by DiAnn Mills
“Excellent idea. Now, tell me again why you don’t want the word to get out?”
Paige stuffed her pistol back inside her shoulder bag and unlocked the library door. She shoved it open gently so George wouldn’t hear. “I think it was kids, like you said. Probably thinking they could make a name for themselves by shaking up our town.”
“And you’d like me to conduct a quiet investigation?”
“I have a personal reason, George. I think those kids saw me, and I don’t want them sitting on my front porch thinking I identified them.”
“That’s true. You go on ahead and call the glass company in Pradmore in the mornin’, and I’ll do my detective work in private.”
“Thanks, George.” She saw his car whip around the corner. “Hey, I see you.”
“What are you doing outside the library?”
“That’s where I was when the window was shot out.”
“Those kids and I are going to dance all the way to jail. There you are on crutches and trying to work, bless your heart. And now this. You could have been hurt bad.”
If you had any idea . . . “But I wasn’t.”
For the next twenty minutes, George asked questions, wrote up the report, and shone his flashlight up and down the street. He found the bullet inside the library that was fired through the window, but Paige didn’t have an opportunity to see the type. After all, librarians weren’t typically ammunition experts, and George didn’t offer any information. She attempted to clean up the slivers of glass, but George took the broom away from her and finished the job. Keary’s game playing had her mad enough to drive to Oklahoma City and pay him a visit. A little confrontation on his own turf might cause him to loosen up a bit. An added bonus would be to see Stevens.
Her cell phone rang. Why give Keary the satisfaction of gloating over his latest escapade? The phone continued to ring and curiosity got the best of her. She checked the caller ID. It was Voleta, a diversion Paige could use.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Paige studied a piece of glass on the circulation desk. “Dave Letterman not appealing to you tonight?”
Voleta sobbed. “My electric bill is overdue, and I owe Eleanor for my workstation.”
“Did you put back money each week from your check and hide your tips like we talked about?”
“Yes.” Voleta sniffed. “And I paid my cell phone bill on time.”
“Then you don’t have a problem—unless you went shopping and spent it all.”
“Not this time. I have my tips in a jar, and I deposited my checks.”
“Wonderful. No need to panic. You’ve been—”
“Would you stop by in the morning and help me write out the checks and balance my checkbook?”
What next? Weariness tore at her. “Sure, but soon you’re going to have to handle your finances by yourself. Did you sign up for that math class at the junior college?”
“No. I decided to take a computer class instead. Paige, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. How about a free manicure on the Friday morning before I do your hair? I have some fabulous new shades for fall, great oranges and browns.”
“Sure. Glad I can help. And let’s wait on the manicure. I’d rather have a pedicure after my foot heals. I’ll look at those new fab colors in the morning, ’cause I’m ready for a change from the hot pink.”
“Seven o’clock too early? It sure would help me out.”
“I’ll be there.” Paige waved at George, who stood at the door. She dropped her phone into the pocket of her khakis and limped his way.
“Let’s lock up and go home, little lady,” George said. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
“Probably for the next year. Sure glad you were at the other end of my phone when I needed you.”
His tense look softened. “I’ll follow you home and make sure you’re safe inside.”
Oh, I think I can take care of myself. “Thanks, George. That would be great. What would the people of this town do without you to keep them safe?”
“Oh, some other old ex-marine like me would come along and do a better job.”
She locked up the library for the second time that evening. No more sixth sense feelings weighed the air. No flying bullets or rumbling motorcycles. The danger had dissipated . . . for now.
Chapter 17
Miles picked up a large coffee at the doughnut shop and headed to his truck. He swung a glance toward Eleanor’s beauty shop. Yep, there was Paige’s car. She stepped out and hobbled to the rear door to pull out her crutches. She sure could do great things with a pair of crutches.
“Ever think of asking for help?” he asked.
“Only when I need it.”
“I should have known. You’re out early.” He pointed to her foot. “How’s the monster?”
“Still wrapped like a sausage.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Don’t you have an appointment with the orthopedic doctor in Pradmore today?”
“Did you take notes last Friday night? I nearly forgot the appointment.”
“Had to. You were a bit incoherent.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m headed there right after Voleta and I visit over some coffee.”
“She is driving.”
“Hey, Coach, I’m an independent gal. My left foot works just fine.”
“Oh, so you’re ambidextrous with your hands and your feet?”
“Absolutely.”
“Does Sheriff George know that?”
“You sure do ask a lot of questions so early in the morning. Is this a quiz?”
“Pop type. The kind that can make or break your grade.” He smiled into the face he’d grown to love. How he loved her wit. How he loved every inch of her. “I wish you’d get someone to drive you to Pradmore. Driving into town is risky enough.”
She tilted her head. “Tell you what, I’ll ask Voleta when she has her first appointment.”
“Thanks. Can I call you later to see how you’re doing?”
“Are you sure you don’t have something better to do?”
He heard the question, but her words were soft. “I can fit it in.”
Her gaze lingered on him a moment. She did care, if only a little. A woman like Paige didn’t take advantage of a guy. She was sincere. She didn’t see how beautiful she was inside and out.
I’m worse than a lovesick kid.
* * *
Paige stepped into the Shear Perfection beauty salon and glanced about the neon orange and yellow shop for Eleanor or Voleta. A floor-to-ceiling palm tree hovered over a display hyping some kind of cream that was supposed to do a better job of erasing wrinkles than Botox. Beside that was a chrome chair and a glass-topped table with more nail polish colors than The Home Depot had house paints.
Voleta stuck her head out of an open closet. “Be right there, sugar.”
Paige allowed her mind to swing from the man who sent delicious shivers through her body to hip-hop Voleta. She emerged from the closet carrying a huge mug of steaming coffee that had a picture of a yawning cat in a nightshirt. The rich, nutty scent wafted through the room, reminding Paige that she should have stopped at the doughnut shop. But how could she manage hot coffee and the cumbersome crutches?
“Wish I’d taken the time to brew some coffee,” Paige said. “Can’t seem to wake up this morning.”
Voleta’s eyes widened, drawing Paige’s attention to the eye shadow that matched the orange and yellow decor. “Remember, I said I’d get you some. So I got you a cup before I filled mine.” She pointed to a large to-go cup at her workstation. “And a chocolate peanut butter doughnut.”
“Wonderful. Just what I need this morning. Thanks.” She glanced around. “Is Eleanor running late?”
“She overslept and asked me to take care of her client this morning.”
There went her driver to Pradmore. “Is she not feeling well?”
Voleta shook her head. “She and Mr. Shafer played games with the senior citizens group last night. My guess is
she partied too late.”
“I’ll have to ask her about that. Those two sure are the odd couple.”
“They’re trying to make it work.” Voleta giggled as she walked to her chair and picked up the to-go coffee. “Have a seat, sweetie. I’m sorry to have bothered you about my checkbook, especially with your foot and all.”
“No problem. I do have a ten o’clock appointment with an orthopedic doctor in Pradmore.”
“A what?”
“Bone doctor.”
“Oh. I see.” Voleta’s eyes widened, and her eye shadow lifted like half-moons. “You’re not driving there, are you?”
Paige laughed at the dramatics. “Yes. I do fine with my left foot.” Here we go again. . . .
“I don’t think so.” Voleta whirled around and picked up the phone. She propped her hand on one hip and dialed. “Thelma? This is Voleta. Eleanor’s running late this morning, and I need to run Paige Rogers—you know, the librarian—to the doctor. Can we reschedule for this afternoon? . . . Yeah, she’s right here. I’m taking her to the orthodontist in Pradmore. . . . What? Yeah, she might have broken her foot.”
Paige turned her head to keep from laughing. Voleta tried hard, really hard.
An hour later, after Voleta’s checkbook had been balanced and bills had been paid, Paige climbed into Voleta’s slightly battered car. Actually it looked like a war zone and smelled like greasy fries and banana peels. But Paige had her ride to the doctor, which meant she could swallow half a pain pill. Now if only it would kick into gear.
“You look awful,” Voleta said.
“Gee, thanks, girlfriend.” Paige closed her eyes.
“No, I mean, you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”
Last night had a lot to do with that aspect of her life. Good old George had decided to call the glass company with a lot of “pressure” to make sure the library window was replaced first thing this morning. Thank goodness neither Miles nor Voleta had noticed—she hoped. “My foot’s a real pain.”
Voleta laughed.
* * *
The orthopedic specialist pointed out a slight fracture in the X-rays and chose to cast Paige’s foot. “Four weeks,” the doctor had said. “Considering your past injuries to this foot, I want to eliminate any future surgeries—and keep you off of it.”
Delays and more delays postponed when she could begin physical therapy and run again. At least now she could wear a boot-type cast and pitch the crutches. But even though she had mobility, it was severely limited, leaving her irritated and tired just thinking about the work that needed to be done regarding Keary.
Her stomach rumbled. The thought of a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich rolled around her head, but since she couldn’t exercise, calories would have to be cut in half. What a sacrifice.
“Thanks for being my taxi,” Paige said, once they were on the road again.
“Hey, you’d do the same for me. I just feel bad I didn’t see that kid running down the bleacher steps.”
“As clumsy as I am, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference.”
While Voleta stopped at the beauty supply store in Pradmore, Paige phoned Palmer.
“I’m fitted into a boot cast for four weeks. Not the prescription for an operative, but I’ll make it work.”
Palmer blew out a sigh. “This slows you with Zuriel.”
“Four weeks from today, I’ll be on the road to Oklahoma City.”
“We’re cutting it close.”
Ouch, but true. “My concern is his living long enough to tell me anything. I know that he and Keary have been working together in oil and diamonds since 2001, but Keary has this thing about usefulness taking precedence over life.”
“My point. The photos of what was left of those villages and the dead bodies before Keary and Zuriel got involved in the oil show are the connection to WorldMarc. We need the link before November 3.”
Voleta opened the car door.
“Okay, Miles, I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Paige erased the call and slipped the phone into her purse. She glanced down at the royal blue cast, thankful her foot no longer hurt but resenting the time required for it to heal.
How can I speed up this investigation?
Chapter 18
Thursday morning, Paige listened to the members of the book club debate the literary merit of their selected read. Why seasoned citizens would choose a chick-lit book about a twentysomething heroine for their discussion was beyond her. Mr. Shafer claimed to like the story, and Eleanor blushed and agreed. Reverend Bateson had already given his diatribe about fiction being an abomination to the Lord, which threw the whole group into a heated discussion about Jesus teaching through parables.
Paige loved these people—their spunk, their courage, their love for each other, and the years of wisdom that contributed to their wit. She respected their commitment to their community and their country. If she had one prayer for them, it was that they would hold on tightly to their ideals. The unresolved betrayal with Keary had left her cynical. A cynical Christian . . . that didn’t make sense. It sounded like an oxymoron, but nevertheless it was true in her case.
As soon as the book club left, she planned to do a little research with her laptop. The duo of Keary and Zuriel needed more work, and how far up the ladder was Jason Stevens?
“This apple pie is the best ever,” Miss Alma said. Today she wore a red bow in her nearly blue hair. “Is that caramel I taste?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Back to Paige’s world.
“And I bet that caramel is homemade.”
Paige settled into her librarian mode. “You’re forcing me to be honest. It’s the bite-size pieces that you have to unwrap.”
“Don’t tell anyone else,” said a gentlemen whose few white hairs stood straight up above his ears like whiskers on a cat. “Spoils your image.”
The library phone rang before Paige could respond.
“Good morning, Mikaela. How’s Oklahoma’s number one librarian?”
Keary. “Outstanding.” What a way to spoil the morning.
“I could use you in the campaign.”
She turned her back to the book club folks. “Knowledge of human nature is the beginning and end of political education.”
“Very good. But I’ll keep asking until you change your mind.”
“By then the election will be over.”
“And I’ll be leading the state.”
Not if I can stop you. “I really have things to do.”
“I understand. Hey, I have a question for you. I heard there are fires in northern Wisconsin. I’d sure hate to think your parents might be caught in one of those, especially in view of your mother’s heart condition.”
Paige felt the color drain from her face. Had Mom’s heart problem grown worse? “If anything happens to either of them, I’ll . . .”
“What? Try to prove I’m not an upstanding citizen? You tried that before, remember? Didn’t work. Now I’m offering you a chance to make up to me for your lies.”
He is delusional. “Why do you care if I support you or not?”
“It’s a matter of principle. Besides, you already have the answer. By the way, you can’t possibly be happy playing with books in that hick town. And what do you see in the football coach?”
“Integrity. Morals. Honesty. A few things you don’t have.”
Keary’s sneer used to amuse her. How could she ever have found this man appealing? “You have far more talents than any of those people realize. Come on board, Mikaela. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Not interested.” She replaced the phone on the desk, fighting the urge to throw it across the room. Instead, she took a breath so deep that it made her chest ache. She walked to the nearest computer and searched for Wisconsin fires. Nothing. His call to scare her had worked. Concern for her parents wrapped alarm around her heart. In the whole scheme of things, could the CIA protect those she loved from a seasoned operative?
“Sweet girl,
are you all right?” Mr. Shafer asked from across the room. “You look a little pale.”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She limped toward the group.
“I thought your foot might be bothering you.” Mr. Shafer took the award for the most caring man in town—except for Miles.
“Oh, I didn’t sleep well last night. Drank coffee too late in the evening.”
“At least you can still have the real stuff,” Mr. Shafer said. “When you get to my age, the doctor tries to cut off caffeine.”
Paige wished she could enjoy her favorite people, but her job took priority. She excused herself to make another call outside the library.
“Palmer, my parents have been threatened.”
“Your parents are fully protected. They have a new hired hand.”
She exhaled while keeping a calm demeanor, professionalism in her chosen career as Mikaela Olsson. “I just know what he’s capable of.”
“And soon everyone will know the truth.”
“Right. You can’t teach a crab to walk straight. I don’t care about me. It’s my parents. Remember one of the dead operatives was Keary’s own cousin.”
“I know. I mourned his death as much as I grieved your decision to resign.”
“I’m driving to Oklahoma City tomorrow. I want a face-to-face with him. See if I can draw him out of his safety net.”
“Be careful. He knows all the ways to eliminate you.”
“I’ll take my chances.” She erased the call history from her phone and focused her gaze on Ginny Dalton, who was walking toward the library with several books tucked in her arms. Paige called out a greeting. “I missed you yesterday.”
“And I owe a fine.” Ginny’s words were cheery, but her eyes were red.
“If you have Internet access at home, you can take care of renewing books yourself. I’ll show you.”
Ginny, a tall, pleasant-looking woman with lots of freckles, opened the library door for Paige. “I like coming here. It’s peaceful and the world inside of books is . . .” She stopped and replaced her dour look with a smile as artificial as most of the book club members’ teeth.