Tempting as she was, Marnie Somerset couldn’t stay. They couldn’t take the chance that she’d discover the truth. She was too curious, too bright. She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d be content to live amidst things she could not explain away. Someone would have to scare her out of town, soon.
Him?
The light in the back window stayed on for a while. He imagined her there, kicking off those ridiculous shoes, unpacking a few things, maybe unwinding a bit before going to bed. The place would be well-stocked for her; she’d have all she needed in the way of food and toiletries to get her through a few days, at least. Susan would have seen to that.
He shouldn’t worry about Marnie Somerset. He barely knew her. But after what had happened to the last librarian…
Eventually she turned off the light. Clint waited a few seconds and then he gave a loud whoop.
The light came back on, a curtain fluttered as the new librarian tried to look into the darkness for whatever had made that sound. Clint slipped into the woods, heading for home.
Chapter 3
Marnie walked to the library well ahead of the scheduled time to open. Her house was so close, and it was a pleasant morning, so why not? She’d slept well, and had eaten a bowl of oatmeal and drunk a cup of coffee on the screened back porch which, no surprise, looked out over a small but bright flower garden. She noticed a few weeds here and there, but until recently the garden had been well-tended.
There was no sign that a large dog had been in her back yard last night, but beyond a white fence the woods were deep and thick. Her house was — naturally — at the far south edge of town. Anything might be living there. Bears. Wolves. Dogs. Whatever.
They had better stay out of her yard.
There were only six houses on her street, three on each side. Her house was sandwiched between two similar cottages. The gray house to the east, nearest to the dead end and the woods beyond, was in desperate need of a coat of paint and a lawn mower. The blue one to the west had been properly maintained, but appeared to be vacant. Both were one-story, with decent sized porches just right for potted plants and rocking chairs, iced tea and neighborly visitors.
The three houses on the north side of the street looked slightly more modern than hers. Two of them — one a boring tan, the other a too-bright blue — had FOR SALE signs planted on recently-mowed lawns. The one that looked lived in was in between those two. It had been painted an inviting pale yellow, and was literally surrounded by flowering bushes.
She’d noticed on the drive in that many of the roads off Main Street had been named for people. Franklin. Smith. Milhouse. Others had flower names, including her own Magnolia Road.
Main Street itself was charming, in a small-town downtown way. There was no rhyme or reason to the style of the individual businesses. It looked as if each had been built independently of the others, then stuck together. The storefronts were white, brick, and all kinds of colors. The styles ranged from modern to quaintly antique. Some looked neglected, while others were well maintained. There were windows small and large, painted and unvarnished. Awnings on some buildings, but not all. One business down the street had a large clay planter by the door, with a beautiful green plant draping onto the sidewalk.
Oddly enough, Main Street ended abruptly a block past Marnie’s street. There was a dead end much like the one on her short street, as if the builders had gotten so far and then decided that was far enough.
No one else was out and about at this hour. The businesses along the street were not yet opened, so that was no surprise.
Marnie unlocked the library door, opened it, and stepped inside. She reached to the right and immediately found the light switch there. She flipped it, and overhead lights throughout the library came to life.
She instantly fell in love.
Any doubts she might have had as she’d driven into town last night melted away in a heartbeat. Now, this was a library. For a long moment she stood by the door, entranced. Floor to ceiling bookshelves were crammed with books as far as the eye could see. There were no hastily assembled metal shelves here. These bookcases, as well as the front desk, were made of a rich, dark wood that gleamed with polish. The sliding ladder just a few feet away was made of that same wood.
This library was well-loved. It was a dream, a perfect library here in this charming place she hadn’t heard of until two weeks ago.
A vase of brightly colored wildflowers had been left on the desk, yet another welcome for her, she supposed. They were similar to the arrangement she’d found waiting in her parlor last night.
She loved the way that sounded. Her parlor.
It wasn’t yet time to open, so Marnie locked the door behind her and walked to the desk to see if there was a note along with the flowers. There was not. She moved farther into the library, taking slow, deliberate steps. She walked to the nearest section of books and studied the spines. She’d never seen so many fine, well-tended books in one place. And leather! So much leather. She allowed her fingertips to brush the spines of a few books. They were very old, had to be, but many of them looked practically new.
Beyond the front section all the books were neatly arranged, as was proper, but near the desk there was a shelf labeled “popular fiction.” The books there included romance, some mystery bestsellers and, of all things, Jane Austen.
“I have found my people,” Marnie whispered to an empty room.
Just beyond the shelf of the library’s most popular selections there was another, smaller collection of books, a mix of hardbacks and paperbacks. Local Author. Really? Here? She glanced at the spine of the closest hardback and tilted her head to read the title and author name. Bloodlust. JC Maxwell. She slipped that book from the shelf and recoiled at the image of blood and claw marks on the cover. Ewww. Horror.
Bestselling horror, she noted as she opened the book. There were some impressive quotes on the front page.
She’d never had a stomach for horror novels. Or scary movies or Halloween haunted houses or campfire tales about things that went bump in the night. She closed the book and turned it over to glance at the back cover blurb. Not that she had any intention of reading Bloodlust, but if the author was local she might meet him or her.
Him, she noted. Definitely him. The author photo was of a large man in a brown leather jacket. He was impressive. He was handsome. The photographer had coaxed a charming smile out of him. He was apparently not a lumberjack.
JC Maxwell was the man who had changed her tire. Clint.
Seeing his picture brought back the very real horror of her trip into town. Well, maybe horror was a strong word for what she’d been through. By the light of day, and after a surprisingly good night’s sleep — her dream about bears and big dogs had been scary but brief, and quickly dismissed after a cup of strong coffee — everything looked different. So she’d had a bit of bad luck on her way to Mystic Springs. It could’ve happened to anyone. Her cell didn’t get a signal on that stretch of road, but she had a full five bars here in town.
The sound she’d heard from those woods last night? A dog, she imagined. A strange, large, perfectly harmless dog who’d probably been more scared than her.
It had definitely not been the creature she’d hallucinated yesterday on her way into town. Nope. No way.
Dog. Maybe some kind of deep-throated bird.
The library opened at nine, six days a week, and closed at five on four of those days. Including Tuesday. She was allowed to close for lunch for up to an hour, though if she preferred she could eat in and remain open during that time. It was an easy enough schedule for one person, and Susan Tisdale had assured her that it was not a demanding job, though the town was proud of its library. With good reason.
Marnie had arrived at the library well before eight, and spent an hour or so familiarizing herself with the system — easy work — and exploring every inch of the impressive facility. There were three computers on an L-shaped desk in the back corner, discretely tucked away public restroom
s that appeared to be recently remodeled, and a lovely children’s section that not only had many books but also blocks, trains, puzzles, colorful pictures, and small, brightly colored chairs arranged in a semi-circle.
She hadn’t had the best luck with children in the past. They were too often noisy and destructive. Her two nephews, ages five and eight, were little terrors who never met a book they didn’t think needed to be colored in or torn apart. She would never say so aloud, but they were little shits, like their father. Not that she didn’t love her big brother, but as a child he’d broken everything. His kids were just like him. Fortunately she only saw her nephews once or twice a year, and never for very long.
Of course there were the rare children who loved books and enjoyed going to the library, but far too many preferred their electronic devices over the written word on paper, or even on an e-reader. Much as she had tried, she could not compete with video games and texting. Texting! Six-year-olds shouldn’t even have cell phones. At least her brother agreed with her on that detail. His kids were, so far, phone-less. The eight year old was addicted to his tablet, which he used exclusively for games and cartoons, not for reading e-books. Cretin.
If she ever had children, they would not have cell phones or iPads or any other distracting device which hadn’t been invented yet, until they were at least thirteen years old.
Because every kid enjoyed being the only one who didn’t have whatever was popular at the time. Which was, she admitted, a worry for another time. Maybe.
Marnie unlocked the front door precisely at nine a.m. She flipped the open/closed sign so that it would show a welcoming OPEN to the street and sidewalk, and waited for the hordes to descend. After all, the library had been closed for several weeks, after the long-time librarian had passed away. She imagined there were books to be returned, and these magnificent shelves were overflowing with stories just waiting to be told. Surely the residents of Mystic Springs were eager to peruse them once again.
This being such a small town, she suspected the residents would be curious about her. She was prepared for scrutiny.
She waited. She’d chosen her outfit specifically for her first day. Skirt flirty, but not too short; heels high, but not her highest by any means; blouse bordering on demure. Her hair waved gently, framing her face.
Marnie stood by the front desk and listened to the clock on the far wall tick, tick, tick as the seconds went past. There were no books to be re-shelved, and the place was so clean she couldn’t even busy herself dusting. She had no idea what kind of budget she’d have, so it would be a waste of time to work up a list of books she’d like to buy for these fine shelves.
Maybe sign or no sign, they didn’t realize she was here.
At ten on the nose the front door swung open. The bell above the door sounded, a pleasant chime, as an attractive middle-aged woman wearing jeans, a plain blue t-shirt, white tennis shoes, and a wide smile came in. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and the style accentuated the thinness of her face and the fact that her nose was just slightly crooked. It appeared that she wore not a speck of makeup.
The woman’s attention was entirely on Marnie. “There you are! I meant to come by at nine, but it just didn’t happen. Busy morning. Welcome to Mystic Springs. I’m Susan Tisdale. We spoke on the phone.”
The woman who had hired her, who had left the key under the mat and had made her house so warm and welcoming, had an infectious smile and intelligent eyes. If it was possible to like a person on sight…
“It’s very nice to meet you.” Marnie greeted the woman with an outstretched hand. She had so many questions! About the town, about the library, about unusual wild creatures that might live in the area. “Your library is impressive.”
Susan smiled. “It’s your library, now.”
A chill ran up Marnie’s spine. Hers. All hers… “And the house, the house is just lovely.”
“I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding your way in. People tend to get lost on the way to our little town.”
“I didn’t get lost,” Marnie said, deciding not to share the tale of her flat tire and her heat-induced hallucination, the unfriendly locals, and the massive man who had come to her rescue. It would sound too much like whining.
“Wonderful!” There was a touch of surprise in her smile.
“Your directions were perfect.” Marnie glanced around the room, still awed by the fine collection of books. Why spoil her first impression with complaints? “I didn’t expect all this.”
“Mystic Springs harbors more than one secret, as all small towns do.” Was that a wink? Maybe. “We’ll have a welcome reception for you this weekend,” Susan said, suddenly all business. “Let’s say Friday night, if that suits you, half an hour after closing time.” She didn’t wait for a response. “I want you to meet the rest of the town council and a few of the library patrons. Oh, and our local author.” She smiled.
“I saw the JC Maxwell display when I arrived this morning,” Marnie said. “I’m afraid I haven’t read any of his work.”
“Do read something of his before Friday,” Susan instructed. “It will give you nightmares, but since he’s local and you’ll be meeting him, you really should be familiar with his books.”
“Of course.” As though she needed help with nightmares. The cover she’d perused, the one with the blood and claw marks, flashed in her memory. A chill much less pleasant than the one she’d experienced when she’d been told that this was her library danced down her spine. She was eager to change the subject. “Do the residents of Mystic Springs know I’ve arrived and the library is open?”
“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “They know.” She dipped her chin and smiled. “Give them time.”
Give them time for what?
Susan conducted a quick and unnecessary tour of the library — Marnie had spent the morning exploring and already knew the place by heart. The tour turned out to be not so unnecessary when Susan opened a door Marnie had assumed was a closet. Okay, so her exploration had been incomplete. Narrow stairs led to what Susan called an office and/or storage closet. There was a table and chair there, a small fridge, a coffee maker — and coffee — and a comfy couch. It was a room meant for napping or eating during lunch break, or perhaps even sleeping in if the weather was bad and she didn’t want to walk home in the rain. She was welcome to keep a change of clothes and some toiletries in the closet, in case she decided to spend the night, for weather related reasons or any other.
Any other? Such as…?
After the councilwoman left, Marnie stared at the glass door for several minutes. Fabulous library. Her own house. Flowers and cookies.
It all seemed too good to be true. After the flat tire and her visit to that horrible bar, everything had been perfect. So why did she feel on edge, as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop?
Relax, Marnie, she told herself. Relax.
Clint walked into town, as he often did when the weather was pleasant. It wasn’t far, and he enjoyed walking. Anything to get him away from the computer, especially when he was having trouble making a story come together.
He headed to the hardware store, out of curiosity more than anything else. You never knew what Luke might have waiting for you.
The bell over the door sounded as he entered Benedict’s Hardware. Luke, situated at the front counter as usual, looked up and smiled. Not that he was surprised to see Clint, or anyone else who shopped here. He was just a friendly guy. A life-long resident of Mystic Springs, Luke Benedict came from a long line of Springers.
Clint didn’t understand why Luke didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend. He was good-looking enough for a scrawny fella and was always pleasant. He’d dated a cheerleader in high school, but she’d been a Non-Springer who’d left right after graduation. Some in town had been surprised he hadn’t followed her.
That had been more than fifteen years ago.
“What have you got for me today?” Clint asked.
Luke reached under the
counter and pulled out a small brown bag. “Batteries.”
His response was instinctive. “I don’t need…”
“Come on, Maxwell, you know the drill. You don’t need batteries yet, but you will.”
Clint knew better than to argue with Luke. The man knew what he — and everyone else — needed before he did. That was his gift, and a handy one for a man who owned and operated the only hardware store in town. “Put it on my tab.”
As Clint reached for the bag, Luke glanced up. “Did you see the new librarian?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Not yet. Think she’ll last?”
“As long as no one tries to run her out of town,” Clint said under his breath. It happened. Most of the Non-Springers didn’t last long. “What have you heard?”
“The usual. A few hardcore Springers want to scare her off and put Lilian Harper in charge of the library.”
Clint was mildly horrified. “Can Lilian even read?”
Luke shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt it. But she’s one of us, and that’s important to some. I don’t know why Susan went outside the community with that ad of hers.”
Susan had a reason for everything she did. That reason wasn’t always clear in the beginning, but in the end…
He should want Marnie gone. He did want her gone! She’d seen him. She was curious. Mystic Springs was not a good place to be curious.
There was something interesting about her he couldn’t put his finger on. She was pretty, yes, but that wasn’t it. There were pretty people everywhere, and Mystic Springs had its share. Marnie Somerset was brave, in a way he’d recognized right away. She’d packed up and come to a new place to… to what? Start over? Find something new? She could definitely find something new here. She might not like it, though.
If she’d found her way to Mystic Springs, she was meant to be here. At least for now.
Clint leaned onto the counter, dipping down so he and Luke were face to face. “No one’s to frighten her, no one’s to make any attempt to run her off. Spread the word.”
Bigfoot and the Librarian Page 3
