by Etta Faire
We kissed good-bye again and I drove off through the parking lot, watching Justin in my rearview mirror standing right in front of the forest, staring at it. He wasn’t afraid of anything, all right. I was just about to pull out onto the main road when my vision went blurry and dark again. The white spots were back. I pulled over to the side of the parking lot so I could close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, the only things that seemed to help when these episodes came on.
After about a minute, I opened my eyes again, my vision back to normal, even though my heart still raced. I took a deep breath and looked in my rearview mirror again, wondering if Justin had noticed me off to the side of the parking lot and was worried. He hadn’t.
I only knew this because I saw him, clear as day, slowly walking into the forest.
Or was I hallucinating again? I swung my car around so fast I almost hit the dumpster by the parking lot’s entrance. But I needed to know.
I pulled into a spot right by the edge of the forest, exactly where I thought I saw Justin entering, and waited while I peeked at every shadow in the trees. Ten minutes later, I decided I was insane. There was no way a man in just a dress shirt went anywhere but back inside.
What was wrong with me nowadays?
Chapter 16
Just telling stories
Mrs. Nebitt turned her nose up at the box of socks I set on the counter next to her computer just before story time the next morning. She pursed her lips, white hair blowing softly from the heat sputtering out of a nearby vent. “I see you were serious about the socks.”
I didn’t answer her. I adjusted my leggings so they’d sit right under my boots. Even though I’d tried my hardest to look professionally cute that morning, nothing had worked in my favor. My curls frizzed, my eyeliner smeared into what looked like dark smudge streaks along my eyelids, and I couldn’t find anything to wear except my go-to winter outfit, an oversized sweatshirt and black leggings. I was pretty far from professional or cute. But in my defense, I hadn’t had much sleep last night. I could only think about the hallucinations I’d been having lately, and how they were getting worse.
Mrs. Nebitt continued. “Do you know what books you’ll be reading, or do you need my help in selecting some?”
“I’m going to start off with If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” I said. I rummaged through my box of socks and pulled out a tan one with googly eyes glued to the front of it. It hung sadly in my hand like a vintage photo of a toddler holding roadkill.
“What is that?”
“It’s a mouse. I couldn’t spend too much money on this either. The library isn’t the only one with limited funds around here.”
I stretched the sock over my hand and moved its mouth around. Mrs. Nebitt rolled her eyes, and I could see her point. Its cardboard cut-out ears were unevenly spaced and one was falling off a little. “I don’t need puppets,” I said, taking it off and tossing it into my box of props. “Do you have any instruments? We could do a musical theme.”
The door opened and Lil Mil shot into the library like someone had yelled, “Go.”
“I heard there’s gonna be games and puppets and hula hoops and singing,” the little girl said in a gruff voice, pulling her pink hood down to reveal a mass of dark curly hair.
I turned to Mrs. Nebitt. She chuckled under her breath. “Have fun,” she said.
Parker wasn’t too far behind his little girl. He flashed me a smile when he came in carrying Benjamin. “Kids are excited. Can you tell? Thanks for doing this.”
I had no idea what I’d signed up for. I grabbed a stack of printer paper from under the cabinet and Mrs. Nebitt glared at me through her coke-bottle glasses like she was mentally counting the stack.
“C’mon. How much is paper? The library’s gotta contribute something.” I grabbed a handful of the tiny pencils people used to write call numbers with too.
The walls shook and the floor rumbled under my feet as the sound of NASCAR filled the library. Low, thunderous, revved-up engine noises were followed by laughter and hooting.
Mrs. Nebitt threw me a scowl like story time had been my idea.
We both walked to the large windows at the front of the building and watched Shelby and her twins struggle to climb out of a large black pick-up truck that took up the entire lot. Bobby, her fiancé, jumped out to help her, his puffy dark hair seemed to morph into his eyebrows, kind of like Satan and Raggedy Ann had a love child. He handed Shelby their humungous baby.
Shelby’s hair was still pink, matching the accents in her 50’s-style wool coat. She sashayed across the parking lot, her four-year-old twins leading the way.
Opening the door for Shelby, I was instantly greeted with the stench of exhaust, and I took an extra-long inhale, hoping the fumes would help me get through this story time.
“Bobby’s brothers are using my car again today,” Shelby said as she went inside.
“They still driving you crazy?”
She looked at me like that was the dumbest question I could’ve asked. Everyone knew her Christmas visitors were still visiting, and it was almost February. Four adults and five kids living in a three-bedroom apartment.
“Every night’s a beer fest. They don’t work. They don’t chip in with the housework. I’m putting my foot down tonight. Mark my words. Either they go, or I do.”
“I’ve only been telling you to do that since New Year’s,” I said. “That’s almost two months of frat parties.”
I grabbed my box of puppets from off the counter and headed over to the kids area.
“They got a laundromat here?” Shelby asked when she saw my socks. I didn’t answer her.
The kids ran around, tagging each other, swinging their coats around like weapons.
I dragged a small plastic blue chair over to the center of the room and sat down. “Okay, everyone” I called, my voice cracking with every syllable. I tried to bring it back to normal. They could probably sense fear. “Come sit down. Story time is about to start.”
Lil Mil put her arm around my shoulder and peeked at the book in my hand. “It’s the mouse with the cookie again, you guys,” she announced to the group like we’d had millions of story times together and this was always the story.
“That’s your favorite book, Lil Mil,” Parker said. “Sit down.”
“And, it has puppets this time,” I said, nodding to Parker and Shelby who were sitting next to each other on chairs. I pulled out my tan sock and the circle shape I’d cut out of cardboard. Shelby threw her hand over her mouth like she was holding in laughter when she saw me breaking out my props. I ignored her. “Who would like to give the mouse this cookie?”
“Ew. That’s a smelly sock and a dirty, old piece of cardboard,” one of Shelby’s four-year-olds said. A whoosh of cold blew through the library when the door opened. I looked up from my sock, wondering who else was coming to join my story time. A gorgeous blonde with salon-style highlights and a cute, fur-trimmed jacket sauntered in, holding the hand of an equally stylish four-year-old blonde girl.
Mrs. Nebitt looked at them then quickly went back to her computer, almost like she recognized the woman, even though I had no idea who she was.
The woman told her daughter to sit down quietly then smiled at me. “Sorry we’re late,” she said, taking a chair and moving it over to Shelby. I could smell her expensive perfume from my rickety child’s chair in the front of the circle. She introduced herself to Shelby and Parker and I leaned over to hear.
Her little girl dutifully went over and sat down next to Lil Mil. They talked for all of three seconds before Lil Mil put her arm around the girl and announced to the group that this was Clarisse, her bestest friend in the whole world.
“You are so pretty,” Lil Mil went on, poking the cheek of her new best friend. “I’m gonna show you how to do a fake burp later on.”
Parker’s face went red and he said something to the girl’s mother.
I was losing my audience and I hadn’t even started yet. I quickly slippe
d the sock puppet on my left hand because I needed my right one to hold the book, but it was awkward and uncomfortable. And the puppet just kind of flopped there until its ear came off in the middle of the story and the kids all laughed and took turns throwing it at me. Thankfully, they had terrible aim.
I tried to pay attention, do things like I’d planned to do them, but all I could think about was that weird forest yesterday and how I’d been almost one-hundred-percent sure Justin had gone into it. But now that I was thinking about it, I was almost one-hundred-percent sure he couldn’t have.
The cardboard ear smacked my forehead and I snatched it away before the kids could grab it again.
After I’d read two books, I was ready for a nap. No wonder preschool had those. Obviously, they were for the adults.
I told the kids to sit at a table and draw out their favorite parts of the stories, but not to worry about mistakes. Mistakes were okay in my book, which was why I’d brought these cool, stubby pencils that didn’t even have erasers. Then, I handed out the printer paper that Mrs. Nebitt was probably going to dock me for.
“Is this fun or what?” Shelby said to her sons.
They didn’t even bother to answer “or what.”
I pulled my friend aside. “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the mysterious woman.
“Her name’s Lila. She just moved to Landover. Isn’t she cute? She looks like she likes makeup.” Shelby was always looking for new clients.
“And it looks like she has plenty of money for a big ole pile of it,” I added.
I tossed my pathetic socks back in their box and trudged over to the front desk like a woman defeated.
“Well, how did it go,” Mrs. Nebitt asked. “Were your puppets the success you were hoping they’d be?”
“And now we know why I’m not a teacher,” I said. “I’m exhausted and I only did half an hour. You can do the next story time, thanks. I’m done.”
We both looked at each other for at least half a minute without saying a word. She finally spoke. “Perhaps, we can come to an agreement. If I locate real puppets, crayons, paper, and…” she paused to inhale deeply, “instruments, will you continue with the story times?”
“Once a month, tops,” I said and we shook on it.
The library’s counter was full of fliers: one for the opening of the new French restaurant complete with coupons. Another for half-off a spin class at Donovan’s gym. The obligatory tax forms all libraries had to have this time of year. But there was something pretty obviously missing from the countertop. “Where’s the advertisement for the upcoming seance?”
Mrs. Nebitt was looking at her computer monitor, apparently too engrossed in whatever librarians looked at back there.
I wasn’t giving up that easily. “Are you even selling tickets?”
She turned her hearing aid up. “I’m sorry. Tickets for what?”
“The seance.”
“I haven’t sold any. Sorry. I took down the flier because I heard it’s been cancelled.”
“No. Not yet. Put the flier back up.”
She looked around, like she was being followed or something, then lowered her voice. “It’s not like Paula’s paying for this advertising. This is a library, not the Gazette.”
I thought that statement over for a second. The Landover Gazette might be interested in the seance, seeing how the old owners were instrumental in the cover-up.
Parker came over to us. “We need more paper,” he sang then turned to me. “Great story time. The kids loved it.”
“They loved the part where they threw a cardboard mouse ear at me.”
He laughed. “So that’s what that was. I thought it was another cookie.” He pointed to the flier about the gym, the one taking up the library’s prime real estate spot for fliers. “First class is free. You should stop by. I happen to know the instructor.” He pointed to himself.
“Congratulations,” I said.
Mrs. Nebitt handed him a small stack of printer paper and he went to walk off with it, but stopped himself. “It’s funny how life works. The blonde over there’s Lila Donovan. She’s new to the lake too. When I met her at her family’s grocery store, I told her all about the library’s story time and she told me all about the new spin class her grandfather’s gym needed an instructor for. Isn’t that something? And now, her daughter and my daughter are hitting it off.” He walked away.
It was something, all right. A little too much of something.
“Did you know she was Myles Donovan’s granddaughter?” I asked Mrs. Nebitt, but she wasn’t behind the counter anymore. She was halfway to the kids section, a pretty fast waddler when she wanted to be.
I grabbed my box and headed out. “I’ll get you another flier about the seance later today,” I yelled back to the librarian. She didn’t even shush me.
On my way out, I paused at the humungous photo hanging above the copiers, opened my purse, and pulled out the articles I’d printed of the old society pages. They were around the same time, so I hoped to identify some people.
I stared from the articles to the blown-up photo of the ribbon-cutting ceremony and back again. I was able to conclusively identify Mayor Peterton, the only squatty man with a bushy mustache, so he was pretty easy to pick out. I was also able to identify some of the board members of the country club.
And… that’s when I noticed a little half-covered sign right by the library that looked like it said “tle Construction,” as in Wittle Construction. That was a pretty big coincidence even in this small town since Mayor Darren Wittle also happened to be onboard the boat that killed Gloria. I made a mental note to pay the good mayor a visit, which was something I’d been meaning to do anyway.
The blurry man standing by the sign looked familiar too. I was pretty sure it was Bill Donovan, but I couldn’t say for sure. And like a punch in the gut, it hit me. I stumbled back almost bumping into the large glass window behind me, my boots slipping a little on the plastic tiled flooring. The tip jar at the dance.
No wonder that woman was acting weird and didn’t want a free ticket to the seance even though she loves freebies. No wonder she and Mildred hadn’t talked for years after the accident.
This library, my quiet little sanctuary I’d known and loved for years, had been built on hush money. From that accident. Mrs. Nebitt was probably part of the cover-up, having been paid a library to shut up about something.
I now questioned whether Lila Donovan was really here at my story time to hear If You Give a Mouse a Cookie or if this had all been some sort of bizarre, unspoken intimidation tactic. Mrs. Nebitt had known who that woman was as soon as she’d walked in. I could tell by how quickly she’d pretended not to know her.
Lila was probably here to make sure Mrs. Nebitt didn’t go to my seance or give me information. She was probably also hoping the librarian would go straight to Mildred to tell her she needed to tread cautiously too.
A large part of me wanted to rush back over there and confront them all with this, to see if I was right. But instead, I walked out to my car. Justin had been right. This was the kind of intimidation that nobody said out loud. Yet, everyone felt it.
One thing I did know, I needed to get to Mildred first to convince her to share her diary before Mrs. Nebitt convinced her she needed to be afraid.
That diary might be the concrete evidence I needed to catch this crooked mouse. It might be my cookie.
Chapter 17
Old News
I tried to keep my voice calm as I sat in my car, leaving a message for Mildred. “Just wanted to see if you had a chance to look for that diary yet. Call me when you find it.” I somehow refrained from adding before you call Mrs. Nebitt or anyone else. “I’d really like to get one of the chaperone’s perspectives on that dance.”
I turned the heater on full blast and called the Purple Pony next. I was supposed to start work in an hour, but I had a better idea. “I think I know how to get more people to buy tickets to this seance. I’m going to the Land
over Gazette,” I said to Rosalie as soon as she answered, like she would instantly be impressed with my idea.
“What the hell are you talking about?” She only cussed when she was mad, and she was mad a lot lately. “I don’t even want to do the seance anymore. I was up all last night thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to work with Satan again.”
“I know you don’t mean that,” I said.
“The nerve of her, coming in here, asking us to pony up money for printing tickets. I’m gonna need to see a receipt, that’s what I should’ve told her…”
I didn’t let her finish. “Okay. If it comes to that, we will definitely get a receipt. But let’s all try to make money first. I need it. You need it…”
“I don’t need it.”
I coughed. “Okay, but everyone else does. I have an idea.”
“You already told me,” she said. “You’re gonna buy a newspaper ad.”
I laughed. “I don’t have money for that. But I think they might give us coverage for free.”
There was a long pause, so I continued. “The reporters who covered the accident back in 1957 did a horrible job. Inaccuracies everywhere. Misspellings. Biased, directional reporting intended to persuade an audience, instead of just presenting facts. I think they were in on the cover-up.” I paused for a gasp. I didn’t get one.
I went on. “But the paper switched ownership in 1993. I bet the new owners would love to help uncover things. Don’t you think? Run a scoop on their own paper. Maybe help me find out the truth about that night, so I can nail the murderers.”
Once again, crickets.
“Well?”
“I think you have a wonderful imagination. But this is not going to play out like you think it will.”
“I have to try, anyway.”
I could still hear Rosalie’s heavy sigh in my head twenty minutes later as I stood outside the small, two-story brick building that housed the newspaper. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that Rosalie was wrong. These people weren’t the same owners who covered up Gloria’s death. They would be thrilled to help.