We entered the library and passed a line of patrons waiting to check out books and films at the circulation desk.
Barbara took off her jacket. “Trish will have come in by now. She’s a dynamite worker and can handle any job. She’ll work overtime as long as you give her enough notice so she can get someone to babysit her two kids.” She grimaced. “Don’t expect the same level of work from Susan, though she does her best.”
“Good to know.”
Trish was typing away on one of the computers. She was short and round, with rosy cheeks and dark-brown hair that framed her face. She reminded me of one of those Russian nesting dolls.
“May I tell her?” Barbara asked.
“Of course.”
After Barbara finished explaining that I’d been offered her job, Trish got up and hugged me.
“This is the best news I’ve heard today. I think I’d have to quit if Dorothy got the position.”
I sat at the table to finish laying out the newsletter. When I was done, Barbara had me write blurbs for handouts for next month’s programs and events.
“How do you decide on new programs?” I asked after I’d done a few.
“I keep my eyes and ears open for guest speakers. I have a long list of people who’ve contacted me wanting to do a program.” She laughed. “Tomorrow we’ll go through the list together. Too many of them are downright boring.”
“We have a real exciting program coming up in two weeks.” Trish’s eyes lit up with excitement.
“You mean Al Buckley’s talk,” Barbara said. “I’m sorry I’ll be missing it. You’ll have to e-mail me all about it.”
“Who’s Al Buckley?” I asked.
“Al was a detective on the local police force. Fifteen years ago, he was in charge of a murder case that was never solved,” Trish said.
A chill snaked up my back. “Around here? Who was murdered?”
“A lovely woman named Laura Foster,” Barbara said. “She was married and had two boys in high school. Someone came into the house and struck her when no one else was home.”
“How awful,” I said. “And how awful that they never found out who killed her.”
Barbara and Trish exchanged glances.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The word is that Al was drinking a lot in those days and wasn’t on top of things like he should have been,” Barbara said. “In fact, there was a hearing, and he ended up leaving the force.”
“But he’s cleaned up his act,” Trish said, “and feels terrible about not finding Laura’s killer.”
Barbara nodded. “When he called a few months ago, he said he hadn’t been able to get the case out of his head. He started investigating on his own a year or so ago and has found what he believes is new evidence that will put the killer away.”
I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t he go to the police with what he’s found?”
“He did, but Al doesn’t know if they’ll follow up on it, given his history with the department.”
“They should listen to him!” Trish said. “Al’s a great guy and a terrific detective. He and my dad have been friends for years. I know what a bad time he was going through when Laura was murdered. Now all he wants is to solve the case and write a book about it.”
“It will make for an interesting program,” Barbara said, “but now we have to get to work.”
* * *
At ten minutes past five, I retraced my morning walk, my head abuzz with the many surprises of the day. Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco’s home stood on the far side of the Green—a large, white, wooden-framed house of the same architectural style as the library and most of the other houses in the area. I’d arrived in May, despondent and lethargic, grateful for my aunt and uncle’s loving hospitality. I immediately felt at home in their large, beautifully decorated guest room and never tired of gazing out the window at Aunt Harriet’s gardens and the mountains in the distance.
They’d bought the house from another old Clover Ridge family seventeen years ago after selling the family farm. Uncle Bosco liked that it was located smack in the middle of town yet had a deep front lawn that afforded them a sense of privacy. Aunt Harriet appreciated the acre of backyard, which was large enough for a good-sized vegetable garden as well as the floral and shrub arrangements she loved to design.
My aunt and uncle were where they always were at this time of day—in the den, ensconced in matching lounge chairs, enjoying a glass of wine. I kissed them both and then went to get my glass of Chardonnay chilling in the refrigerator.
“Have a nice day at the library?” Uncle Bosco called after me.
“It was okay.” I sat on the sofa and sipped my wine.
“Just okay?” Aunt Harriet asked.
I bit back my smile. “Why? Is there anything special about today?” Obviously, they knew about the job offer—just as they knew about everything that went on in Clover Ridge.
Uncle Bosco cleared his throat. “We’re asking because we want our favorite grandniece to be happy.”
I burst out laughing. “Uncle Bosco, did you twist Sally’s arm until she agreed to give me the library position?”
“Of course not. I simply pointed out that you’re the most qualified for the job.”
“Though I’ve worked in programming for less than two years?”
“It’s more hands-on experience than anyone else has.” Uncle Bosco eyed me closely. “You don’t sound as glad as I thought you’d be.”
I frowned. “I didn’t plan on staying here long-term. This job sounds so . . . permanent.”
My great-aunt and uncle exchanged glances.
“But you’ve seemed happy lately,” Aunt Harriet said. “Much happier than when you arrived.”
“I am happier,” I agreed. “Who wouldn’t be, living with you guys? You spoil me. Never letting me do more than help with the dishes and the grocery shopping. Only, I don’t think Clover Ridge is the right place for me.”
“Nonsense!” Uncle Bosco boomed as he always did when brushing aside opposing opinions. “We Singletons have lived in Clover Ridge for generations. You have cousins here and in the neighboring towns.”
“Their father wasn’t a thief who lived apart from his family even when he wasn’t in prison. Sooner or later, people are going to figure out I’m Jim Singleton’s daughter.”
“Let them,” Uncle Bosco said. “You’re your own person, Carrie. You’re beautiful and smart, and it’s time you thought about settling down.”
Why is everyone telling me to settle down?
“Besides, I’d forgotten how cold it gets here in the winter,” I said. “I’m thinking of heading south to Florida.”
“The job’s a wonderful opportunity,” Aunt Harriet said. “You’d be doing work that you love.”
“Why don’t you give it a shot?” Uncle Bosco said. “Offers like this don’t come along very often.”
“True,” I agreed.
“If you don’t like it for some reason, you can always leave,” Aunt Harriet said.
“Maybe I’ll do that.” A weight slid off my shoulders. It was a decision I could live with—taking a job I loved, yet knowing I could leave at any time.
You call this a decision? All you’re doing is putting it off, my critical voice scolded.
Perhaps, but this way, I’m giving the job a chance, I answered back.
Aunt Harriet pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll go and see to dinner. We’re having meatloaf, veggies, and garlic mashed potatoes.”
“Can I help?” I got up too.
“No, you can’t.” She pressed my shoulder down. “You put in a day’s work at the library. Relax here with your Uncle Bosco.”
I suddenly remembered my odd experience earlier in the day. “Did you know Evelyn Havers?”
“Of course. Everyone knew poor Evelyn,” Aunt Harriet said. “Why are you asking about her?”
“Someone mentioned her name in passing—and that she died.”
Uncle Bo
sco let out a sigh. “Evelyn worked in the library for as long as I can remember. The sweetest woman you could ever hope to meet. Always helping anyone who needed a hand. She fell in the parking lot. I’m ashamed something like this happened here in Clover Ridge, where we look after one another.”
Aunt Harriet nodded. “It was a bitter cold February evening five years ago. No, six. Evelyn was one of the last people to leave the library. She must have slipped and fallen on a patch of black ice, hit her head, and lost consciousness. They found her the following morning a few feet from her car. Poor dear. The only consolation is that she didn’t suffer. Someone set up a shrine where she fell; people left flowers in her memory for months afterward.”
“How awful,” I said. “Didn’t anyone realize she never made it home?”
“Evelyn lived alone after her husband died.” Aunt Harriet smiled. “Such a good-hearted soul. She’s been gone all this time, but I still expect to see her whenever I’m in the library. It’s as though her spirit lives on in the place she loved best.”
Chapter Two
The next morning, I told Sally that I’d be happy to accept the position of head of programs and events.
“I thought you’d reach that decision.” She wore a smug little smile as she handed me a pile of forms to fill out. “I need these back ASAP. Now remember, your appointment isn’t official until the board meeting this Friday. Meanwhile, you’ll continue to work with Barbara to learn as much as you can. Thursday is her last day on the job. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” I turned to leave, but apparently Sally wasn’t finished.
Her gaze went from my dark-fuchsia lipstick to the silver dangling earrings that almost brushed my shoulders.
“Your position comes with responsibilities and obligations, and that includes your appearance. You’re required to dress and groom yourself in a manner befitting a Clover Ridge Library administrator.”
I opened my mouth to say I’d dress any way I liked when I felt a poke to my ribs.
“She’s right, you know,” Evelyn Havers whispered in my ear. “Tell her you’ll be the poster girl of cooperation and proper attire.”
Annoyed, I whispered back, “Stop telling me what to say.”
“Excuse me?” Sally sounded offended.
The second nudge was more of a jab. “Stop acting like a rebellious teenager. You’re a professional woman about to hit thirty,” Evelyn said.
I rubbed my side and cleared my throat. “I’ll be happy to appear more—er, in the manner befitting my new position.”
Sally gave me a broad smile, the first she’d ever directed my way. “Your words are music to my ears.”
Evelyn Havers left me to wend my way slowly to Barbara’s office. Slowly because my brain whirred with ideas for future programs and events: trips to Manhattan, an adopt a dog or cat day, presenting musicals in the meeting room. It was time the Clover Ridge Library entered the twenty-first century.
“Go slowly,” Barbara advised after I’d rattled off a few of my future project ideas. “We have plenty of ongoing programs that our patrons enjoy. Movies, craft programs, and exercise classes filled to capacity. I scratch whatever programs aren’t well attended.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I was disappointed but grateful for her guidance.
Barbara had me print out the handouts I’d written and then place them in the holders scattered about the library.
“Why bother?” I asked. “All this information is in the newsletter and available on the online calendar.”
“Of course it is, but many of our patrons don’t bother to read the newsletter carefully. Like every other merchant and vendor, we have to advertise and promote what we offer. In this case, library programs and events. We need to catch our patrons’ attention. The number of attendees counts, my dear. Never forget it.”
Now that I knew I was taking over as head of programs and events, I peppered Barbara with questions as I tried to learn everything there was to learn. Today was Tuesday. She’d be gone after Thursday. Two more days and I’d be on my own!
“Calm down,” Barbara said when I tried to write down everything she was telling me about library grants. “We’ve literature up the wazoo on the subject. And Sally will help you. She knows you have lots to learn. Every library has its own way of doing things.”
Evelyn Havers remained out of sight, which pleased me to no end. I didn’t need a ghost acting as my private Jiminy Cricket, instructing me how to behave. Only Dorothy Hawkins remained a thorn in my side. She resented my having taken the position and glowered at me every time I passed the reference desk.
Get over it, I silently told her. You don’t have the required courses for the position. But I knew I never would have been offered the job if it weren’t for Uncle Bosco and felt a pang of guilt each time I walked by Dorothy.
We hosted a farewell dinner for Barbara Wednesday night. I was surprised to find myself close to tears when I hugged her good night.
“You’ll do a great job, Carrie,” she told me. “California’s only an e-mail away. Write if ever you need my help.”
“Thanks, Barbara. I’ll take you up on it.”
Thursday night, I dyed my hair a light golden brown, which I thought was its natural color. For the first time in months, I blow-dried it so it framed my face instead of forming it into spikes with lots of gel. Then I rummaged through my tunics and leggings until I found a skirt and top I’d saved from my administrative assistant days in Manhattan. Good-bye, Goth Carrie, I thought as I unearthed a pair of heels hidden away in the back of my closet. I wasn’t going to miss my Goth persona too much. I’d only adopted it as a lark, and because everyone else in Clover Ridge wore such proper clothes. I made a mental note to revamp my wardrobe at the local shopping mall the first chance I got. Besides, I could always slip into my Doc Martens, leggings, and tunic on my days off.
The next morning, Angela called out to me as I passed the circulation desk. “Hey, Carrie, don’t you look cool!”
All eyes turned to stare at me. My face heated up, and I hurried along as fast as my high heels would allow.
Her voice followed after me. “Meeting in the conference room at nine thirty. Don’t be late, Miss New Head of Programs and Events.”
My small audience broke into applause as I ran the rest of the way to my office.
By nine twenty-nine, the four library heads, three librarians, and four assistant librarians were seated around the mahogany oval table in the conference room. Sally made her appearance at precisely nine thirty. Her first order of business was to announce my appointment. The others clapped with enthusiasm. Only Dorothy sat, arms crossed over her chest, in silent disapproval. When it was my turn to present my report, I heeded Barbara’s suggestions and mentioned upcoming events without offering any of my new ideas. Sally nodded her approval, and I released a sigh of relief.
I spent the weekend preparing for my new life. Saturday, I went on a shopping spree, buying pants and jackets, sweaters and blouses, and low-heeled shoes as if I had an unlimited supply of money. I even indulged in a pair of sexy brown leather high-heeled boots—so different from the Doc Martens I normally wore every day. I charged it all so I wouldn’t have to start paying for my purchases until the following month.
Now that I had a good job, I suddenly longed for a place of my own. I scanned the classified ads on Sunday morning and circled several rentals I planned to check out. By day’s end, I was despondent. The few in my price range proved to be truly awful—a dank apartment in someone’s smelly basement or three tiny rooms over a dry cleaner’s. All the nice apartments cost more than I could afford right now. This was going to take time.
Be positive. Something will turn up soon.
* * *
Monday morning, I dressed with care in my new brown trousers, ribbed beige turtleneck, and low-heeled shoes. I blow-dried my hair and dabbed on mascara and green eye shadow while my heart raced like a tom-tom. I refused Aunt Harriet’s offer of breakfast—except for
a cup of coffee—slipped into my leather jacket, and set out for my first solo day as head of programs and events.
The day went more smoothly than I could have hoped—probably because Barbara had talked me through every contingency imaginable. Having Trish at my side, at least from one o’clock on, was another big help both for moral support and because she knew what had to be done. Unfortunately, Susan Roberts was Trish’s opposite in every important way. She was slow and dim-witted and didn’t have even a smidgen of initiative in her body.
On Tuesday, I arrived at one o’clock because it was one of my late nights. According to my contract, I was to work two evenings each week and two Saturdays and two Sundays every month. Sally made up the schedule, which changed weekly. Trish and I went through a pile of possible new programs and made some headway on the next newsletter. At six, Susan arrived. Trish went home, and I walked over to the deli around the corner and ate my dinner—a bowl of chicken soup, a turkey sandwich, and a salad.
I knew something was wrong the minute I returned to the library. Susan stood hovering in the doorway, a look of panic on her face.
“Carrie, thank God you’re here! I didn’t want to bother you while you were having your dinner, but I’ve looked everywhere. The movie is gone!”
“The one we’re showing tonight?” I looked at my watch. “That was supposed to start five minutes ago?”
“Ye-e-e-ss!” Susan wailed.
I reined in my annoyance and pasted a smile on my face. “I know Trish took the movie out of circulation. Are you sure it’s not in the cabinet where we keep the films to be shown in the meeting room?”
“Of course I looked. It’s not there. Twenty-two people are in the meeting room waiting to see the movie. They’re growing impatient.”
“I’ll speak to them, then we’ll look for it together. Maybe it got misplaced somehow.”
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