of the room.

As if the discarded library books were not enough, the Friends had conducted a book drive. When the boxes of donations were unpacked, they found hundreds of copies of James Patterson and Michael Crichton thrillers and E.L. James’s erotic novel series, Fifty Shades of Grey. Danielle Steel, Nora Roberts, and John Grisham books piled up as tall as mountains. No one ever donated J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books. They were gold apparently, to be passed down hand to hand if those generations ever got around to having children of their own.

After Jeremy had done most of the work, the sale commenced with Friends clustered around a table with a cigar box to hold cash and change. After much discussion, they’d settled on ten dollars for an entire grocery bag of books and had stockpiled a massive number of bags for people to pack the books in.

When the doors were flung open, Nan couldn’t believe her eyes. There was a standing-room only crowd out there. It turned out the book sale not only attracted library users but a lot of other readers who were intimidated by library due dates and preferred to buy used books they didn’t have to hurry though. Lolly managed the crowd like a pro, spotting logjams and clearing them out, directing the Friends where to refill tables, and generally whirling around like a boss.

It was so exciting to feel so many books flowing out into the town. Nan pictured a river of books after a dam was released, watching people fish around in boxes and holding up their trophy books when they found one they really wanted.

Cookbooks were the prizes people elbowed one another to grab. And children’s books—almost every single one was snatched up. Anything to do with gardening and do-it-yourself repairs were very hot properties. Biographies, even of obscure historical figures, were surprisingly popular. All those trashy, fun bestsellers went home to people who would take them to the beach and lake and not worry about sand and water damage. Nan noticed Pip’s wife bagging up quite a few erotic novels; good for her. Whatever keeps a marriage fresh.

At the end of the sale, the Friends of the Library left for happy hour at their favorite bar. Jeremy had picked out a grocery bag full of old adventure stories like his favorite, Robinson Crusoe. Nan told him the books (lots of Zane Grey novels—who knew those corny old Westerns were still around?) were his payment for helping out.

Two leftover piles were carefully stacked in the farthest corner on the floor, lying down sideways so Nan had to read the message by putting together the book titles:

Don’t Abandon Me

The Tragedy of It All

Listen When I’m Talking to You

And

My Life

Among the Doomed

Not Worth It

Nan was seriously worried now. This was deliberate. She needed to find out who was leaving these dire messages and figure out how to help them.