Bigfoot and the Librarian

by Linda Winstead Jones

  She needed a bit of physical distance. When it came to Clint, she was far too easily distracted. If he touched her, all bets were off.

  “Have you ever seen anything odd in Mystic Springs?” she asked. “Around town, maybe in the woods.”

  “Your Bigfoot,” Clint clarified for her. He didn’t exactly snap at her, but his voice was so terse he came close.

  Marnie nodded. He didn’t answer, so she continued. “I made a terrible mistake, contacting Nelson. I told him I must’ve been hallucinating, that I hadn’t really seen anything at all, but he didn’t buy it.”

  Clint’s eyebrows rose a little. “You really did try to get rid of him?”

  She nodded again.

  “Why?”

  Marnie pursed her lips. This was harder than she’d imagined it would be.

  With Jay, and with previous boyfriends, she’d always kept a part of herself at a distance. She understood that, now. She’d liked them all, some more than others, and there had been rare moments with each of them that made her hope for more, that made her hope for trust.

  She did not share all of herself; she never had. Her thoughts, her fears, her indecisions. They were for her alone, and always had been. Maybe that was a reaction to her parents’ bad marriage and all that had followed. Her mother had chosen a man over her kids. Her father believed in love at first sight, and fell in and out of love quickly and completely. Maybe watching them and their mistakes made her more cautious than she needed to be. Maybe she’d never truly trusted anyone.

  Until now. She wanted to tell Clint everything.

  “It sounds crazy.” Maybe she wasn’t ready, even now. “I don’t want you to think I’m a complete nutcase.”

  “What if I said yes, I’ve seen what you said you saw. Then what?”

  Relief washed through her; she closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank God. There were times I thought I had lost my mind.”

  “And if you haven’t?”

  How much could she share? She didn’t think Clint would be like Nelson, she didn’t think he’d harm her Bigfoot. Yes, the creature was hers, in a weird way. But still, could she trust anyone?

  What choice did she have? If she was ever going to open up to a man, Clint was — could be — might be — the one.

  “This morning, I looked into Bigfoot’s eyes,” she said. “I saw more than hair and huge hands and feet. I saw more than his size and strength. He’s not a monster, and he doesn’t deserve to be hunted by a man like Nelson Lovell. Or anyone else, but especially not that snake.”

  “I thought you liked Lovell.”

  “I did, for about half an hour,” she admitted. “Do you know, he told me, while I was eating, that the camera adds ten pounds? He could’ve at least waited until I’d finished my chicken pot pie.” He’d also said she could do better where men were concerned, but she saw no reason to share that tidbit with Clint. If he took it the wrong way, Nelson might have more to worry about than his search for Bigfoot. Though if she told all, she’d have help running Nelson out of town. That wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  No, this was her mess, and she needed to be the one to fix it. It would be so easy for her to lean on Clint, to ask him to help her, to play the damsel in distress. In all honesty she’d fallen for him too easily and too fast. She’d let herself be sucked in by his rustic charm and his good looks, the same way she’d let herself be fooled – though not for long – by an English accent and a brocade vest.

  She should’ve instantly known not to trust a man who wore a vest in the summertime in Alabama.

  “I’ve made so many mistakes,” she whispered.

  “Am I one of those mistakes?” Clint asked, without anger, without even much curiosity.

  She hesitated, but not for long. “Yes, I think so.” He didn’t feel like a mistake, not really, but she’d been in Mystic Springs less than a week and already he felt necessary, as if he were a part of her. That couldn’t be natural. It couldn’t be right. She didn’t want to be like her dad, who loved so quickly and then was always hurt in the end. The women he loved were always hurt, too. “I need some time to myself.”

  “How much time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Clint stood slowly. If he came toward her, if he kissed her, if he touched her, she’d crumble. She’d give in. She’d throw aside all caution to have him. That wasn’t right, it wasn’t wise. Had she ever been wise? Was it too late to start?

  “Let me get your clothes,” she said, spinning on her heel and all but running from Clint. She needed a moment to breathe, to gather her strength. It would be too easy to fall into his arms again. She needed to be strong, needed to stand on her own two feet. Besides, it wasn’t like she planned to stay in Mystic Springs much longer. Her adventure, her new beginning, it was a mistake. It was already time to move on and leave this weirdness behind.

  Including Clint.

  She returned to the parlor with his clothes, neatly folded, shoes on top, in hand. He didn’t come forward to meet her, not even with one small step. Marnie handed his things over, managing to do so without brushing his hands with hers. It helped that he seemed as reluctant for skin to skin contact as she was.

  She was both relieved and disappointed when he nodded once and headed for the front door.

  Clint walked toward home at a fast pace. Shit. Things had been so simple before Marnie Somerset had come to town. She stirred him up, made him consider impossible things, distracted him from work and his hard-won belief that he needed nothing and no one.

  Now there was Lovell to take care of. And how the hell was he supposed to keep an eye on Marnie if she wanted to be alone? How was he supposed to search for Alice’s formula if Marnie wouldn’t let him in the house?

  The situation with Lovell was annoying, but taking care of the cryptozoologist would be easy enough. Even though he’d love to find a permanent way to get rid of Lovell, amnesia punch was the way to go. People disappearing for good always raised more of a stink than a few bad memories. Or a big hole in the memory.

  Mystic Springs could be erased from Lovell’s memory, with a cup of punch from Ivy’s hands. Susan was great with electronics. She could make Marnie’s emails to the Bigfoot hunter disappear, as well as any Lovell had sent to others. It would’ve been easier if Lovell had accepted Marnie’s insistence that she hadn’t seen Bigfoot after all, but it didn’t sound as if that was going to work.

  It could be done.

  Marnie presented a more complicated problem. They needed her, or so Luke said. She was living in a house where the formula necessary to remove Mystic Springs from the map was most likely hidden. More than one someone wanted that formula, and there was no telling what they’d do to get it.

  Someone had killed Alice for it.

  Marnie had ordered him out of her life and her house, in a very polite, firm, and hesitant way. If she stayed, maybe eventually he’d end up back in her good graces, and back in her bed. But he wouldn’t push her, wouldn’t try to charm her into picking up where they left off. She had doubts. She was allowed.

  As Clint turned through a thick stand of trees and approached his front porch, another thought came to him. A memory of his own. He doesn’t deserve to be hunted by a man like Nelson Lovell. And then: Somehow I have to get rid of a cryptozoologist.

  Maybe Marnie did need some time alone, but this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  Nelson called his camera crew Sunday afternoon and instructed them to hold off. He explained that he was less certain about the Mystic Springs story than he’d initially been. He told them he wanted to do more investigating before bringing them in, because he didn’t want to waste their time.

  In normal circumstances, he would’ve left town the minute a so-called witness backed off their story. It happened all the time. Someone would spin a story for the attention, for the fun of it, and they were always found out. He didn’t waste his time chasing ghosts or placating crackpots.

  But this time he would stay as long as it took.
Something about this place was off. He’d been here for twenty-four hours, and already he was different. This place affected him, somehow. Last night, as he’d lay in a too-soft bed with a white canopy, he’d noticed a number of smells. At first he’d written it off to the odors in this creepy old house. Mold and food and the old lady’s perfume. But after a while, he’d found himself able to identify the odors.

  Roses from the garden. Bacon the old lady had cooked that morning. A chicken from two or three days before. He was a vegan! Perhaps not an entirely dedicated one, but he had not eaten meat in three years.

  Lying in bed, smelling chicken and bacon, he wanted meat. Lots of it.

  Instead of raiding the kitchen, he concentrated on other smells. Not just from the house, he realized, but from well beyond.

  He could smell the river, the fish in it, the faint odor of a chemical that floated by. He caught a hint of the aroma of bread being baked, an aroma that came not from this house but from another somewhere nearby. Maybe not so nearby.

  Nelson heard small movements from downstairs, and if he put forth an effort he could even hear small animals rustling leaves in the woods behind this B&B. Children playing down the street. The ordinary creaks and pops any old house might make.

  Those creaks and pops made him jump a bit, they were so loud. Eventually he was able to tune them out, but it was definitely odd.

  After he hung up on his producer, Nelson walked to the window of his second-story room and looked out on a well-manicured yard. There were flowers everywhere, and a small vegetable garden, but there was also lots of very green grass. Running was not his thing — he didn’t like to sweat — but at the moment he wanted nothing more than to run across that yard. He wanted to rip off his clothes, jump from this window, and run until he couldn’t run anymore.

  He didn’t do any of those things, but instead walked down the stairs and out the front door. It was time to explore Mystic Springs. Something odd was going on here, and he intended to find out what it was.

  By the time Sunday evening rolled around, Marnie was second guessing her decision to cool things with Clint. The fact that she didn’t like being alone had something to do with it, she reasoned. She couldn’t shake — would never shake — the memory of the shadowman who’d broken into her house. Try as she might, she could not convince herself that the shadow had been a delusion.

  The easiest thing to do would be to send the town council an email of resignation, load up her car as best she could, and leave Mystic Springs like the devil was on her heels. That was her natural instinct, to run away.

  She hadn’t literally run away since that summer she’d turned twelve. And she’d been gone such a short amount of time, no one but Marnie knew she’d packed a backpack and walked a full three blocks before turning around and heading home.

  That had been the summer her parents divorced. She’d been positive they’d be so sorry she was gone they’d stay together. Only a naive child would think that way.

  She was no longer a child, and while she might be naive on occasion, she’d like to think she was a discerning adult.

  A creepy-looking, oddly-disguised someone breaking into her house was important. She had the distinct feeling her life had been in danger, and that definitely qualified. Was that enough to make her run? Maybe. She sensed, in a way she could not explain, that Clint could be important. Enough to entice her to stay? Again, maybe.

  Leftover gumbo served as supper. Damn, Clint was handsome, a successful writer, and a pretty darn good cook to boot. She added great in the sack to the list of his attributes. Dammit, she missed him. She missed him much more than she should, considering how long she’d known him.

  All that aside, she needed time to think, and with Clint around she didn’t. She didn’t think at all. When he was with her, all she did was feel.

  Logic had never been her strong suit, at least not when it came to men. That needed to change. She had to quit leaping into relationships without a moment of critical thought.

  There were other reasons to stay, she decided, calling upon the logical Marnie that didn’t always show up when she was needed. The library was fantastic, perhaps the best she’d ever seen. It was definitely the best she’d ever worked in, and it was hers, all hers. The people in town were certainly odd, but there were a handful that might one day be friends. Gabi. Eve. Susan. The charming Felicity. She would love to win over the grumpy Ivy. Anyone who could bake like Ivy could had to have a good side.

  And then there was — she had to say it, if not out loud then to herself — Bigfoot. The creature that had initially frightened her had turned out to be entirely different than she’d imagined. Gentler. Not a beast, not a monster at all. Her Bigfoot was hairy beyond belief, large and strong and yes, a little smelly, but not a monster.

  She wanted to know more. She wanted to see it — him — again. She really wanted to give him a name of some kind, something other than Bigfoot. From all she’d gathered he couldn’t tell her his name, or anything else, and to just label him with her own choice would be like naming a dog. He was no one’s pet.

  If she spoke would he understand her? Could he communicate with her at all?

  No more emails to Bigfoot hunters. No more research. Marnie wanted to discover more about Bigfoot all on her own. She just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

  She shouldn’t feel safe in this house. The shadowman had invaded it, had broken in with ill intent. She was as alone as she’d ever been, with no one in shouting distance. Since Clint had left she’d kept her cell phone close at hand. If she dialed 9-1-1 who would answer? Police Chief Benedict, she imagined. He wouldn’t take her seriously, she knew it. She was unlikely to find any real help there.

  After a while she set the cell phone aside. She only picked it up once to send a quick text to Chelsea.

  Can I stay with you for a couple of days if I need to?

  Chelsea, who was never far from her cell, answered quickly. Of course. Is everything OK?

  Was everything okay? No, it was not. But Marnie answered. Everything’s fine, just not sure the job is going to work out. That was an understatement, but there was no way she could tell Chelsea what was going on in a text. Maybe in person, after at least one bottle of wine. Each.

  Chelsea answered with a thumbs up emoji.

  So, that was a plan. If she had to run, she knew where she’d be running to.

  Marnie cleaned the kitchen, picked out an outfit to wear to work tomorrow, and emailed her mother. She lied and said that all was well. As she took care of these normal chores, a calmness seemed to work through her. Everything would be okay, somehow. Maybe Clint would be a part of that okay, and maybe he would not, but she would survive this.

  Her job in the small town with the fabulous library had turned into an adventure after all. Doors and windows locked, bedroom closets checked — just in case — Marnie climbed into bed with a sigh and a smile.

  Chapter 17

  On Monday morning, a few people came into the library. Some of them checked out books, while others browsed aimlessly. The browsers spent most of their time checking out the new librarian. Marnie was as friendly as she could be, smiling, offering to help in any way she could. By lunchtime, she was optimistic about the health of the Mystic Springs Library.

  She walked across the street to Eve’s for lunch, intending to grab a salad. As had become the norm, she passed on the salad and went for the daily special. Red beans and rice with lots of spicy sausage. It was fantastic.

  Halfway through her meal, she looked up to see a surprisingly disheveled Nelson Lovell approaching her booth. His hair was loose and tangled. He wore jeans and a blue short sleeved shirt that was incorrectly buttoned. No waistcoat today. He glanced this way and that, as if he were looking for someone, before sitting down across from Marnie.

  “I thought you’d be gone by now,” she said, in a less than kind voice.

  He seemed not to notice her tone. “No. Can’t. Something is wrong with me.”

&
nbsp; Had his British accent faded? It definitely sounded different today.

  Eve approached with an order pad in hand. “Another salad?” she asked, a bite in her voice.

  Nelson shook his head. “No, no, I’ll have a hamburger, rare. Make that two. I’m starving.”

  Eve pursed her lips, muttered, “Okay,” and walked away.

  Marnie had almost finished her red beans and rice. She was beyond full, but it was too good to leave behind. Nelson pointed, shaking one long finger at her lunch, and asked, “Are you going to finish that?” Before she could answer, he pulled the bowl across the table and began to eat. He didn’t even bother to ask for a clean spoon, just took hers and dug in.

  Marnie leaned back, took a sip of her iced tea, and studied Nelson. Two days ago he’d been a refined vegan with a crisp British accent, a man bun, and a stylish way of dressing. Today he was entirely changed.

  Mystic Springs could do that to a person.

  “What happened to your accent?” she asked as he shoveled a big spoonful of beans and rice into his mouth.

  He stopped chewing for a moment, swallowed, then looked her in the eye. “Nothing,” he said. “My accent is as it has always been.” And for that moment, it was.

  “I thought you were a vegan,” she said, leaning slightly forward.

  “How can I remain a vegan when meat smells so damned magnificent?” He scraped the bowl with her spoon — his spoon now — and downed the last of the red beans and rice just as Eve approached with his burgers.

  Before Eve could make her getaway, Nelson reached out and gripped her wrist. Eve was visibly startled; Nelson wisely released her. “Milkshake. Do you have milkshakes? I want one. Chocolate.”

  “Coming right up.” She leaned down and whispered, “Don’t touch me again, or you’ll be eating your burgers one-handed.”