Dying for Devil's Food

by Jenn McKinlay

  The lines that had been deepening on Mr. Grady’s forehead eased and he gave her a closed-­lip smile as he took the book and studied the pages.

  “This is perfect,” he said. “Thank you so much, Lindsey.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “Let me know how it goes, and if you have any more questions I’m happy to help.”

  He smiled at her again and Lindsey turned and headed back to the reference desk. She was relieved one of the books had answered Mr. Grady’s questions. She always felt like it was a win when she could get a patron the answer that they needed.

  Back at the desk, she found Heather Cooper waiting for her. She came in every week with one of her dogs, Woody or Finn, and together they helped elementary school students who were struggling with learning how to read. Both dogs were reading therapy canines—­essentially they sat on the floor with a student and listened while the child read aloud to them.

  Today it was Finn, a beautiful black and brown dog with long legs and the softest ears Lindsey had ever felt. He was great friends with her dog, Heathcliff, and the two of them cavorted and caroused when they met up at the dog park. As soon as Finn saw her he started wagging and he let out a small whimper.

  “Sorry, Finn,” she said as she scratched his ears. “Heathcliff isn’t here. It’s just me.” She glanced up at his human, who was smiling at her. “Hi, Heather, how are you?”

  “Great. I’m looking forward to today’s reading,” she said. “We’re halfway through Gregor the Overlander and I can’t wait to hear what happens next.”

  “The room is all set up,” Lindsey said. “I’ll just walk you over and unlock it for you.”

  “Thanks,” Heather said. She patted her thigh and Finn fell in beside her as they crossed the library to one of the study rooms. Lindsey unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  “Lindsey!”

  They both turned to see Mr. Grady hurrying toward them. Finn’s ears went back and he growled low in his throat. Heather grabbed him by the collar and held him still.

  “Weird,” she said. “He’s never done that before.”

  “He’s likely more used to children,” Lindsey said. She stepped forward and intercepted Mr. Grady so Finn didn’t get more protective. “Yes, did you have another question?”

  “Yes, actually,” he said. He looked sheepish as he clutched the rose books to his chest. “I don’t have a library card. Is it possible for me to check out these books?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I’m sorry, I should have explained. To sign up for a card, we just need proof of your local residence and then Ms. Cole at the circulation desk will sign you up and you’ll be able to check out.”

  “I can do that,” he said. He gave her another closed-­lip smile and then backed away, watching her as he went.

  Lindsey watched him go and then turned back to Heather and Finn. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

  “Coffee would be fantastic,” Heather said. “Thank you.”

  “Coming right up,” Lindsey said.

  She turned and headed for the staff break room. She grabbed a cup of coffee for Heather and a bowl of water for Finn. Once those were delivered, her desk replacement, Ann Marie, had arrived and Lindsey headed to the back of the library, where her favorite activity, Thursday crafternoons, were held.

  She’d brought her well-­loved copy of The House on Mango Street, in which she’d stuck several sticky notes to mark the particularly pertinent passages she wanted to share. As she pushed open the door, she found that she was the last to arrive.

  Beth was standing behind the table dishing quesadillas, while Nancy Peyton and her best friend Violet LaRue were seated on the couch, holding full plates. Paula Turner, one of the circulation attendants, was pouring out the smoothies while Mary Murphy, Lindsey’s soon to be sister-­in-­law, was standing with her baby, Josie, on her hip. She was swaying back and forth while she tried to eat. Lindsey headed right for her and held out her arms.

  “I’ll take her,” she said. Mary gave her a grateful look and handed off the baby.

  “Thank you,” she said. She studied Lindsey for a second and then she grinned. “You look good with a baby in your arms.”

  Lindsey pressed her cheek to Josie’s soft hair and laughed, “I said I’d hold her, not that I wanted any of my own.”

  “We’ll see,” Mary said. Then she grinned, a wide warm smile just like her brother’s, and sank into a nearby chair.

  Lindsey moved around the room with Josie in her arms. A few months ago, she would have avoided holding her future niece as if she carried the plague. Lindsey wasn’t really baby friendly, or she hadn’t been until this kid came along. But Josie had the same sparkling blue eyes as her uncle and her hair was already beginning to thicken into a cascade of dark curls just like his, and Lindsey had to admit, she was smitten. Of course, she was quite sure it was because she got to have the joy of holding her topped with the relief of giving her back.

  While Josie tugged on Lindsey’s long blond curls, she joined Beth by the table and glanced at her friend. Beth had ditched her bat wings and the headband with the big ears. Still, there was something about her that looked ethereal and lovely. She was watching Josie as if trying to understand the inner workings of her little mind.

  Lindsey glanced from Beth to Josie and back. It occurred to her that she’d only seen one person glow like that before, and it was Mary when she was pregnant with Josie. Her eyes went wide, she looked at Beth and said, “Oh my god, you’re pregnant!”

  She hadn’t meant to say it so loud and she cringed, aware that her guess could be wrong but also that Beth may not have wanted to share this news just yet. The entire room went quiet and everyone turned to face them. Beth turned a deep shade of pink and then grinned. “How did you know? Am I showing already?” She hugged her belly. “Or is it my nose? Is it wider? I heard noses get bigger when a woman is pregnant.”

  “Another baby,” Nancy said. She clapped her hands in delight. She tossed her gray bob and her merry eyes twinkled as she turned to Violet and said, “You owe me five dollars.”

  Violet tutted. “That was a sucker’s bet. We knew she’d get pregnant. I just thought it would be after summer.”

  A retired stage actress, Violet was still a great beauty with dark skin, high cheekbones, and a full and generous smile. She opened her purse and pulled out a five-­dollar bill, which she slapped into Nancy’s hand.

  “You were betting on me?” Beth asked. She stared at the two women in amusement. “That is hilarious. What else are you two gambling about?”

  Nancy and Violet both looked down at their food. As one they took a bite of their quesadillas and through a mouthful, Nancy mumbled, “Can’t talk. Eating.”

  “Hmm mmm mm,” Violet hummed in agreement.

  Beth shook her head at them and then turned to Lindsey. “They are not fooling me one bit. You?”

  “Not for a second,” Lindsey said. She was about to question them when Nancy spoke first.

  “Did you think the lead character, Esperanza, was aptly named?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes, because it means hope,” Violet said. “And her story is one of hoping for a better life.”

  Beth looked at Lindsey. “Those two are starting the book discussion instead of gossiping? They are definitely up to something.”

  “Agreed.” Lindsey propped Josie on her hip and took a bite of the quesadilla Beth put on her plate. The tortilla had a little crunch and was stuffed with seasoned chicken and melted cheese and topped with pico de gallo; it was perfection. She turned to Beth and said, “This is amazing.”

  “Thank you,” Beth said. “Aidan’s grandmother is from Mexico and she’s been teaching me how to make some of his favorites. He’s better at it than I am, but I think I might have finally nailed the quesadilla.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Mary said. This was n
o small praise given that Mary owned the only restaurant, the Blue Anchor, in town.

  It was Paula who cracked the two older women. Having finished her lunch, she started to put out the craft supplies. With a side eye at Nancy and Violet, she asked, “So, if a library clerk wanted to get in on the action, what would she be betting on?”

  Violet pointed to her mouth in a gesture that said she was still chewing. Nancy, having finished hers, was left to consider whether she should answer or not. The lure of having one more purse in the pot won.

  “Nothing, really,” she said with a shrug. She glanced at Ms. Cole, who had just arrived since she’d had to wait for another staff person to cover the circulation desk. “Do you ever gamble on silly things? You might want a piece of this.”

  “No,” Ms. Cole said as she filled her plate. “Thank you.”

  Paula, who was Ms. Cole’s assistant on the circulation desk, just smiled, clearly not surprised by her answer.

  “We may have debated the possibility that Lindsey was going to elope for her wedding,” Nancy said. She looked inquisitively at Lindsey. “So, care to tell us who owes whom a fiver?”

  Josie grabbed a fistful of Lindsey’s hair with her chubby fist and stuffed it into her mouth. She made a squinched-­up bad face that made Lindsey laugh because hair—­ew.

  “No, I don’t. Did you know that author Sandra Cisneros is a Buddhist?” she asked the group.

  Beth shook her head. “Nice try. There’s no way you’re going to change the subject on this one.”

  “I had to give it a go,” Lindsey said.

  Paula tossed her green braid over her shoulder. She was the hippest library staff member, with a sleeve of tattoos and colorful hair that she changed when the mood hit her. So far it had been purple and blue. Lindsey realized that if Paula ever went natural she might not recognize her.

  “Would you really elope, boss?” she asked Lindsey. “I mean, you only get married once.”

  “Statistically, that’s not true,” Ms. Cole said. When Beth gave her an exasperated look, Ms. Cole shrugged. “Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.”

  “I’m not going to elope,” Lindsey said. “In fact, my mom is coming to town in a few days and we’re going wedding dress shopping. Also, Sully and I are having a small ceremony on Bell Island in his parents’ backyard.”

  “Oh,” Violet said. She looked cranky and slapped the five-­dollar bill back into Nancy’s hand.

  “Violet!” Lindsey cried. Then she laughed. In truth, she would have bet she’d elope, too. Being an introvert, Lindsey wasn’t really into the whole princess-­for-­a-­day thing, and she was finding even the planning of a simple wedding to be a bit much.

  “How small?” Nancy asked.

  “Don’t worry,” Lindsey said. “You’re all invited.”

  Josie made a hungry garble and Mary immediately held up her arms. Lindsey handed over the baby and they all moved to the craft table, where Paula had laid out the materials for this week’s craft.

  She’d put towels down on the table and a tin can with water frozen inside of it was placed at each seat. Picking up an awl and a hammer, she demonstrated how to punch a hole in the can.

  “Once they’re finished and dry, you can paint them or not, then put a candle in them or tiny little battery lights. You can make a pattern or just punch random holes in them. The ice will keep the cans from denting while you tap in the holes, but you want to work fast so the ice doesn’t melt or you’ll be sitting in a puddle.”

  The next few minutes were spent with everyone punching holes in their cans. Lindsey, who was not crafty at all, discovered that there was a certain stress release to be found in tapping the awl through the metal to make a hole. She decided on a starburst pattern and was actually eager to see how it came out when the ice melted. It occurred to her that these would make really cool centerpieces for her wedding.

  She blinked. This was the first time she’d gotten excited about something for the wedding. Did this mean she was about to morph into a bridezilla? She scanned through all of the things she had to do for the wedding. Nope, she still wasn’t that jazzed about all of the work involved. Okay, phew. Maybe she just liked punching holes in the can. It was rather therapeutic.

  Her thoughts strayed to the book they’d read. She glanced around the table. The heroine in Cisneros’s book wanted to escape Mango Street, her neighborhood in Chicago, and she desperately wanted a house of her own. Lindsey glanced around the table and wondered if all of the women here felt the same way.

  “What did you think about Esperanza’s desire for her own home?” she asked.

  “I thought it was very relatable,” Nancy said. “When Jake and I bought our house, he insisted that the house be put in both of our names. He wanted to be sure it became mine in case anything happened to him. He was afraid one of his brothers would try to take the house, claiming I couldn’t handle it by myself. Pfff.”

  She looked irritated for a moment and then sad and Lindsey knew the memory of losing her captain husband when his boat went down during a storm haunted her to this day.

  “I was a single young woman in the early seventies and while I didn’t much care about owning a house, I did want to get a credit card in my own name,” Violet said. “It wasn’t allowed. Even though I was starring as the lead in a Broadway play, a woman had to have a husband to get a credit card. Huh. Now I have ten.”

  “I know what it’s like to want to leave your past behind you,” Paula said. “But I don’t know that you really can. It shapes you, whether you like it or not. I think Esperanza learns that in the book. No matter how far she goes, Mango Street will always be part of her even when ‘it opens its arms to let her go.’”

  “Sort of like Briar Creek and the Thumb Islands,” Mary said. “I could travel anywhere in the world, but the years I’ve spent here have made me who I am. When I read the book, I realized how lucky I am to live here.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Ms. Cole said. She was tapping away on her tin can and Lindsey glanced over to see the pattern she was making. It was the outline of an open book.

  “That’s brilliant,” Lindsey said. She pointed to Ms. Cole’s can and the rest of the crafternooners took a look. As they heaped on the praise for her cleverness, Ms. Cole blushed a faint shade of pink. It looked pretty cute on her.

  “Lindsey.”

  Lindsey glanced at the door to see Ann Marie there. She was holding a glass vase that was full of flowers. Big blooms in a riot of color—­orange, red, yellow, cream, and magenta roses—­in a bouquet almost as big as she was.

  “These were just dropped off for you,” Ann Marie said. She came into the room and put the flowers in the center of the table. “The patron, Mr. Grady, wanted to give them to you himself, but I explained that you were at lunch.”

  “Wow, those are stunning,” Beth said.

  “Oh, how nice,” Lindsey said. “I helped him with some research on roses. What a lovely thank-­you.”

  “Hmm.” Ann Marie hummed.

  Lindsey glanced at her. “Did he say anything?”

  “No,” Ann Marie said. “Just that he was grateful for the help, but . . .”

  “But what?” Ms. Cole asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ann Marie said. “Maybe I’m paranoid because I read too many women-­in-­jeopardy thrillers, but I got a weird vibe off him.”

  “He seemed okay,” Lindsey said. “A little socially awkward perhaps. Tell you what, let’s keep the flowers on the circulation desk so that everyone can enjoy them and it looks more like a thank-­you to the whole library instead of one person.”

  “Good idea,” Ann Marie said. She glanced at the table with all of the tin cans and said, “Craft on!”

  She picked up the flowers and headed back to the main library.

  “Why doesn’t Ann Marie join us for crafternoon?” Beth aske
d.

  “I invited her, but she said that keeping her boys out of trouble and library school keeps her schedule too full to take on any free reading or crafting right now,” Lindsey said.

  “That would kill me,” Paula said.

  “Me, too,” Beth agreed. She glanced at Lindsey. “Should we keep an eye out for your admirer? Maybe let him know you’re about to be married and are unavailable?”

  Lindsey shook her head. “I’m positive Mr. Grady mentioned having a wife. I really think this was just a gesture of gratitude on his part.”

  “I don’t know, that was a lot of flowers,” Violet said. “I’ve dated men for months without getting that many roses.”

  “Or any roses,” Nancy added.

  Lindsey smiled. “Well, I’m off the market, so it really doesn’t matter what his intentions were, right?”

  “Right.” The crafternooners all agreed, but Lindsey noticed they were all looking at her with a bit of concern in their eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  About the Author

  Jenn McKinlay, the New York Times bestselling author of the Cupcake Bakery Mysteries (including Wedding Cake Crumble, Caramel Crush, and Vanilla Beaned), has baked and frosted cupcakes into the shapes of cats, mice, and outer-space aliens, to name just a few. Writing a mystery series based on one of her favorite food groups (dessert) is as enjoyable as licking the beaters, and she can't wait to whip up the next one. She is also the author of the Hat Shop Mysteries, the Library Lover's Mysteries, the Bluff Point contemporary romances, and the Happily Ever After contemporary romances. She lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, with her family.

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