The Book Charmer

by Karen Hawkins

  Grace fake-smiled. “That’s okay. I read it as a child, and I’m not really interested in it now.”

  “Hmm. Maybe it’s interested in you.”

  Grace’s smile faded. How on earth was she supposed to respond to that? She remembered Linda’s awed expression when she’d talked about Sarah Dove and her books. This whole town is weird, and I’m not going to be a part of it. So she said shortly, “I’ll bring the book back to the library tomorrow.”

  “Sure.” Sarah’s clear gaze never wavered.

  Oddly self-aware under such a direct look, Grace turned the car onto Main Street. The morning sun slanted over the red brick buildings and brightened the faded awnings.

  “I love mornings,” Sarah said with satisfaction. “Thank you for the ride. It was much more fun than driving by myself.”

  “No problem.” Only it had been. Why had Sarah brought up Hannah? And when will it stop hurting? But it was more than that. Hannah’s death didn’t just hurt; it was beginning to make Grace angry. Hannah’d had so much to live for—her daughter, Mama G, and Grace had all loved her and would have done anything for her. With each day that passed, Grace was beginning to wonder if her sister had ever loved any of them back.

  Grace pulled into the town hall lot and parked.

  Sarah made no move to collect her things. “See you here this afternoon at five?”

  “Why— Oh. Right. You’ll need a ride home. Doesn’t the library close early on Mondays?”

  “We close at four, so five will be fine. I need to reshelve the day’s returns, and afterward, I’m going to run down to the Moonlight Café and order a take-home dinner for Trav.”

  “Trav. You and he are—”

  “Noooooo.” Sarah grinned. “Lord, but I’d love to see his face if he heard you say that. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I just keep an eye on him now that his father is gone.”

  “Daisy is taken with him. I hope he’s someone safe for her to know.”

  “He’s safe. He’s a really, really good person. Kids are drawn to him and he hates it, which makes them like him even more. I think it’s because he’s so brutally honest. Kids like that, you know.” She smiled at Grace. “Daisy seems like a great kid. You’re doing a wonderful job raising her.”

  “Mama G has raised her so far. My sister wasn’t a good parent. To be honest, she wasn’t that good of a sister, either.” It felt oddly relieving to say that out loud. “Hannah left Daisy with Mama G years ago, so when Hannah died, not much changed for Daisy. But Mama G’s illness . . . that’s changing a lot of things, and it’s been hard on Daisy.”

  “It sounds hard for all of you.”

  “It is. I wish I knew how to make things easier for Daisy, but . . .” Grace shook her head. “Why don’t kids come with directions, like dishwashers and blenders? Life would be so much easier.”

  Sarah laughed. “You’re not the only one who’s wanted that. Which is why there are a thousand books on child raising.”

  “And I’ve read them all. Seriously, when I realized I’d be raising Daisy, I ordered every book on child rearing I could find. I can quote statistics and psychological theories out the wazoo, but none of that helps when you’re trying to get them to eat their brussels sprouts. To be honest, I feel like I’m guessing as I go.”

  “Our parents probably felt the same. What makes it more complicated is that every child reacts to things differently. My poor mom had to figure it out seven times.”

  Grace sent Sarah a curious glance. “For not having any kids yourself, you seem to understand them pretty well.”

  “Not really. But the library hosts a children’s story hour, so I see most of the kids in this town every week, and you wouldn’t believe how varied their tastes are. Some of them like adventure books, some like fantasy, some only read manga—it’s crazy how many different books I have to keep on the shelves. Every kid is different.”

  “Yeah, well, if you think their taste in books is varied, you should ask them what vegetables they like.”

  Sarah grinned. “I’m afraid to. But hey, Daisy doesn’t look any the worse for wear, so you must be doing something right.”

  “Thanks. I hope so.” In Grace’s old job, if she made a mistake, she could potentially lose millions of dollars for their investors. She’d thought that was a lot of pressure until she’d accepted the responsibility of raising a kid. Now if Grace made a mistake, she worried that she could mess up her niece’s life forever. It almost didn’t bear thinking about. Grace undid her seat belt and opened her door. “Thank you for the coffee and cake.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for the ride.” Sarah began collecting her stuff.

  Grace climbed out of the car, pausing to reclaim her satchel and purse.

  Sarah hoisted the heavy tote over her shoulder. “Ugh. I’ve got to stop taking so many books home with me.”

  “I should be taking home some work, too, but I’ve been trying not to.”

  “Oh, these books aren’t work.” Sarah patted her bag as she made her way to the sidewalk. “They just like to visit.”

  Well. That was special. And borderline crazy. “They’re your friends, the books.”

  “You could say that. But they’re not friends like us.”

  “We just met; I’m not sure that counts as ‘friends.’ ”

  “Oh, we’re going to be friends, you and I. Good ones. The kind who go to each other’s funerals.”

  Grace had to laugh. “There’s no way we could go to each other’s funerals. That’s physically impossible.”

  Sarah grinned. “You don’t believe in ghosts, I take it.”

  “No, I don’t. Mama G does, though. At least ghost cats. She’s been seeing our old cat who died years ago.”

  “Ohhh. I think I just got a shiver.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s just her imagining things, that’s all.” Grace locked the car and joined Sarah on the sidewalk. “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”

  “I believe in possibilities. And that’s one of them.”

  Possibilities. Grace thought about this and realized she hadn’t believed in those for a long, long time. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

  “No,” Sarah admitted regretfully. “Which is too bad. They say the library is chock-full of them, but I’ve never seen one.”

  “If I ever saw one, I’d run away.”

  “That would make a short horror film.” Sarah’s pale eyes shimmered with humor, and she framed her hands as if setting a film shot. “First frame: you, walking down the street.”

  “In heels. Horror films always show at least one person running in heels. If they’re Louboutins, I’d be willing to make that sacrifice.”

  “In heels it is. Second frame: a ghost pops up.”

  Grace pretended to scream, although she didn’t let any sound escape.

  “Exactly, but louder. Final frame: you, running away.”

  “ ‘The End.’ ” Grace started walking toward town hall, Sarah falling in beside her. “There’d be production issues, though. If I were running from a ghost, there’s no way a cameraman could keep up.”

  Sarah laughed. “Did you ever notice that ghosts in movies are always angry? Either someone built a house on their grave, or their final wishes weren’t honored, or their mother made them wear weird clothing as a child— Lord, in movies ghosts are angry about all sorts of things. But it’s that anger that makes them scary. When people are angry, they’re scary, too.”

  Grace couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe that’s why I’m a little cautious of our neighbor. He always looks mad.”

  “Trav is a grump, but he’s really a marshmallow-inside sort of guy.”

  “Why does he scowl all the time? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.”

  Sarah’s expression sobered. “Afghanistan changed him. He was injured pretty badly and his platoon lost quite a few men. I don’t know anything more than that, because he won’t talk about it.”

  Grace hadn’
t made any real effort to speak to Trav. In her zeal to protect Daisy, Grace had done nothing but glare at him. I judged him on his hair and tattoos and I shouldn’t have. “I saw the scars on his neck.”

  “The ones on his shoulder and back are worse.” Sarah sighed. “He doesn’t sleep well, you know. Every morning when I get up, his lights are already on, no matter how early it is. I keep an eye on him when I can, which isn’t often.” Sarah slipped Grace a side-glance. “Did you leave a lot of friends behind when you moved here?”

  Grace stopped at the crosswalk that led to the library. “I worked ten- to twelve-hour days, so I didn’t have time for friends.” And I don’t have time now.

  She looked down the street where the summer sun warmed the pavement, little curls of mist rising into the morning air. Pockets of mist still lingered in corners and hovered over the damp grass in the park, making the morning-bright street soft and pretty, like a painting.

  It really was peaceful here in this small town. But enough was enough. Soon it would be time to return to the real world, where she could start making her mark and planning a grand future for Daisy and, while she could, Mama G. Grace offered Sarah a polite smile and stuck her hand out for a shake. “Thank you again for the coffee and cake. They were amazing.” They’d also made the day somewhat brighter. At least a little.

  Sarah’s smile faded at the sight of Grace’s hand poised for a businesslike handshake, but after a slight hesitation, she accepted it. “It was my pleasure.” She flashed a smile and adjusted her tote on her shoulder. “And look! I have enough cake left for the social club meeting this afternoon.”

  “They will enjoy that,” Grace said absently as she fished the keys to her office from her purse. “Well, it’s been fun. See you later this afternoon for the drive home. At five, right?”

  “I’ll see you before then— Oh! Someone is waiting at the library.”

  Grace followed Sarah’s gaze to the library steps. “Looks like you have an early customer.”

  “That’s Lisa Renfro. She called yesterday and asked me to set aside the new Mary Alice Monroe book for her. But I need to give her a book about craft beer too.”

  Grace eyed the thin, rather prim woman standing impatiently in front of the library. She wore a dull blue dress and flats, and her face was twisted as if in a perpetual frown. “She makes craft beer?”

  “Oh no. Lisa’s a teetotaler. I know because she goes to my church and tells everyone that she never drinks.”

  “Then why does she need a book on craft beer?”

  Sarah grinned. “I have no idea. Yet. But I’ve got to let her in. See you this afternoon.” She took off across the street, calling out to Lisa as she went.

  Grace shook her head. She didn’t understand Sarah Dove at all. Not even a little. When they drove home that afternoon, Grace would make it clear that, while it had been nice to share their ride, she couldn’t continue to carpool. Getting Mama G and Daisy ready in the morning before Linda came was enough of a challenge without the added pressure of knowing someone was waiting on her.

  I’ll miss the coffee cake, though. Grace continued up the sidewalk to town hall, noticing that the flowers in the planter were now a lovely deep purple. That was her favorite color so far. I need to remember to ask Lenny what type of flowers those are. Grace reached down to unlock the door, but to her surprise, it was already open.

  That was odd. She was always the first one to arrive in the morning. Mayor Moore rarely sailed in until after ten.

  Curious, she walked into her office. The door had no sooner swung closed behind her than Mayor Moore appeared in his doorway. He was a mess, his hair standing on end as if he’d raked his hands through it a million times. His jacket was gone, and his tie hung undone and forgotten around his neck. Both his shirt and his suit pants were sadly wrinkled.

  She frowned. “Did you sleep here?”

  “What? I— No. I mean, I did, but only this morning. I was awake the rest of the time.”

  “I never see you this early.” She put her satchel beside her desk, opened the bottom drawer, and dropped her purse in it. “Is something wrong?”

  His smile, which had seemed forced, now looked both forced and frozen. “We need to talk.” He gestured toward his office door. “Come in and have a seat.”

  “What’s happened?”

  His frozen smile grew more strained. He managed a fake laugh to match it. “You’re direct, I’ll give you that.”

  “Which you must be used to. I only met Mrs. Phelps once, but she didn’t strike me as the sort of woman to beat around the bush.”

  His smile sagged, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded like “Beat around the ear, is more like,” before he said in a mournful tone, “Please come in. This is important. I know you’ve got a lot of work to do—”

  “So you’ve noticed.”

  “You say it a lot, so of course I’ve noticed.” He didn’t seem to realize he’d just lit her fires yet again. “Look, we’ve an emergency. A bad one.”

  And of course, he would want her to fix it, whatever it was. She reluctantly followed him into his office and sat in the chair across from his desk. “What’s the emergency?”

  His chair creaked as he dropped into it. “Something has happened. Something I’ve—” He raked a hand through his hair, leaving yet more of it standing on end. “I don’t even know how it started or who suggested— I guess it doesn’t matter. But I—I mean we—have to stop it, and fast.”

  “Stop what?”

  He put his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands, eyeing her the way one might look at a caged tiger. “I’ve been the mayor for twenty-three years now. I’ve been through five elections and won them all.”

  “Congratulations.” She noted his steepled hands and supposed he’d seen that gesture in a movie, for it rang as hollow as a spoon banged against an empty bowl.

  “I ran good campaigns. Put up signs, made visits, spoke to the churches, the Kiwanis, the Shriners—to just about anyone who would have me. You never stop running for office, you know. It’s a twenty-four-seven deal.” Some of his stress disappeared behind a soothing cloud of self-congratulations. “Even now, I go to the churches for their events, hand out candy at the festivals, and I always, always kiss every baby I see, although”—his smile slipped a little—“that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

  Probably not. She waited, but he didn’t speak, seemingly lost in a mental list of all the babies he’d kissed and the issues that had arisen. “Mayor? You said there was an emergency. So far, I’m not hearing anything bad.”

  “Oh!” He blinked. “Sorry. I was just thinking. But you’re right. The emergency. And it is one, so . . .” He wet his lips as if they were dry. “I’ve run all of those campaigns—all of them successful. Next year, I’m up for reelection.” He looked at her meaningfully. “You can see where this is headed.”

  No, she couldn’t. “I’m going to need a little more information.”

  “Of course. Of course.” He nodded as if he’d wisely known she would ask. “I don’t know how, but I never saw this coming, and I usually have my ear to the ground, looking for just this sort of thing.” He took a deep, troubled breath. “Over the past week, I’ve heard rumors. Vague at first, but then I saw for myself that . . . Ms. Wheeler, we have a situation. A dire situation.”

  God, grant me patience! Can he talk in more circles? “What are we talking about here? Plagues? Locusts? Or have we moved straight into deaths of firstborns?”

  “This is no joking matter!” he snapped, his perpetual smile seeming permanently lost. “Ms. Wheeler, we have a dire situation, one that only you can solve.”

  “Me? How?”

  “The social club.”

  What? Suddenly, the cake and coffee from this morning took on a sinister meaning. “What about the social club?” She left so much frost hanging from each syllable that she was sure he could have chipped ice from them.

  He winced and visibly shored himself up b
efore saying quickly, as if by speaking fast, he might not upset her, “You have to reclaim the chairmanship of the social club.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. I don’t know what happened at that meeting, but—”

  “You know exactly what happened at that meeting. I told you about it the same day, and you laughed and said, ‘Well done.’ ”

  He flushed and waved a hand. “You said something, but I didn’t really understand what had happened. That you’d given the chairmanship to Zoe Bell.”

  “Yes, you did. I very plainly said—”

  “Then I didn’t listen!” He took a shaky breath and pressed his fingertips to his temples as if afraid his head might explode. “Look, Ms. Wheeler. I need you to go to the social club meeting and take back the chairmanship.”

  “I can’t. Zoe Bell is the chairman and that’s that.”

  “I know who is the chairman. That is the problem.” He raked his hand back through his hair, looking as if he were contemplating ripping out what remained of it by the roots. “Of all the people to give the chairmanship to, she is the worst.”

  What was going on? Grace felt as if she and the mayor were having two different conversations, hers in English and his in Dothraki. “Zoe is the vice president of the local bank, so she has excellent contacts and must have good business sense. She seems very approachable and competent. She’s the perfect choice to—”

  “I don’t want to hear another damn word about how perfect Zoe Bell is! You will go to the meeting this afternoon and take back the chairmanship!”

  “I will not.”

  “You will, too!” He leaned forward, his face bright red, the veins on his forehead standing out. “You will chair the committee. You will plan the Apple Festival, and better yet, you’ll pretend you enjoy it and smile so much people will think you, and everyone in this office, are huffing starter fluid!”

  “And if I don’t?” she asked stiffly.

  His face reddened even more. “If you don’t, I’ll have to let you go.” His voice squeaked on the last word.

  She was so, so tempted to get up and leave. To just walk away from this job she didn’t want and wished she didn’t have. But life hadn’t given her a lot of choices lately, and quitting wasn’t an option.