“I’ll take her,” she offered. 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.
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. 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 seen only one person glow like that before, and it was Mary when she was pregnant with Josie. Her eyes went wide, and 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 bites 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 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 no small praise, given that Mary owned the Blue Anchor, the only restaurant in town.
It was Paula who cracked the two older women. Having finished her lunch, she started to put out the craft supplies. While giving side-eye to 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 her food, 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 face, which 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,” Nancy said. She looked cranky and slapped the five-dollar bill back into Vi’s hand.
“Nancy!” 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’ll 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 would come 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 the things she had to do
for the wedding. Nope. She still wasn’t that jazzed about all 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 desperately longed for a house of her own. Lindsey glanced around the table and wondered whether all 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 Nancy 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 after she leaves.”
“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 small piece of paper in her hand.
“This was left for you,” Ann Marie said. She came into the room and handed Lindsey the note. “The patron wanted to give you the note himself, but I explained that you were at lunch.”
“Oh, thanks,” Lindsey said. She opened the note. In a small, tight script it read, Lindsey, Thank you so much for your assistance today. I enjoyed our interaction and appreciate your help more than I can say. Fondly, Aaron Grady.
“What does it say?” Ann Marie asked.
Lindsey glanced at her. “It’s just a thank-you from Mr. Grady.”
“The guy with the rose bushes,” Ann Marie said. “He told me how your excellent research was going to save his precious roses.”
“Well, that was thoughtful,” Ms. Cole said.
“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, but there’s no harm in that. Right?”
“If you say so,” Ann Marie said. With a wave, she exited the room.
“Looks like you have an admirer,” Nancy said. She winked at Lindsey.
“What can I say?” Lindsey asked. “I give good reference.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if all of our patrons took the time to write such nice notes?” Beth asked.
“Yes, because manners matter,” Ms. Cole said. No one argued the point.
CHAPTER
2
By the following week, the weather in Connecticut hadn’t improved. The days were long and scorching hot. There had been no rain, and the normally lush green grass lawns in the center of town were now brittle, yellow and parched.
Lindsey left the town hall, which was just down the street from the library, wearing her summer business attire, which consisted of a sleeveless blue and white cotton gingham dress with white sandals. It was midafternoon, the sun was dialed to optimum bake, and there wasn’t even a breeze blowing in from the bay, which was utterly flat, as if it didn’t have the wherewithal to form a wave.
It wasn’t a long walk, but by the time she reached the automatic doors of the library, she could feel the perspiration in her hair and running down her back. All she wanted was an ice-cold glass of water and a fan. She trudged into the building, knowing that her face was red and she was covered in perspiration.
She had almost reached the circulation desk when a voice called out, “Lindsey!”
She thought about ignoring the person and just going for the water cooler, but the manners her parents had instilled in her wouldn’t let her. She pushed a heavy hank of hair out of her face and turned around.
“I brought you these.” Mr. Grady, the patron she had helped several days before, was standing there with a batch of roses.
Lindsey blinked, feeling a little woozy from the overpowering smell of the roses combined with what she was beginning to think was a mild case of heat stroke. Still, as Ms. Cole had said, manners mattered, and she said, “Thank you, Mr. Grady. They’re lovely.”
“Call me Aaron,” he said.
“Okay,” she said. But she didn’t say his name. Maybe the heat was making her feel contrary, or perhaps it was that his presence was becoming an impediment to her getting water, but she just nodded. She took the flowers and put them on the far side of the return desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
She let her voice trail off, and she staggered into the workroom where the water cooler was. She poured herself a glass and downed half of it, then pressed the cup she had used against her cheek, as if she could lower her body temperature from the outside.
“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Ms. Cole said as she came into the workroom.
She grabbed a paper towel and doused it with cold water. “Put this around your neck, and go sit down before you fall down.”
“Thank you,” Lindsey said. She filled her cup again and went into her office, where she put the free-standing fan on high and let it blast her with its breezy goodness.
Ms. Cole watched from the door. When Lindsey sat down, she said, “Mr. Grady arrived shortly after you left and has been waiting for you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry if I was rude to him, but it’s just so hot out there,” Lindsey said. She made to rise, and Ms. Cole waved her back down.
“No, you were fine,” she said. “You were clearly overheated. We’re having record heat today. If anything, he was rude to detain you when you were clearly about to faint.”
Lindsey drank more water. She could feel Ms. Cole staring at her. “What’s the matter?”
“I think Ann Marie might have been right about him,” Ms. Cole said. “There’s something off about that man.”
“Has he done anything specific that makes you think he might cause harm to the staff or the library?” Lindsey asked. She was finally feeling a bit cooler now, and she could feel her brain kicking into library-director mode.
“Not the staff or the library,” Ms. Cole said. “To be honest, he seems fixated on you.”
“Me?” Lindsey asked. “But why?”
“I don’t know,” Ms. Cole said. “But he waited here for two hours, and every chance he got, he tried to engage the staff in conversation about you.”
Lindsey felt her stomach drop. She was already nauseated from the heat. This did not help. “What did he want to know?”
“All sorts of things,” Ms. Cole said. “What your favorite color is, where do you live, do you have any ho
bbies, that sort of thing.”
Lindsey pressed a hand to her forehead. “Okay, that is weird.”
“No one told him anything, of course,” Ms. Cole said. “And Beth was very clear that it was inappropriate of him to be asking about you.”
“Good,” Lindsey said. “How did he respond to that?”
“He completely ignored her,” Ms. Cole said. “I think you’re going to have to be very firm with him.”
“Okay,” Lindsey said. “Thanks for the heads-up. Maybe it was a good thing I was on the verge of passing out when I arrived.”
“Just . . .” Ms. Cole paused and then said, “Be careful.”
Lindsey watched her leave and wondered what that was about. She didn’t know a lot about Ms. Cole’s past. She had been born and raised in Briar Creek, and as far as Lindsey knew, she had never married or had children. Presently, she was dating Milton Duffy, library board president, yogi and town historian, but other than that, Lindsey didn’t know much. She wondered what made Ms. Cole look as nervous as she did about this situation. She knew it was none of her business, but she’d become quite fond of Ms. Cole, and she didn’t like the thought that somewhere in her past lurked a terrible hurt.
She supposed she could go talk to Mr. Grady and make it clear that she was unavailable and that while she appreciated the roses, she thought they were inappropriate. She felt a trickle of sweat run down her back. Ugh, or she could just wait until she saw him again. Maybe he was just a lonely guy in a new town and she was the first friendly person he’d met. Not being a huge fan of confrontation, Lindsey sincerely hoped this was the case and opted to stay in her office until she felt like she wasn’t going to throw up.
* * *
• • •
Heather Cooper, one of Lindsey’s favorite patrons, was visiting the library with her husband, Brett. They were checking out a bunch of travel books for an upcoming trip to Disneyland. Heather was Lindsey’s go-to source for horror books and cozy mysteries, and they always had a nice long chat about the books they were enjoying.
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