by Helen Conrad
He needed to go out and explore the site of the fire in more detail, but first he wanted to grab some lunch and then stop by the library. It had been his experience that librarians in small towns usually had a wealth of knowledge about what was going on in the community. If you professed to have an interest in the history of the place, they often spilled their guts. It was an irresistible situation for them. They would carefully collect and preserve stories of the town year after year, and nobody cared, nobody wanted to hear about them. Then in would come a stranger asking for the precise information they themselves found most important, and they couldn’t resist telling all. Sometimes hidden in that commentary would be the answer to the riddle Lee was hired to puzzle out. It had worked for him many times before.
Helped make the job go faster.
At this point, the job was going by the book. The preliminary work had been done by the local fire department. Lee had the expertise to build on that, maybe see things they hadn’t. And at the same time, there was a witness who said he’d seen a man running from the scene of the fire. Witnesses were often unreliable, and so far Lee didn’t put much stock in this one. He would have to see what his inspection brought out. That shouldn’t take too long, though. He figured a week at the most and he’d be heading back to the city. Back home.
Home. That word didn’t bring the sense of relief and anticipation it used to. He thought of how he’d once spent his lonely nights on the road lying awake, longing for Shelley; how he’d called the kids just to hear their voices, make sure he wasn’t losing his place in their young lives.
That had been then. This was now. Things were different.
“Like the kids used to say,” he muttered to himself, “life sucks.”
Putting his clipboard under his arm, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and started back down the street toward where he’d parked his car. The cold wind slapped at him almost playfully, then rushed off to slash at the red-and-green holiday banners lining the street, making them snap and twist. The Christmas windows in Gates Department Store glittered, and carols coming from the loudspeakers added to the feeling that something special was going to happen.
He watched the shoppers hurrying home with their packages and wondered if he should buy Shelley anything this Christmas. Had he given her anything last year? He couldn’t remember. Probably not. He didn’t think he’d bought her a Christmas present since the divorce was final, almost two years ago.
But he was going to need things for his children, Mark and Jenny. Mark was still into hockey in a big way. Maybe a new helmet, or a pair of the gloves that cost a fortune. And Jenny—how about a necklace? Or maybe he could get her a computer or...
Or maybe a nice padded cell for himself.
Hell. He looked around for something to smash a fist into and didn’t find anything.
Why did he do this? Why did he keep thinking that finding the perfect gift for his children would buy back their love? That a Christmas present that pleased them would mean they would come around and be his babies again?
It wasn’t going to happen. He could buy Mark a sports car and send Jenny on a trip to Hawaii and they would still look at him with that hollow stare. They were too far away from him now. Lost. There was no way he was ever going to get them back.
Lee pulled away from that last thought, wincing. He couldn’t let it sink in. It hurt too much.
There was his car, and this time there was no pretty girl sitting in the front seat. He had to grin, remembering how cute she’d looked staring up at him, how surprised that anyone had caught her. Too bad she hadn’t come back. She was at least a friendly face, and a very attractive one at that.
Easing into the driver’s seat, he sighed with pleasure at the feel of his car. The vehicle was the only thing that lingered from the days when he had been part of a family, had been a daddy.
Now what was he? Nothing at all.
* * *
GLENNA HURRIED INTO Tyler’s brand-new library with her arms full of books. They were picture books, used by preschoolers, so they were light but awkward. She put them on the Returns desk, trying to straighten them into a neat stack. Miss Grassley seemed to be working the circulation desk today, and she liked neat stacks of books.
Miss Grassley hadn’t always worked here at the public library. Elise Ferguson Fairmont, who had been a fixture here for years, was still chief librarian and actually lived in the lovely historic home that had housed the old library for forty years. But Miss Grassley had been librarian at the high school when Glenna was a student there, and now she did much of the day-to-day administrative work here, giving Elise time to travel with her architect husband, Robert Fairmont.
Funny how Miss Grassley still had the power to make Glenna feel as though she’d left her hall pass in her locker, she thought to herself as she pushed her thick black hair, today worn loose, behind her ears. It seemed that the woman had been around as an authority figure for most of Glenna’s life, but she still looked pretty good, for what—fifty-five? Sixty? It was the glasses, she supposed, that gave her that strict look.
Miss Grassley came over and began straightening the stack of picture books. “Oh, hello, Glenna,” she said somewhat absently. But her brows drew together as she began checking through them. “Glenna, these volumes are two days overdue.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I had them in my car but didn’t get a chance to return them.”
Though she was taking classes in early-childhood education at Sugar Creek Community College, Glenna seemed to be spending most of her time these days at the TylerTots Day Care, where she was working and doing her student teaching. She loved the place and ran a lot of errands above and beyond her official duties.
Miss Grassley pursed her lips. “While they were in your car, other children might have been using them,” she noted dryly. “That will be four dollars and forty cents.”
Glenna sighed, opening her purse and taking out four one-dollar bills and change. There went her lunch money. But it was her own fault that she hadn’t brought the books back. Too many other things had had priority. Glenna smiled wryly as she hurried toward the children’s section to select more books for TylerTots.
The library, the pride and joy of the community, had recently been completed. Everything was in pastel colors, easy on the eyes, and it had a wonderful open atmosphere. An atrium full of greenery gave the place a feeling of spring even in the dead of winter. Glenna loved to come here.
Picking out picture books for the children was one of her favorite chores. Since her own toddlers—Jimmy, four and a half, and Megan, three—loved books, she knew what kids responded to.
Today she concentrated on holiday stories, like The Boy Who Searched for Santa Claus, and Twelve Days of Magic and Blue Dreams on Hanukkah and The First Noel. The last book had stunning watercolors of Bethlehem and the manger and the three wise men arriving from the East. It definitely went into her stack of choices. And then she turned to the fun books, like Robbie Wins a Spitting Contest and Making Mud Pies Can Be Hazardous to Your Health and Jessica Williker Can’t Fly, You Know, (Even Though She Says She Can).
“Hi, Glenna. Getting books for Megan and Jimmy?”
Glenna turned and smiled at the young woman whispering to her from the other side of the area divider. Joe Santori’s daughter, Gina, had recently grown out of her tomboyish stage and was turning into a beauty. She’d done some baby-sitting for Glenna’s children during the summer.
“Actually, the books are for TylerTots.”
“I’m working on a term paper,” Gina said, holding up a large, somber-looking tome. Thematic Discussions of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne.
“Yikes,” Glenna said, chuckling appreciatively. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Gina waved and moved on, but seeing her had reminded Glenna of the scene at the
diner that morning and her smile faded as the teenager rounded a corner. The fire was beginning to haunt Glenna, worry her in ways she hadn’t expected. When she got home that afternoon, she would have to have a talk with her father and find out what he thought. She had always been close to her dad and she knew he would level with her if she approached him carefully. That was what she would do, she decided, and suddenly felt better about the situation.
She finished selecting books and was on her way to the checkout desk when a movement near the entrance caught her eye. She turned in time to see the fire investigator—the tall, gorgeous-looking man who had challenged her motives for being in his car that morning—walk up to the reference desk. He didn’t spot her, and she shrank behind a stack, not relishing a repeat engagement.
Despite her denials at the diner that morning, Lee Nielsen had disturbed her in some crazy way she couldn’t really identify, and she didn’t much like being disturbed. Glenna liked life to move along calmly and easily. Her divorce had been a wrenching experience, something she never, ever wanted to go through again. If that meant she was going to be alone, except for her children, that was just the way it would be. So when she found a man like Lee Nielsen stirring something inside her, she quickly backed away.
But she was certainly curious. What was he doing here? Getting reading material for a long, lonely night at the bed-and-breakfast? Clutching her books tightly, she continued toward the circulation desk.
To Glenna’s surprise, Miss Grassley had taken Lee Nielsen into her private office. The door was closed, but the wall was glass from waist high to ceiling, and Glenna could see what was going on inside. They were laughing together. And Miss Grassley had taken off her glasses and was preening in front of the man.
Why, Miss Grassley, Glenna thought with a suppressed chuckle. You hussy! The librarian was flirting with the fire investigator. What a riot! Glenna only wished she could hear what they were saying. For some reason, she was suddenly intensely curious.
As she watched surreptitiously from behind a spinner rack of new books, a library assistant went up to the office door and knocked, then slipped inside, handing Miss Grassley a large, bulging envelope from the clippings file. When the clerk went back out, she left the door ajar. Glenna pricked up her ears. This just might be her chance.
Strolling casually, she moved closer, staying out of sight of the office window. Once she got up behind the microfiche machine, she began to make out their voices, and as she sidled even nearer, pretending to be completely fascinated by the videotape collection, she could actually hear what they were saying.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Grassley was chirping, “you see this old photograph of it. I have more.... There we go. Let me spread them out here.”
Glenna hummed a little, checking out of the corner of her eye to see if anyone was noticing her. But no one seemed to be paying any attention, so, shifting her armload of books, she pulled out a videotape and pretended to read the label.
“Yes, indeed,” Miss Grassley was saying, her tone sweet as sugar. “It was originally named the Tyler Mercantile and Feed Store, and it dates from the 1850s. Two of our oldest families, the Ingallses and the Kelseys, founded it together, but I’m sorry to say the original Kelsey was a somewhat shiftless character and took off for the gold fields of California, leaving Gunther Ingalls behind to shoulder the burdens without him. Gunther renamed the store Ingalls Feed and Mercantile at that time, and that was the antecedent of the thriving business that still exists today, the Ingalls Farm and Machinery Company. Or did until the fire.”
Glenna blanched, horrified. This was a slightly different version from the story she’d always heard. How dare this woman malign her ancestor this way!
The fire investigator’s voice broke in. “From what I’ve heard, Judson Ingalls seems almost like the town patriarch.”
“Indeed, he is.” Miss Grassley’s voice trilled with enthusiasm on that score. “A wonderful man.”
“A proud man, isn’t he?”
“Oh, yes. And he’s been through a lot these past few years, what with the murder trial and everything. Here are some clippings on that. It was all resolved about three years ago, but the poor man bears the scars to this day.”
“You think so?”
“I do. He’s not the man he once was.”
“Any reason to think he might be in any financial difficulties?” Lee asked, his voice deceptively casual.
Glenna’s eyes widened at that and her lips thinned. Miss Grassley chattered on about Judson and his vacation homes, but Glenna was struck that Lee had asked that question. What did he think—that Judson might have torched the place himself? For what? Insurance money? She shook her head. The man was definitely on the wrong track. But then she heard her family name mentioned again and returned her attention to the conversation in the office.
Miss Grassley was speaking. “Now the Kelseys are another matter. Jackie Kelsey did come back to Tyler after losing everything, including his wife, in his greed for gold in California.”
“What?” Glenna mouthed. “Miss Grassley!” And she almost laughed aloud.
“He was still a disgrace,” the librarian went on, unaware of the soft protest just outside her door. “The sort of man who bites the hand that feeds him. But when he died, Gunther took in his son, Michael, and raised him as though he were one of his own. Little good it did him. The Kelseys have always been a bit incorrigible. To this day I do believe they think the Ingallses cheated them out of their share of things here in Tyler.”
“Do they? That’s interesting.”
It was darn interesting to Glenna, too. She’d had no idea there were people in this town who looked at local history quite this way, and at her family as malcontents. This wasn’t really funny any longer. In fact, it was just a little scary. In school, her siblings had all been popular. Her brother was a coach at the high school. Her father was on the town council. Her mother, Anna Bauer Kelsey, was one of the nicest women in Tyler. Of course, she wasn’t a blood Kelsey, but still...
Glenna was reeling. This entire conversation was a shock to her. She put back the video and stared at the others on the shelf, not seeing them, her mind in a whirl of outrage.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Grassley was saying. “Why, Johnny Kelsey has been foreman out at the plant for years, and they say he’s awfully good at his job, but I think Mr. Ingalls ought to watch his back.... Have you been out to the F and M yet?” Miss Grassley was suddenly back in flirt mode, though Glenna was too numb to notice. “I could drive you out there, take you by the Ingalls mansion and some of the other heritage buildings in town, so you could get a better feel for the history of our area. I’d be glad to do it. We close at five today and...”
Glenna turned away, stumbling, but righted herself and headed dully for the checkout desk. Her chest felt tight and she could hardly breathe, but she managed to smile at the clerk and stack her books properly, handing over her card and waiting for this routine chore to be over so that she could escape.
She had barely scooped the books up again when the librarian and the fire investigator came out of the office, and Miss Grassley said, in a whisper that carried across the room, “Why, there’s a Kelsey right now.”
Glenna felt her cheeks flush bright red. She turned blindly toward the exit, rushing to get away from this awful woman.
“It’s Glenna,” the horrible voice went on. “She’s one of Johnny Kelsey’s children.”
She had to get out of here, find someplace quiet so she could think. Her impulse was to make a stand and defend her family, but she had to pull herself together first. She had to make sure she wasn’t blowing this thing out of proportion. The door was just in front of her. She turned her shoulder into it, pushing it open, and was safely outside and charging down the stairs when her foot slipped and the books went flying all over the steps.
“Damn, damn, damn,
” she muttered as she scrambled to pick them up again.
And then he was there, helping her, and she hated him for it.
“Are you all right?” he asked, handing her a slim volume and reaching for another. “Don’t you think you ought to sit down and make sure you didn’t injure yourself?”
That was the limit—him talking about her family behind her back and then pretending to be nice to her. Glenna glared at him and snatched the book he held out to her. “I can handle this myself,” she told him. “Thank you very much, but...”
His blue eyes were laughing at her, as though he could read her mind. He held out another book he’d picked up. “What are you, a teacher?” He glanced at the cute picture on the cover and grimaced. “How can you stand being cooped up with those little hellions all day?”
She took the book and gave him a glance as cold as the weather. “Children are not little hellions,” she informed him firmly, examining the steps to make sure she hadn’t missed any books that might have skittered out of reach. When she let herself look at his face again, he was smiling, and it occurred to her that he really was going out of his way to be charming all of a sudden. She did a double take, staring at him closely.
What exactly did the man want from her?
Oh. Information, of course. What else could it be?
“Sure they’re hellions,” he was saying, rubbing his hands together against the cold and watching her from under long dark lashes. “Listen, I’ve got experience. I’ve been there. And no one could ever make me crawl through those minefields again.”
Well, maybe he wasn’t trying to be charming, maybe it was annoying. She pulled her stack of books together and started off down the stairs again. “Children are the future of the human race,” she retorted over her shoulder, just in case he might think she was agreeing with him on that point.
Unfortunately, he seemed to take it as an invitation to come along, and he joined her, matching her step for step.