by E. M. Moore
“Sandy,” he admitted. “We’d been tailing her since we saw her arguing with John that day at Red’s.”
I closed my eyes at the mention of her name. All of this could’ve been avoided if she acted like a proper human being. “Even if she didn’t do it, she’s still a terrible person.”
“I’m not arguing with you there,” Jackson said. “She’ll be able to post bail on the assault charge. She probably won’t spend any real time in jail. She’ll most likely get community service considering this is her first offense.”
“And John?” Mrs. Ward asked.
“He’ll be going to jail for a very long time.”
“Good,” Mrs. Ward said. She looked at us both and smiled again. “I suppose I should get back to the library. I left Teddy in charge.”
“Teddy?” I asked, standing, ready to run to the library if I had to.
Jackson pushed me back down, and Mrs. Ward laughed. “Now, now,” she said. “I’m sure Teddy did fine. I’m going back now and—”
“I’m going with you.”
Jackson pushed me down again. “My mom can handle things at the library. I’m taking you home so you can get some rest.”
“But—”
“Nothing,” Jackson said.
“My car?”
“We’ll get it tomorrow. Come on,” he hauled me up and kept his hands on my arms as he steered me toward his nondescript police cruiser.
“I don’t like your car.”
“I don’t really care right now, Maddie. You can yell at me some other time.” I got in and he closed the door behind me. He drove in silence for a little while until he looked down at my wrist, which lay across my lap. I’d had to strategically hide the burn marks from the paramedic. There was no way I could explain it. Even if I could, no one would believe me.
“What?” I asked.
“Your bracelet,” he said. “It burned John Williams.”
I shook my head even though I knew it did and I knew he knew too. The evidence was clear on my skin—and his. “No, he’s just crazy.”
“I saw the burn mark on John, Mads. It’s bad.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My sister and I would be having a long conversation tonight, starting with how in the hell the bracelet she made me could burn John Williams, and ending with how in the hell a perfectly functioning gun backfired in John’s hand. And in the middle, I’d probably throw in a question or two about how she could sense something had happened. Was it her intuition? Was it my use of magic? Was she truly a psychic?
Maybe this magic stuff had its positives after all. Only time would tell.
“I can’t explain it,” Jackson said. “I know it happened because I saw it with my own eyes. I don’t understand it, but I guess that doesn’t matter. I’m just happy you’re okay.”
We could both agree on that at least. My being okay and not knowing anything. I couldn’t explain anything yet either, but I supposed it was time to figure out what my witchy ancestry meant, and just exactly how powerful we all were.
THE END
Flip the page for Book 2 in the Witchy Librarian series!
Chapter 1
Today was the big day. No, I hadn’t raised enough money to pay for the library’s new elevator…yet. And no, Maxie hadn’t learned to bring me my tea in bed. But, it was the day I proved to Mrs. Adams that I was the best librarian Salem Public ever had. An almost impossible feat, I know, but I was confident and prepared. Confidence and preparation were keys to success.
Sitting in my office, I stared at the open door, waiting for her to show. I had dressed in my plain Jane pencil skirt and paired it with a white button-up blouse. I’d even worn my hair up in a bun for the occasion. The only thing I couldn’t bring myself to do was buy fake glasses and wear them around my neck with a beaded necklace. I was drawing the line there. Though, I did think about buying those fashion glasses without prescription lenses in them just so I would look more librarian-esque. I’d had them in my hand and everything, but ultimately, I put them back and walked out of the store without them. Now, that’s restraint right there.
Actually, that’s a lie. Mel, my sister, basically slapped them out of my hand and they went skidding across the floor in the middle of the drug store. She wouldn’t even let me pick them up. You’d think after almost dying a couple weeks ago, she’d be nicer to me.
I shook my head and focused on the task ahead. Laid out in front of me was my Elevator Fundraiser binder. Colored tabs sticking out the side denoted the different sections I planned on showing Mrs. Adams. Green for Planning and Ideas, blue for Donors, red for Possible Donors, and yellow for Projected Outcomes. In an even further breakdown, I placed green stickies next to the pages that had the fundraisers-in-progress and red stickies on the pages I’d planned out upcoming fundraisers. At this rate, I speculated I’d have raised the full amount needed in two months.
The seconds ticked by on the clock above my office door and I worried over my lower lip. George Sanders’ death had put a real wrench in my fundraising efforts and I still wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t why Mrs. Adams had requested this meeting in the first place. Though Mrs. Ward, my amazing Librarian Assistant, and her son, Jackson, the local police detective, had told me I couldn’t control when, where, and how someone got murdered—though if we were playing Clue it would be John Williams in the library elevator (Yes, that elevator. Yes, my library.) with a pocket knife—that didn’t mean it was an excuse to slack off, even if my biggest donor was murdered before he wrote me a check.
Luckily, I had planned my way out of certain failure and only needed to show Mrs. Adams my efforts in order for her to finally admit I was the best candidate for Library Director. Eliza Penn had nothing on me. That old bitty.
I smiled, and then jumped after a crash sounded outside my office. I stood at once and followed the voices until I saw both Ray, our janitor, and Teddy, one of our volunteers, staring down at a public copier. “What’s going on?” I asked as I made my way over to them.
Teddy stood to his full height and smiled sheepishly. “Mrs. Clark is trying to print a page from her genealogy research, but we’re running out of toner.”
He handed me a sheet of paper with faded ink. Some of the words were barely readable. Knowing how demanding Mrs. Clark could be, I understood why they all looked so frazzled. She was not happy being stuck on the first floor when all her materials were on the third floor. Yet another reason why we needed that new elevator and soon. Mrs. Clark had mobility problems and couldn’t make it up the stairs if she tried.
“Did you check the supply closet for a new toner? I have them all labeled.”
Ray nodded. “I checked. The spot is empty.”
“Hmm. And we don’t get an office supply delivery until tomorrow. Well, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do boys. Hand me the old toner.” Teddy handed it over. “A little trick for you both. When you’re running low on toner and want to get as much use out of it as you can, all you have to do is give it a little shake.”
I smiled at them as I gave the old toner a good shake.
“Maddie!” Mrs. Ward’s surprised exclamation startled me. I looked to my left to find her standing there, her hands pressed against her cheeks, and her gaze lingering on my midsection. “Your blouse!”
Dread washed over me. I closed my eyes and breathed, not wanting to look down. From the look on Mrs. Ward’s face, some sort of awful wardrobe malfunction had just occurred. I peeked and slowly lowered my gaze. Yep. I knew it. Black toner dotted the lower half of my button-up like paint splatter. What a mess.
An apologetic Teddy reached for the toner. I let him take it from me and place it back in the machine. I looked back up at Mrs. Ward. “Can you help Teddy and Ray? I have to go fix this before Mrs. Adams gets here.”
Mrs. Ward shook her head, slowly, deliberately. “She’s already here, Maddie. She’s waiting for you in your office.”
Waiting for me? No
, it wasn’t supposed to happen that way. I’d been sitting in my office for an hour waiting for her, making sure I had plenty of time to impress her, to make sure I was relaxed enough to woo her. I took in a gulp of air and Mrs. Ward immediately strode forward to put her hands on my shoulders. “You listen to me, Maddie Styles. You are a fantastic librarian. Who cares that you have black toner all over your white blouse?” Though her words were committed, she frowned down at my shirt with a look that said, ‘Yikes’. “You go right in there, shake her hand, and tell her all about the progress you’ve made raising the elevator money. Now, go. Show her what you’re made of.”
I tipped my chin in the air and threw my shoulders back. She was right. A little toner dust on my shirt—okay, a lot of toner dust on my shirt—didn’t mean I wasn’t a good librarian. It meant that not only could I raise money for the elevator, I was out there doing the dirty work, too.
I strode forward, not even pausing before I entered my office and turned to face Mrs. Adams. I gripped her limp hand in mine and gave it a good shake. “Glad you could make it. Sorry I’m a little late. We had a toner issue out at the public copier.”
I pulled my hand away and immediately cringed. I hadn’t looked at my palms, hadn’t seen the black dust there that was now all over Mrs. Adams’ hands as well. She didn’t miss it however. Frowning down at her gray skin, she took a tissue out of her purse to wipe at it. “I can see that.”
I knew this would happen. Ever since she’d sent me that email about wanting to meet, I was afraid I would do something to mess it up. And now here I’d gone and soiled her hands within the first two seconds. She was going to fire me for sure. “I apologize. I didn’t realize my hands were as black as my shirt.”
I giggled nervously, took a tissue from the box on my desk, and began wiping at my own hands. The shirt was a wash, there was no saving it. I sat in case I could save a little bit of my dignity by hiding the lower half of my blouse, but Mrs. Adams already got a good look. Her eyebrows were halfway up her forehead as she stared at my white shirt.
There was too long of a pause for my liking before I cleared my throat and dived right in. Though she’d requested the meeting, I knew what she wanted to hear—an update on the elevator funds. “I’m so glad you could come meet with me, Mrs. Adams. I know the board wants this new elevator as much as I do.” I smiled, but she didn’t smile back. No matter, I knew she’d be a difficult nut to crack. “We’re trying every avenue to raise the funds necessary for the new elevator. As you know, the late Mr. Sanders had pledged to donate half of what the library needed, and with his untimely death, I had to think beyond the library fundraiser that should’ve—would’ve—helped us meet our goal. I have new updates to relate, and some of them very positive as well.”
Mrs. Adams sat back in the chair opposite me. Whether she realized it or not, a scowl graced her face as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She really was a frightening thing to look at from the other side of a desk. Sighing, she said, “Miss Styles, I understand you were hoping for Mr. Sanders to provide half the money required. Perhaps next time it would behoove you not to put so much faith in one donor. I’m very interested to hear what you’ve been doing in light of the failed fundraiser.”
I was starting to sweat. I could feel it. No doubt I had droplets beading along my hairline already, another infraction Mrs. Adams wouldn’t look past. I bet Eliza Penn didn’t sweat, and she certainly wouldn’t stand for a dead body ruining her library fundraiser. “I have the invited guestlist from that evening and I still plan on utilizing that after an appropriate amount of time has passed. Besides that, I’m happy to report that we’ve been able to raise a quarter of the funds within the last week and half, bringing our total raised to half our goal.”
Her eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly. I’d surprised her. Good. I was an awesome librarian and she needed to realize that.
I placed my hands on the binder in front of me and opened it up to the green Ideas tab. “I’ve started an online campaign. Here, let me show you.” I placed a finger near the figure we’d been able to raise that I pulled off the website that morning. It was an impressive number considering we’d only started the campaign ten days ago. “I’ve been emailing businesses in the area based on a few criteria: One, they’ve supported the library in the past, two, the owners use the library, and three, those who have the money to spend, no matter how little it might seem to them.”
Mrs. Adams frowned at the paper and then picked her glasses from out of her purse and slid them up her nose. When she pulled her hand away to move the binder to face her, I noticed a black smudge on the end of her nose. “Tell me what I’m looking at here.”
Ignoring the smudge, which was no doubt black ink from the toner, I rubbed my temples. Realizing I’d probably just smudged my face up as well, I shook my head and trudged forward. “Not only have we been contacting local businesses for the online campaign, but we also have a flyer out on the front desk. Either Mrs. Ward or myself talks to every single patron who checks out a book. Most of them are more than willing to donate a couple dollars. We had to walk some of them through the online process, but we designated one of our internet computers on the first floor for just this purpose. We’re turning it into a mini-session on how to use the internet as well. With how well this is working, it wouldn’t surprise me if this tactic alone makes up for what Mr. Sanders would’ve donated.”
Mrs. Adams looked up over the top of her glasses at me. “I’m happy to see progress is being made. Penelope also tells me you’ve secured a booth for the library at this week’s sidewalk fair. I’ll make sure to stop by to see how it’s going.”
She started to stand, and I popped out of my seat shortly after. Mrs. Adams’ use of Penelope had momentarily confused me. I never called Mrs. Ward by her first name. I didn’t know anyone who did, actually. “Please do,” I told her. “And send anyone you can think of our way. We’ll have a cash donation box there as well as the library’s laptop prepared to take online donations through the site I set up.”
“It seems you’ve…got this all figured out. The next board meeting is only a couple weeks away. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could walk in there with all the funds raised?”
“Oh, yes. It would,” I said, forcing a smile to my face. The gauntlet had been thrown. I needed to raise the money for the elevator in two weeks. Two weeks! How was that possible?
“I look forward to seeing you then.” She smiled and started to walk from the room when she turned on her heel. “Oh, and Miss Styles? You have black toner on your forehead.”
My hand immediately moved there, shielding the ridiculous sight. “Thank you,” I muttered. My eyes landed on the smudge on her nose, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. She strode from the room, all smiles, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. After about ten seconds, my heartrate kicked up again. Mrs. Ward shouted out a goodbye to Mrs. Adams and then exclaimed, “Mary, you have some black on your nose. Did you know?”
I closed my eyes and waited for the response. Whatever she said, I couldn’t hear it from in my office. I took out a mirror from my drawer and started to clean myself up. I’d have to stop at my apartment not only to get Maxie before I headed to the sidewalk fair, but I’d also have to put on a different shirt. It wasn’t so bad though. It was a good excuse to get out of this awful skirt, too.
Footsteps padded their way toward my office and I glanced up to see Mrs. Ward beaming at me. “How did it go? You must have won her over. She looked a teensy bit flustered when she left here.”
“That’s because you told her about the smudge on her nose.”
“No, it’s because you surprised her with your director skills. Really, what you’ve been able to pull off in the last couple of weeks has been amazing, Maddie. And just think, you were held hostage somewhere in there, too. Not many people could do that. You really should’ve taken a couple days off work. Jackson thought so, too.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. As if I cared wha
t Jackson Ward thought. Well, I take that back, he was growing on me again. He did help save my life so…there was that. I ignored the comments about her son. “Mrs. Adams implied that I should raise the rest of the money by the next board meeting.”
Mrs. Ward’s eyes widened. She quickly recovered though. “If the online campaign doesn’t reach our goal, you can always go with the ‘Win A Date’ idea.”
I sealed my lips together. Somehow, Mrs. Ward had got it in her head that we should auction off the eligible bachelors in town. She seemed to think that desperate women would pay good money to go out on a date with some of the single men in Salem. Detective Jackson Ward was first on her list and I didn’t think she wanted just any single girl bidding on him. She wanted me to.
The whole idea made me want to laugh. There was no way Jackson Ward would let me auction him off as a date to some woman he didn’t even know. It sounded exactly the opposite of what he might do, actually.
“Your eyes look kind of crazy,” Mrs. Ward said. “Is it something I said?”
“I’m just contemplating the fact of whether you really know your son at all. I think Jackson would hate that idea. I really do.”
“He might not hate it if someone he knew bid on him.”
Ah, there it was. I knew it. Ever since my boyfriend passed away… Well, I guess I shouldn’t say ever since. There was an appropriate amount of time for mourning—her idea of appropriate, not mine—but ever since then, Mrs. Ward had been trying to hook me up with her son. I’d known Jackson for a long time. We all went to school together. In fact, he was my boyfriend’s best friend in high school. They were close. For a while, it hurt me to even see Jackson because every time I saw him, I thought of Derek. I was starting to get over that now. Just now. Possibly the week before last when I had to help him figure out who murdered George Sanders and he helped save my life.
Was there a saying about murders bringing people closer together? Nope. Probably not.