Read on Arrival

by Nora Page

  “We’re about to have a full-time opportunity,’ Mercer said. “That’s why I’ve invited the board here—to see Belle’s vision. They have. They’ve generously accepted my offer to fund this important position. Belle will guide our library design, innovation, outreach, activities, and mobile ventures.”

  “By mobile ventures, I mean bookmobiles!” Belle said, clapping her hands. “I have all sorts of ideas to snazz up this place and your bookmobile, Cleo. Like, thinking outside the box, what if it’s not even a bus? What if we had a tiny stagecoach for Lilliput to haul around the park?”

  Cleo didn’t like conflict, except in books, and even there it made her nervous. She took a breath, working to steady her voice and shaky hands. “Surely, I should have been consulted about this position,” she said.

  “You are now,” Mercer said, his snapping-turtle smile daring her to object. “Don’t worry, Cleo. We’ll follow the proper hiring procedures. We’ll be posting the job advertisement so anyone can apply. Of course, we already have a talented and experienced candidate. Your previous job ad mentioned preference given for candidates applying from within the institution. We’ll add the same to this advertisement. Lucky for us, Belle will have that advantage now, being our consulting innobrarian.”

  “Y’all are so sweet,” Belle trilled. “So’s the salary! Mercer, you’re both a visionary and a doll.”

  Cleo gawked at the board members. Why was no one saying anything? Some did have the grace to turn away from the flagrant flirting. The secretary hid behind a hardback, while another member studied his shoes.

  “I’m your consultant for the time being,” Belle said. “Let me prove my worth. Cleo, you’re just in time. Handouts, people! I have paper!” She handed around color copies. Cleo stubbornly—childishly—stuffed her hands in her pockets, refusing to accept one. Henry ended up with two copies. Cleo frowned at the pie charts he held. The wedges contained words. Actionables. Product. Profit. Innobrary.

  Belle’s voice had switched from syrupy to brisk, a stream of numbers and percentages.

  “How do we measure success?” she asked the group. “By boots in the door, I say. By limiting our costs, by which I mean decreasing our outlays for high-priced, outdated inventory.”

  “Inventory?” Cleo asked.

  “Books,” Belle said in a dark tone Cleo might use when referring to gum or termite infestation. “Once books are read, they’re done, right? I mean, who reads a book twice—or the out-of-date ones, for that matter? Plus, folks can lose paper books, or their kid or—say, mini-horse—might rip a page or spill something on them, or they get moldy or moth-eaten, or …”

  She turned to Cleo with raised eyebrows. “Or a patron keeps a book out for over forty years, and the library staff has no way of retrieving either the book or the late fine. Unacceptable! Paper is the past! I say we limit the heavy, space-wasting paper books. That’ll make ’em more valuable. Like diamonds. Think about it: What are diamonds? Plain old carbon, same as paper. They’re valuable because there aren’t a lot around. Now, if we decrease books by just thirty to forty percent, and divide that by an estimated patron increase of …”

  Numbers and figures flew. Cleo’s head spun in horror and grim realization. She recognized what Belle was doing, and successfully too: her version of Auntie Audrey’s one–two punch. Sweet-talking and facts, although in Belle’s case, Cleo suspected the so-called facts were fiction.

  “Where did you get these figures?” Cleo demanded.

  Belle didn’t break her smile. She pointed to the pie chart. “Right here, of course.”

  “But where did you get—”

  Belle cut Cleo off with a terse “Market analysis. I did it myself. It’s right here on the chart. See?”

  “Brilliant,” Mercer said adoringly.

  Belle ushered the group toward the main reading room.

  Cleo caught up with the lagging library lovers she’d considered her allies. Mrs. K.’s sister Meg was among them. The principal was right: Meg hadn’t gotten the family backbone. Meg blinked at Cleo like a field mouse facing a famished fox.

  Cleo forced herself to smile pleasantly. She wasn’t upset with the board members. She couldn’t even fault Belle, really. Like a fox, Belle was just doing what came naturally.

  The other book lovers were the nervous board secretary and a thirty-something, stay-at-home dad who relentlessly served on committees and boards.

  “I know this wasn’t your idea,” Cleo said softly.

  They shrugged as one.

  “It’s not so bad,” Meg said in a quavering voice edged with surprising defiance. “No,” she blurted. “I take that back. It’s good. A win–win! We get a free consultant to help finish these renovations right and the Whitty Family Foundation will pay for a new full-time staff member.”

  The secretary bobbed her head. “Yes, yes! We saw spreadsheets earlier. With the money Belle saves and Mr. Whitty grants us, we can do all sorts of innovative things. Innobrative, I mean.” She giggled.

  Cleo winced. “But what about our library and bookmobile? People depend on us for books and much more. We can’t destroy what’s good for the sake of breaking a mold or looking flashy.”

  “Make libraries fun again!” the young father proclaimed, missing Cleo’s point entirely. “Like BOOK IT!”

  “Libraries are fun,” Cleo countered, wondering if he’d actually seen BOOK IT! and its lack of books. She goggled at the usually sensible folks before her. With just a few alien words and pretty charts, they’d lost all reason. It was like they’d been swept up in a cult. Cleo had read about cults and group mind control. She’d never seen it happen firsthand.

  “But books,” she said, keeping her voice calm, careful not to agitate the possibly cult-afflicted. “Surely you all agree that we don’t need fewer books in our library.”

  “We’ll have books,” Meg said with a little giggle. “Don’t be silly, Cleo! We’ll have more resources and product than ever.”

  Cleo edged closer to Meg, sniffing discreetly, checking for any hint of detectable drug or drink. She smelled nothing but the lilac perfume that lingered after Belle’s hugs.

  “Mr. Whitty explained it when he called us all last night,” Meg continued, her voice taking on an edgy trill. “You see, we’re all competitors—every library, I mean. We’re competing for clients. Clients are what you’d call our patrons or readers. If we don’t change, then we’ll lose out anyway. Our clients will go over to Claymore. A lot of folks go over there anyway to shop at the big-box stores.”

  The young father agreed that he did just that. “You should see all the activities they have for kids now over at the Claymore library. My children love that little pony, and on weekends there’s sometimes a farmer who brings by mini-goats and a micro-pig and cotton candy and—”

  It sounded more like a miniaturized petting zoo than a library. Cleo bit her tongue to keep from demanding where his children got actual books. Her nose twitched. Belle’s perfume swept in a moment before its wearer.

  “What are all y’all doing over here in the corner?” Belle asked, grabbing Cleo by the elbow. “Cleo, I have to show you, I found the best paint colors! Now, I simply adore your color swatches. That’s why I think they’d really pop if we went a teensy bit brighter. What do you think of neon peach fizz and a graffiti mural? We’ll use words, like in BOOK IT! You liked those, right? You said so …”

  Many decades ago, Cleo’s Granny Bess had taken young Cleo aside for a serious talk. Not about the birds and the bees, but about the perils of politeness. Her wise grandmother warned that being too nice could sometimes be like stepping in quicksand. Go a little too far, wiggle a little bit too much, and you got yourself stuck.

  Cleo felt herself sinking deeper, but what could she do? Yelling out reason would get her nowhere with this crowd.

  Belle waved toward the west wall. “We’ll remove those bookshelves. That’ll give us all sorts of space for our light display. Fun, right? We’ll have to turn down the ligh
ts so the illuminated words pop, but that’s okay. Folks won’t want to sit around and just read once we’re done!”

  Cleo would have slapped a hand to her thudding heart, except she was being tugged away toward the front room.

  “Now, here,” Belle said. “How many nonfiction books does anyone need? I was thinking, we clear this out and …”

  Cleo closed her eyes and thought again of wise Granny Bess and that long-ago conversation. Her grandmother had offered a solution. The nice and polite of the world didn’t have to become brawlers and bullies, her grandmother said. But sometimes—just occasionally, in dire times only and for the greater good—they could employ a little deception. Cleo summoned deception.

  “Lovely ideas,” Cleo drawled. She was pleased to see shock on a few faces, most of all, Henry’s. Good. She must sound properly believable. She continued, clasping her hands in feigned eagerness. “Belle, you and I should talk much more about these …”—Cleo glanced at the nearest pie chart—“… these action plans. We’ll get Leanna too and have a proper action meeting.”

  Belle opened red-painted lips, but Cleo kept on speaking, louder and firmer. “Oh, but we can’t do that yet, can we? Leanna and I will not be properly prepared. We’ll have to do a pre-meeting to prep for our meeting.” Cleo knew she couldn’t hold Belle off forever. She just needed some time to think. There had to be a way to sway Belle or Mercer or, better yet, the entire board. She wanted to consult with Leanna.

  Cleo smiled sweetly at Mercer. “Of course, more meetings mean more times Belle will have to come all the way over here to see us.”

  Mercer looked as pleased as a pig in mud.

  Cleo caught Henry’s eye and winked. He nodded back, a knowing smile spreading.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Oh no,” Leanna groaned. “She’s here! It’s started, hasn’t it? Our undoing!” She stood in the library foyer, looking dismal yet bright in her polka-dot yellow raincoat, candy-cane boots, and cable-knit tights. The library door groaned behind her.

  “I’m afraid so,” Cleo said in a low voice. “I arrived to find most of the board here this morning. They liked Mercer’s idea of hiring her as a consultant. He’s fully funding it all, so they would.” She didn’t want to mention the threat of a full-time “innobrarian” right yet. Leanna already had a lot to take in.

  “What is that awful, ugly color?” Leanna spluttered, pointing to sofa-sized splotches dotting the walls. Her pointing moved down the hallway. “That one’s worse. This isn’t a Victorian color! It’s not library calm. It’s clown house!”

  Cleo was glad that Jefferson, even in his murder-suspect circumstances, wasn’t around to hear Leanna’s clown insult. But Leanna was right. Only a clown—the kind who terrorized cemeteries and the pages of Stephen King novels—could live with the neon-orange and shocking yellow.

  “That’s called Electric Peach Fizz,” Cleo said, taking Leanna by the arm. “The other is Sun-Gazer Surprise.” She mouthed Outside to Leanna. Although she was keeping her voice down, there was no need. Belle was in the back, and twangy tunes blared from a speaker set up on the circulation desk.

  “What?” Leanna said, still squinting into the neon.

  “I need some air after all this exciting paint,” Cleo exclaimed loudly, in case Belle could hear them. She pushed the heavy door open with a satisfying shove and led the way around the curve of the porch, passing by the wide window that looked into the fiction room. Inside, Belle merrily measured the room size, likely imagining it free of shelves. Outside, the clouds were wringing out their final drips. Raindrops tap-danced on the metal roof and rumbled down the gutters.

  Leanna looked as droopy as the Spanish moss. “We have to put up with this until the reopening? I won’t want to reopen if the library looks like a demented clown house. This is the worst!”

  “Not quite.” Cleo decided to get the bad news over with fast, like ripping off a bandage. “I’m afraid there’s more. Mercer proposes to fund a full-time ‘innobrarian’ position with Belle in mind. Unfortunately, she’s interested.”

  Leanna groaned and leaned on the railing, staring out over the garden. “Why is it always this way? Why do the pushiest, loudest people with all the money always win?”

  “No, no,” Cleo said, fearing she didn’t sound very believable. “We can fight this.”

  Leanna kept her face turned to the garden. Her voice quivered. “We fought to get the library back, Miss Cleo, and just when it’s almost done, almost perfect, we get this? What if it turns into something like her noisy carnival bookmobile? It’s almost worse than not having a library.”

  Cleo felt terrible and partially responsible. She hadn’t acted quickly enough with the library board. She’d gotten distracted by the murder and the threats. And by my own self-interest, she thought. She’d wanted to clear her name and solve the awful puzzle of the case. Cleo admitted how Belle had outfoxed her with sweet talk and pie charts.

  “I blame myself,” she said. “I let myself get wrapped up in Dixie Huddleston’s death when I should have been entirely focused on the library. I foolishly thought if we hurried and got our renovations finished, everything would be set and safe.”

  Leanna spun around. “No, Miss Cleo! It’s not your fault. It’s hers and Mr. Whitty’s too. Why can’t he just ask her out if he likes her so much?”

  Cleo wouldn’t speculate on Mercer Whitty’s love life. “I have a plan,” she said, wishing it was more than a half-formed desperation move. Nonetheless, Cleo pitched it in battle terms. She’d recently read a novel set during the Revolutionary War and was up on her fighting terminology. “We’ll appear to fall back at first. We’ll sound agreeable, a feint. Our mission will be to delay her, hopefully long enough to get most of our major renovations through. If we have to concede some ground on paint color, that’s okay. We can always change the paint later. We’ll concentrate on preserving the most important parts, the heart of the library: our books and programs. Meanwhile, we’ll begin our main thrust, showing Belle what working in a library really means.”

  Leanna nodded. It was a polite nod, Cleo assessed. An unconvinced nod.

  “How do we show her what she’s already seen and not understood,” Leanna asked, skepticism clear.

  “We put her to work,” Cleo said.

  “Like take-your-innobrarian-to-work day? You really think she’s going to suddenly fall for indexing and receiving? Circulation procedures? The literacy program? Outreach to the schools? Our rural bookmobile efforts?” Leanna kicked at a stray magnolia leaf, sending it tumbling down the porch.

  Cleo ran her hand along the railing and a line of raindrops. “Actually, I don’t think she’ll be very interested at all. But we might convince her that she doesn’t want a job here, that she’s looking for something else as her second career.”

  Leanna managed a wry smile. “We can always hope, can’t we?”

  “And act,” Cleo added firmly. “I’ll do my best to sway the board. Sweetness and facts—it’s a tactic of my very wise aunt that I didn’t implement soon enough. You concentrate on your studies … and lying low.”

  “Those I can definitely do.” Leanna gave Cleo a quick hug. “Call me when the coast is clear, okay?” She was down the steps in a flash, stopping only to scoot around the corner and ruffle Lilliput’s mane. The little horse stood under the porch overhang, his red slicker righted and his long lead tethered to a sturdy crabapple. Someone had stepped in and straightened the toppled redbud sapling. Some things could be set right, Cleo thought. She just hoped the Catalpa Springs library—and Leanna’s future in it—would be among them.

  * * *

  “Monday?” Belle tapped her knee-high boot when Cleo returned inside. “Leanna doesn’t have any time today or this weekend? I thought she was only a part-timer and a college student. What’s she have going on that’s so important?”

  “All sorts of busy things,” Cleo said with peppy vagueness. “Leanna’s a real go-getter and so looking forward to our pre-meetin
g meeting. Don’t worry. We’ll still have time before the grand reopening. Speaking of which, what do you think we should serve for snacks?”

  Cleo had a policy on food and beverage in the library. It was simple. Neither was allowed, a restriction that went double for gum. However, the grand reopening was a party, and Cleo felt they had to serve something. She was considering safe items that wouldn’t harm books, like dry crackers and pretzels. Dry roasted nuts. Celery sticks? Cleo worried only Pat would enjoy that menu.

  Belle let her tape measure snap back into its holder. She’d been in the kids’ room, brainstorming ways to bring in more noise. Speakers … Belle had been muttering when Cleo checked on her. Surround sound … Cleo found surround sound unsettling, even in movie theaters.

  “Ooh,” Belle said, clapping her hands excitedly. “You know what I love? Fondue! It’s so retro it’s hip, isn’t it? Do you have a fondue pot? My folks have must have a dozen around the house. I could bring ’em all. I think we might even have one of those fountains, a chocolate fountain, but I bet it would spurt cheese too.”

  Cleo suppressed a shudder and an automatic No! Fondue? Liquid cheese? Molten chocolate, sliding off apple slices dangling from little forks? She did adore fondue, but there was a reason it went out of fashion. It was a hazard.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Belle claimed. Cleo hoped not.

  Belle proved a mind reader. “You’re thinking fondue will smear all over your precious books. But hear me out. Folks don’t go far with fondue. They hover around the pot.”

  Cleo opened her mouth to protest. It hung open as she realized she could see Belle’s point. “Why, yes,” she said in amazement. “Fondue could work. It’s more festive than what I had planned too.”

  “See?” Belle said, giving Cleo’s shoulder a friendly slap. “I do have some clever tricks up my sleeve, Cleo Watkins.”

  She did have tricks, surely. Cleo reminded herself not to let down her guard. Her stomach rumbled rudely. It was long after noon, nearly one, and Cleo was starving. She usually started her pre-lunch snacking around the brunching hour.