The Deputy's Perfect Match

by Lisa Carter

  She hurried down the steps to her car and contemplated her next move. It might be smart to open up a tad. Allay any misgivings the deputy might have regarding a Kiptohanock newcomer. Disarm and distract.

  And what better way to disarm and distract than a Regency-era book discussion?

  * * *

  In the alcove booth, Charlie edged back from the table. “You’re a total purist, aren’t you?” Aromas of soy sauce and stir-fry permeated the restaurant.

  Evangeline Shaw paused midbite.

  She gave him a sidelong look from beneath the eyelashes brushing her cheekbones. “What do you mean?” She lowered her chopsticks to the placemat adorned with Chinese characters.

  “From classical literature to those.” His eyes cut to her eating utensils.

  “Oh.” She swallowed. “Habit, I guess. Our housekeeper was Chinese, and when we went into the city, she always took me with her to visit her relatives in Chinatown.”

  He pursed his lips. “So they owned a restaurant?”

  The librarian pushed the plate away. “What was your question about the book, Deputy?”

  “The two most famous Chinatowns being in New York and San Francisco.” He locked eyes with her. “But you don’t sound like a New Yorker.”

  Evangeline Shaw held his gaze. “That’s because I’m not from New York.”

  “So you call California home?”

  The librarian lifted her chin. “As much as anywhere else, I suppose, Deputy Pruitt.”

  “Please, I insist you call me Charlie. It’s the polite Kiptohanock way.”

  He took a sip of the hot green tea and made a face. “This would be better with sugar.” He allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. “Everything’s better with sugar, don’t you think, Miss Shaw?”

  Charlie enjoyed watching the librarian squirm in the seat across from him. He waited a beat before adding, “Or may I call you Evangeline since we’ve broken egg rolls together?”

  Her lips quirked as if she fought the urge to laugh.

  Maybe he hadn’t lost his touch, after all. “Were you a military brat?”

  “No.”

  Charlie held his breath, hoping she’d open up. Just a little. A little was all he’d need to get this investigation underway.

  Her cherry-red Mini Cooper already sported Virginia plates. No help there. But he memorized the license number in the parking lot in case he ever needed it.

  She took a breath and exhaled. “My parents are tenured English professors at Stanford.”

  “Hence, I’m guessing, your early and lifelong love affair with books.”

  She twisted the paper napkin in her lap. “That must seem lame to someone like you.”

  He bristled. “What do you mean, ‘someone like me’?”

  She motioned toward the badge pinned to his uniform. “You are a self-admitted nonreader, Deputy Pruitt. I’m guessing, a man of action.”

  “My name is Charlie.”

  “Why join the book club, Charlie? Pride and Prejudice isn’t exactly on most guys’ top-ten lists.” She arched her eyebrow. “If they even like to read. Which you made clear from the get-go that you did not.”

  The diminutive librarian possessed a bit of steel. Good to know.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m trying to keep a promise.”

  She looked at him over the rim of her glasses.

  “To expand my horizons. Jane Austen doesn’t have to be only chick lit, you know. There’s a lot in there for guys, too.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?” A literary gauntlet.

  “Like...like...” He racked his brain for what he’d digested from his middle-of-the-night, off-duty incursions into Austenland.

  She drummed her fingers on the table.

  “Like a strong man doesn’t have to be afraid of a strong woman like Elizabeth Bennet.” Challenge accepted. “And it’s funny, too.”

  She scowled. “In what way?”

  “Her dad cracks jokes all the time.” Charlie rested his elbows on the table. “Any dude surrounded by all those women would have to see the hilarious side of life or go insane.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “You got any brothers and sisters?”

  The librarian hesitated. “It’s just me and my parents.”

  “So your dad was outnumbered, too. Is he funny?”

  “My father and mother keep their heads in the clouds most of the time. Only thing I ever heard them declare amusing was a play on words in Middle English from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.”

  Chaucer? Was Evangeline Shaw for real?

  She pressed her glasses higher on her nose. “Once, my mother giggled over a scene from the Bayeux Tapestry.”

  “The Bayeux what?”

  She fluttered her hand. “Never mind.”

  He stared at her.

  She fidgeted. “Stop looking at me like I’m from outer space. Theirs is an acquired humor. You had to be there.”

  “There where?”

  She sighed. “Most of their sabbaticals are spent in the French countryside. That’s where they are now.”

  With parents like that, no wonder Evangeline Shaw loved books so much.

  If anything, what he’d learned raised more questions in his mind. Like, what was someone like her—who spent vacations in France and probably spoke fluent French—doing in a tiny town in coastal Virginia? He vowed not to underestimate Miss Shaw again.

  She cleared her throat. “We still haven’t talked about the book yet.”

  “We’ve talked about several books.”

  The librarian blinked. “We did?”

  “Sure, we did. The Canterbury Tales, Pride and Prejudice and that Bayeux thingy.”

  The librarian pushed at her glasses. “It’s a tapestry, not a book.”

  Charlie pursed his lips. “I’ll look that up when I get off duty and remedy my sadly neglected education.”

  Her eyes, like liquid sky, flashed. “Are you mocking me, Deputy Pruitt?”

  Charlie hadn’t meant to rile her. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that, I promise.” His heart hammered.

  Then, understanding dawned on her face. “This foray of yours into literature is about a woman, isn’t it?” She fingered the frame of her glasses. “It has to be about a woman.”

  He frowned. “Why do you assume it has to be about a woman? Are you mocking me now?”

  “Is it or is it not about a woman?”

  He fiddled with a duck sauce packet. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “She’s the one who’s the classical reader?”

  This one he could answer without any check to his conscience. “She is.” He opened his palms. “Out of my league entirely, but hope springs eternal.”

  “And this is where I and the Kiptohanock library come in?”

  He gave her the tried and true, ever-reliable Charlie Pruitt grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay, then. Because that’s what I’m about.” Her cheeks reddened. “As a librarian, I mean.” She reached for the ticket.

  He was a split-second quicker.

  “This is supposed to be dutch treat,” she protested.

  “Next time you can treat me.”

  Her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “Next time?”

  “There’s next week’s book selection. I may need more tutoring.” He smiled. “By the way, what is next week’s Jane Austen book club pick?”

  “You’re in for a treat.”

  He got a sinking feeling.

  “Another classic, Sense and Sensibility.” She batted those fabulous blue eyes at him. “You’ll have fun explaining to the group which you like better.”

  Charlie slid out of the booth, the
bill in his hand. “From your tone it sounds as if you’re assuming I won’t like Sense and Whatever.”

  She scrambled after him. “My point, I believe.”

  “Forget male pride. It’s your own female prejudice that makes you think guys can’t enjoy Jane Austen.” He laughed. “Did you catch what I did there?” He stuck his thumbs into his duty belt. “Pride...and prejudice...”

  The staid librarian rolled her eyes.

  “And there’s one other reason guys should read Jane Austen.”

  She reached for her purse. “What’s that?”

  He stuck a toothpick into the corner of his mouth. “It proves men and women can be friends.”

  She planted her hand on her hip. “You got that from Pride and Prejudice?”

  He twirled the toothpick between his thumb and index finger. “I think underneath the witty banter, the reason the chemistry worked between Elizabeth and Darcy was because they valued each other as friends first and foremost.”

  Charlie shuffled his feet. “Maybe we can be friends, Miss Shaw.”

  She tilted her head. “You think because I’m new here, I don’t have any friends?”

  He remained silent, caught by the blond tips of her ponytail brushing across her shoulders.

  She grimaced. “You wouldn’t be far wrong.” She extended her hand. “Call me Evy.”

  He reached for her hand. “Evy it is.”

  And she snatched the bill from him. With a triumphant glance over her shoulder, she marched toward the register. Where she proceeded to pay for both their meals while conducting a conversation with the cashier in a tongue he presumed to be Mandarin or Cantonese.

  Middle English. Probably French. And now Mandarin?

  Charlie held the door for her as they exited and shook his head.

  Wow...not only out of his league. More like out of his galaxy.

  Clapping his hat onto his head, he escorted her to the parking lot.

  She dug through her purse, searching for her keys. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

  “A Southern gentleman always waits. And it’s been fun.” Surprised, he realized it had been fun. With no urgent call from Dispatch, he found himself wishing dinner hadn’t had to end.

  Finding her key ring, she held it up for him to see. “I look forward to hearing more of your Jane Austen insights at book club.”

  “You and me both.”

  She laughed.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “What I meant to say was, I look forward to seeing you Thursday, too.”

  And he did. He’d not imagined the quiet librarian would be such good company. Or so entertaining. She was easy to be with. Despite her enormous brain, Evy Shaw wasn’t pretentious.

  Clicking the key fob, she unlocked her car and got inside. With a small backhanded wave, she pulled out of the parking lot and drove off into the sunset. He watched her taillights turn south on Highway 13 toward Miss Pauline’s.

  What was the elusive Evy Shaw after here in good ole Kiptohanock? But recon mission accomplished, he’d managed to learn enough background to call on one of his PI buddies from California who owed Charlie a favor.

  His shoulder mic squawked. He responded and jogged toward his cruiser. As he headed to investigate a reported prowler, he reflected that his unofficial undercover assignment might not be so unpleasant after all.

  Who’d have guessed Jane Austen could grow on a guy?

  Chapter Three

  Getting ready for book club on Thursday night, Evy glanced at the clock more than once. And for the fifth time, she made a minute adjustment to the way the tablecloth hung on the refreshment table. As if Charlie Pruitt would care.

  The ladies—if not Charles Everett Pruitt the Third—should have been here by now. Everyone must be running late.

  She plucked a pillow from the sofa in the circle of armchairs. Despite their tête-à-tête over Chinese food, she didn’t think Charlie would actually show up to book club. But as she counted down the minutes, the dread—and anticipation—mounted. Her gaze flitted to the clock again.

  Evy’s parents had no idea what she was up to when she accepted the librarian position. Would never have envisioned their timid Evy bold enough to seek out answers to long-held questions. Would have been shocked and amazed—not to mention dismayed—at her covert attempts to learn the truth. Evy had shocked herself with her uncharacteristic behavior.

  Pacing, she punched the pillow with her fist. This was so ridiculous. So high school, so—

  “Hey, Evy.”

  She yelped and whirled. The pillow plopped onto the rug.

  Arms folded across his uniformed chest, Charlie leaned against the threshold of the meeting room tucked behind the library staircase. Minus the hat for once, he grinned at her.

  Her heart did a funny sort of cartwheel, so she scowled at him. She bent to retrieve the pillow at the same moment Charlie—

  Their foreheads collided. She fell onto the sofa. He ricocheted into the wall.

  “Ow!” She massaged her temples. “You’ve got a hard head, Deputy Pruitt.”

  “I’m not the only one.” He frowned. “And I thought we’d moved past Deputy.” His eyes brightened at the sight of the refreshment table. “You didn’t tell me there’d be food.”

  He loped past Evy. “I skipped dinner for the club tonight. Can I go ahead and eat, or should I wait for the others?” His eyes scanned the room. “Where are the other ladies?”

  She handed him a plate. “They’re on their way with more food. Be my guest, though. Go ahead.”

  “How...dainty.” He held a small cake square between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s this? Cake for a baby?”

  “Mrs. Davenport dropped those off this afternoon.” Evy fanned the paper napkins on the table. “It’s called a petit four, Charlie. It’s meant to be small.”

  “French.” He grinned. “I’m quick like that, huh?”

  “You’re quick like something, all right...”

  Heels clicked against the hardwood floor of the library foyer.

  “Yoo-hoo!” Dixie, the waitress from the Sandpiper Café, tottered into the room bearing a platter of sandwich triangles. She stuttered to a stop. “Am I interrupting something, sugar?”

  Evy took a step back. She’d not realized how close she’d been standing to the deputy. “You’re interrupting nothing, Dixie.”

  Charlie winked at Evy. “You assume Dixie was talking to you.”

  And he rested his gun-clad hip against the edge of the table. As if implying that he—as if they... Did the man never stand up straight?

  She took the tray from Dixie. “Deputy Pruitt wanted to join our book club tonight.”

  Dixie clapped her hands together. “How fun! I had no idea the book club was going coed. Can I bring Bernie next time?”

  Bernie was Dixie’s husband. “Doesn’t his reading tend to favor spy thrillers?”

  “True. He probably wouldn’t care for Jane Austen.” Dixie sighed. “Because of his work with NASA at Wallop’s Island, his literary tastes run toward the cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

  Charlie snagged a pimento cheese sandwich off the platter. “It takes a special man like moi to truly enjoy the classics of literature.”

  He helped himself to another sandwich as the other ladies arrived with additional refreshments. Evy made sure to give a special welcome to Ashley, a stay-at-home mom with three energetic children. The book club and church on Wednesday were her only nights out with grown-ups. Yet when Charlie’s shoulder brushed against hers, Evy quivered.

  “I caught your attempt at French, Deputy. My, my, you are quick-witted.”

  He pretended to tip his imaginary hat. “We deputies aim to please.”

  Why did Charlie Pruitt make her want to laugh?


  She moved beyond him, careful not to make further contact. “Welcome, everyone.”

  Evy couldn’t help noticing how Charlie worked the room. He greeted every lady, who ranged in age from ninety-year-old Mrs. Evans to a thirtysomething Coastie wife. And he let them know he’d skipped supper. Evy hid her smile as she helped Reverend Parks’s wife serve the punch.

  The women—young and old—fell over themselves plying Charlie with food. She needn’t have worried about how the ladies would receive his male intrusion into their girls’ club. He was like a rooster in the proverbial henhouse. And they were loving every minute of it.

  “And the petits fours?” Charlie made sure he had Evy’s attention as he lifted the cake square off the plate, pinkie finger extended. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mrs. Davenport.”

  Evy almost choked on her chicken-salad sandwich. He’d mimicked the French pronunciation exactly.

  “You dear boy.” Mrs. Davenport fluttered her bejeweled hands like a schoolgirl. “How wonderful you know what a petit four is.”

  “I guess I’m just smart like that. And what they are is delicious.” Charlie popped the bite-size square into his mouth.

  “Let me get you another, Deputy.” Mrs. Davenport, also known as the grapevine of Kiptohanock, scurried toward the table.

  Charlie waggled his eyebrows at Evy. She glared. Was the man never serious? Surely a deputy sheriff had to be more sober-minded than the likes of Charlie Pruitt.

  But a smile played on her lips. He did know his way around a food table, she’d give him that. Around the ladies, too. Mr. Charming. Not her type at all. Not that Evy had a type to speak of.

  At that not-so-happy thought, she took her customary armchair.

  “Why don’t you sit close to Evy?” Dixie hovered at Charlie’s elbow. “Being a newcomer and all.”

  Evy’s cheeks burned. She hoped no one was getting the wrong idea about her and the deputy.

  “So you can see better?” Mrs. Davenport coaxed.

  It wouldn’t do for the ladies—or the town—to get the wrong idea. This was getting out of hand.