Chapter Twelve

Paul tried to remind himself of the good they were doing as he sat back on his heels and wiped sweat from his eyes with the arm of his T-shirt. He laid down his hammer and reached for his water bottle. Drew had lectured them over and over again about staying hydrated. One story he’d told about a guy passing out and falling from a roof had impressed them all enough that they were being extracautious.

To Paul’s left, the new guy mirrored his actions. Catching Paul’s eye as he screwed the cap back on his water bottle, Jerry winked. “Hot enough for you?”

Paul smiled. “It’s a scorcher, isn’t it?”

Jerry laughed. “Yeah.”

He had been a good addition to the crew, Paul had to admit, even if the man’s somewhat cocky manner rubbed Paul the wrong way. He suspected he wasn’t the only one who felt that way, but the fact that Jerry had volunteered showed that his heart was in the right place, regardless of his attitude.

“Which church do you go to, Jerry?” Paul asked.

Jerry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t have a church. Never saw much use for it.”

“I assumed you were affiliated with one of the churches in our work crew,” Paul said. “How did you find out about the project?”

“I saw the article in the Chronicle,” Jerry told him. “I know Louisa, and I thought it might be nice to help out.”

“That’s great,” Paul said, impressed. “We really needed someone with your skills on the crew.” Jerry had turned out to be a fairly skillful carpenter whose capabilities had made the job of repairing the rafters go much faster than Paul had anticipated.

“Yeah, the rest of you guys sure aren’t any great shakes as construction workers,” Jerry said, laughing.

Paul laughed too, but inside he felt bad for Jerry. It was those types of comments that made the others dislike him.

“Jerry, if you don’t have a church home,” Paul said, “I’d like to invite you to visit us at Faith Briar Church. We’re a small, welcoming congregation, and I’d be glad to introduce you around.”

Jerry hefted his hammer and picked up one of the large roofing nails they were using. “Thanks, Rev, but I don’t think so. Church just isn’t my thing.”

Paul made himself smile. “If you change your mind, don’t forget my invitation. Do you have any concerns you would like me to pray about for you?”

Jerry snorted. “Nah. Pray away, Rev. I got no problems.”

AN IDEA OCCURRED TO KATE. She needed a way to get information from Tosten Glass, but she needed to speak with him in person when she did it. After driving to a local gas station that still had a working pay telephone, Kate opened the phone book. Tosten’s number, along with all the council member’s personal numbers, was listed in the front of the book, and she quickly placed a call to the council president. Disguising her voice took little effort, since the booth was along a busy road with traffic roaring in the background. She asked him to explain the local noise ordinance to her.

When Tosten had described the ordinance, Kate said, “I got a complaint. I wanna put it in writing and deliver it to you personally. Where you gonna be today?”

Tosten chuckled in a tolerant manner, still not recognizing her voice. “I’m leaving the library now and I need to stop by the Mercantile, so I should be home in about half an hour.”

Bingo! thought Kate. She intended to meet him at the store.

The Mercantile was only half a block from Weston’s Antiques, so she decided to park near the antiques store again.

Kate drove back to town and found, to her delight, that the same space in front of Eli’s that she’d vacated just minutes before was still available. Parking there, she got out of the car and headed toward the Mercantile, forcing herself to walk at a sedate pace as she neared the corner of Smith and Main Streets. She crossed to the library side of Main before crossing again to the opposite side, where the Mercantile was located. Tosten had been at the library when she had called him. It was possible she would beat him to the Mercantile.

She pulled open the door of the Mercantile and entered the cool interior, blessing Sam for installing central air in the old brick building. The bell above the door tinkled in greeting, and Sam looked up from the front counter, where he was tallying something on a clipboard.

“Hi, Kate. How are you?”

“Hot.” Her response was succinct. “Is there any chance of a cooldown coming our way?”

“Next week I think it’s supposed to be a little better,” Sam said. “At least the ten-day forecast says so.”

“Oh, I hope that forecaster knows what he’s talking about.” Kate grinned at Sam as she grabbed a basket and headed for the aisles. It was impossible to see who might be in the store because the shelves were too tall. And she was afraid to ask Sam if Tosten Glass was in the store for fear she might be overheard, so she listened carefully to see if she could hear him.

He wasn’t in the first aisle or the second. She didn’t want to get too far from the front of the store in case he came in and then made a quick exit, so she took a quick peek down the third aisle, grabbing some snack crackers for her dinner guests. She also couldn’t resist grabbing a small bag of colored Goldfish, which she knew would be a big hit with the Pellman children.

As she picked up the Goldfish, she spotted Tosten coming around the corner in her direction. Her pulse leaped, and her stomach felt jittery. She hoped she was a good enough actress to pull this off.

“Hello, Tosten,” she said.

“Why, hello, Kate.” He smiled widely, immediately slipping into politician persona. “Having crackers for dinner?” He chuckled as he indicated the contents of her basket.

Kate forced herself to smile too. “Dinner guests,” she told him, “including children.”

“Ah. Children.” Tosten didn’t sound as if he was familiar with the concept.

“Do you have a family?” Kate inquired. “We have three children. Two of them are married and have given us grandchildren. Grandchildren are such a blessing.”

“I’m not married,” Tosten said. His tone was a bit stiff.

Oops. The last thing she wanted to do was make the man uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and adopted a sympathetic tone. “How are you doing? I imagine it’s been a difficult day.”

His eyebrows rose. “Difficult?”

“Well, yes,” she said. “People all over town are talking about the library closing. I bet you’re fielding questions left and right.” She barely paused for a breath. “And I’d venture to say that a number of them aren’t exactly calm and friendly.”

“That’s certainly true,” Tosten said. His tone was warmer now, and he nodded.

“If I’ve heard one idea about what’s going to happen to that building,” she told him, “I’ve heard twenty. The most popular rumor is that it’s going to be turned into an apartment complex. I was also told it might just be torn down to make way for condominiums. My personal favorite is the movie-theater rumor.” She chuckled.

Tosten chuckled too. “People do have vivid imaginations.”

“Do you mind if I run something by you?”

“Of course not.” He looked pleased to be consulted. If he was a bantam rooster, he’d have been strutting.

“I had an idea,” she said. She smiled at him. “You’re the perfect person to consult.”

“Consult away.” He beamed and stood straighter.

“I was thinking of bricks,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Timing was everything, and she didn’t want him to see what was coming. “Have you ever seen painted bricks from a building sold as mementos or historical memorabilia?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, I thought that if the library really did get torn down, it might be smart to save some bricks. We could have them hand painted with a picture of the old library and perhaps a blurb about the years it existed on the back. It could be a fabulous fund-raiser.” She paused expectantly, plastering a wide smile on her face.

“I’m sure we can arrange to salvage some—” Tosten stopped abruptly. “I mean, in the event that were to happen, that’s an excellent idea. But as you said, the rumors are flying thick and fast. I imagine we’ll hear some that will make a movie theater seem conservative.”

Kate forced herself to laugh heartily at his attempt at humor, ignoring his first response. Finally she said, “I’d better get going. Dinner doesn’t make itself, unfortunately. It was nice to see you again, Tosten.”

After Tosten said good-bye and walked away, Kate stood where she was, her whole body trembling as she placed a hand against one of the sturdy shelves for support. Her scheme had worked, but she wasn’t happy with the results. Although he hadn’t come right out and said it, she was nearly certain that Tosten had all but confirmed her worst fear: the library was going to be torn down. He had told her, she thought. The beginning of his response to her idea about the bricks was probably the most honest thing the man had said all day.

She debated about what to do next. The time for caution had passed, she feared. Her first inclination was to rush to the library and tell Livvy about the demolition. Her second thought was that she needed to contact some of the other council members and find out if they were aware that the library might be demolished. The third thing she needed to do was try to talk with the lawyer in McMinnville.

She paid Sam for her items and left the Mercantile, heading for her car. She quickly decided that she wasn’t going to tell Livvy just yet. The news was going to be a devastating blow. The more information Kate could gather first, the better. For the first time, she realized what a monumental task she could be facing. How did one stop a demolition?

But that was exactly what she was determined to do.

As she walked up Smith Street to her car, a man came out of the Country Diner and walked toward her. His size was the first thing Kate noticed; the man was huge.

Then she realized she knew him. It was Ben Dean, the man she had likened to the Grinch at the town-council meeting. As he stomped toward her, she drew in a deep breath. This was the perfect opportunity to find out what—if anything—he knew about the demolition.

“Mr. Dean?” she called. “Good afternoon.”

Ben Dean’s head came up. He looked around until he had focused on her, and the motion reminded her of a bull trying to decide whether or not to charge.

As he drew closer, he grunted. “You’re the lady from the meeting.”

She nodded. “Kate Hanlon.”

“Whaddaya want?” Ben Dean was never going to win any awards for his social graces.

“As a member of the town council,” she began, “you might be able to help me.” She watched him closely, choosing her words. She might be using the same scheme, but she was going to have to vary her approach a bit. “I was just speaking with Tosten Glass a few moments ago about an idea I had.”

He just looked at her. “Huh?”

She wondered how in the name of heaven this man had been elected to the town council. “I was thinking,” Kate said, “that perhaps we could salvage some bricks from the original library, paint and date them, and then sell them. People love historical memorabilia.”

“Salvage bricks? You can’t just take bricks out of a wall willy-nilly.” His tone was scornful.

Kate kept her voice light. “Oh, I know. I’ve just been hearing rumors all day about what’s going to happen with the library, and at least one of them has the library being torn down completely. I thought if that’s going to happen, perhaps we could save some of the bricks for a fund-raiser.” She warmed to her theme, even though she intended for it to remain nothing more than an idea. “You know, we could give the proceeds to the library, wherever the new location will be.”

“Where’d you hear the library might get torn down? From that feller, that lawyer?”

“Ellis Hayer?”

“Yeah, him.” Ben didn’t appear to remember, or perhaps care, that he wasn’t supposed to give out confidential information from the closed meetings.

“Was there anyone at the meeting with Mr. Hayer?” she asked, wondering how much she could get out of him.

His eyes narrowed, and Kate realized this man wasn’t as dense as he appeared to be. “I’m not going to talk about that with you. Tell me how you know the library’s gonna be torn down.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she said. “I heard the rumors, and I just was what-iffing, trying to think of ways to capitalize on it if that ever happened.”

“What-iffing? Huh.” He gave her one brusque nod and brushed by her without another word, leaving Kate standing there staring after him. Was he involved? Did he know about the possibility of a demolition? Reviewing the conversation in her head, she realized it was impossible to tell for certain from Dean’s reactions whether or not he already knew—although his first scornful response indicated that he wasn’t thinking about the building coming down.

Should she pursue ambushing other council members with the same technique? Kate thought about them. Carey Carver, with his seeming inability to make an independent decision; Eva Mountjoy, who seemed like a smiling pixie until one realized she had held a demanding job in banking for many years; Malcolm Dekker and Floyd Jenkins; and Chalmers Petersen. No, she decided. Unless the opportunity presented itself, she wouldn’t seek them out. Ben Dean was the one she deemed most likely to have been involved in shady activities...and now she wasn’t even sure about him.

She dug for her car keys and unlocked the Honda, leaning inside and turning the air-conditioning on high as she started the engine. Then she opened the windows and waited a few minutes. It might be hot on the sidewalk, but it was an oven inside the black Accord when it was parked and closed up on days like this.

After a minute or so, she slid behind the wheel. Ellis Hayer, Esquire, in McMinnville was going to be her next stop.

KATE MADE THE DRIVE to McMinnville to search out Ellis Hayer, the lawyer whose name had been mentioned in the minutes she had read earlier.

Ellis Hayer wasn’t hard to find. She had the address, which was right on Main Street. As she drove into town, on the right she saw a large green and gold sign reading, “Hayer and Strate, Attorneys-at-Law.”

Kate swung into the parking lot. Apparently Hayer and his partner did all right for themselves. The practice was a small building of attractive gray limestone with a flagstone walkway from the parking lot to the front door. It was beautifully landscaped with holly interspersed with petite dogwood trees and shrubs, such as summer-flowering pink clethra and hydrangea.

When Kate stepped into the office, the impression of quiet luxury was even more pronounced. An oriental rug created a small seating area surrounded by elegant cherry chairs and a love seat. Another rug led back a short hallway.

A receptionist behind an L-shaped counter looked up and smiled. “May I help you?”

“Is Mr. Hayer available?”

The girl glanced down. “Do you have an appointment?”

Kate shook her head. “No, but I’d like to speak with him if I may. My name is Kate Hanlon.”

“May I tell him what this is in reference to?”

Kate smiled and shook her head. “I’d rather discuss that with Mr. Hayer, if you don’t mind.”

“All right.” The woman smiled as she rose and walked down the hallway. “Give me a moment.”

Assuming that a moment could mean fifteen minutes or more, Kate took a seat and picked up a copy of Southern Living.

Before she could even finish the first article on theme elements to give a home a Southern flair, Kate heard a masculine voice say her name. She glanced up.

A good-looking younger man approached with his hand extended. His blond hair was cut in a youthful style that gave him disordered curls on top paired with close-cropped sides. He wore dark pants with a white shirt, a gleaming black leather belt and black dress loafers, and a floral-patterned tie of lavender, black, and pale gray.

Kate rose and took his hand. “Hello. I’m Kate Hanlon.”

“Ellis Hayer.” He sent her a sparkling smile, and she saw that his eyes were an arresting shade of light brown, almost amber. “How can I help you today?”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions. Before I do, I have to ask that you keep this conversation in confidence.”

Hayer’s face was inscrutable. “I can’t promise that unless you are a client,” he said.

Kate was silent for a moment. “It’s about the Copper Mill Public Library,” she finally said.

Hayer’s expression froze.

Thinking quickly, she dug into her handbag and pulled a quarter from her wallet. “Here,” she said, placing it in his hand. “If I pay you, may I be considered a client?”

Hayer looked startled. Then he laughed, his expression warming. “I’m intrigued.” He pulled a yellow notepad toward him and scribbled across a sheet, tearing it off and handing it toward her. “Here’s a receipt,” he said. “Consider yourself a client.”