by Sofie Kelly
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, pulling a small notebook and a pencil out of the pocket of his green quilted vest.
Maggie looked at me. “Do I have time to talk to Harry?” she asked.
I nodded. “Go ahead.”
They started toward a nearby cluster of tables, Maggie’s hands moving through the air as she talked.
I set the pile of books by my elbow on a cart as Susan came from the computer area, where she’d just booted up all of our public-access computers for the day.
“I have about half of the books from the book drop sorted,” I told her. “It’s almost time for the meeting to get started, so I’m just going to run up to my office for a minute.”
“I’ll finish this,” she said, sliding into the chair behind the counter and reaching for the handle at the side to raise the seat.
Susan was tiny, barely five feet tall in her sock feet. She wore retro cat’s-eye glasses that made her look like anything but a stereotypical bespectacled librarian, and her dark curly hair was always pulled up in a topknot secured with anything from a pencil to a chopstick. This morning her hair seemed to be held in place with two white golf tees.
“And if you need me—,” I began.
“Don’t worry,” Susan said, pulling one of the rolling carts closer. “Abigail and I can handle things. If anyone gets out of line I can give them the Mom Look, and Mary taught Abigail some kind of one-legged takedown maneuver that kickboxers use.”
Mary—who looked like the sweet grandmother she was—was also the state kickboxing champion for her age. I didn’t want to think about what maneuver she’d taught to Abigail.
“Then I’ll just leave things in your capable hands . . . and feet,” I said, heading for the stairs.
Up in my office I grabbed a pen and a notebook. Then I stood for a moment by the wide window behind my desk and looked out over the water. For me, one of the most beautiful parts of Mayville Heights was the waterfront, with all the big elm and black walnut trees that lined the shore, and the Riverwalk trail that made its way from the old warehouses at the point, past the downtown shops and businesses, all the way out beyond the marina. I could see the barges and boats go by on the water just the way they had more than a hundred years ago.
As I headed back down the stairs Sandra Godfrey came into the building. Rebecca was with her. The latter was carrying a large, round metal cookie tin and I knew there would be something good inside.
“Are we late?” Sandra asked. Her sandy blond hair was parted in the middle and pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore jeans and a red cable-knit sweater with a navy quilted vest over the top. Even in flat sneakers she was several inches taller than my five foot six. Rebecca seemed very tiny beside her.
I shook my head. “You’re right on time.”
Rebecca handed me the cookie tin. “Mary’s cinnamon rolls,” she said. Her blue eyes twinkled. “She said the leftovers are for the staff.”
“That’s assuming there will be any leftovers,” I said with a smile.
• • •
It turned out to be a productive meeting. Everyone liked the idea of returning the photos to the people in them, or at least to their families. Sandra asked about leaving the box of pictures at the circulation desk and encouraging people to look through them when they came in. I explained that many of the photos were dry and brittle and wouldn’t stand up to a lot of handling. Keith suggested putting them on a large table and covering them with a piece of glass. I thought that idea had potential and he volunteered to price the glass for me. Rebecca and Sandra offered to stay behind and sort through the pictures again. Rebecca had spent her whole life in Mayville Heights and Sandra had been a mail carrier for years. Between the two of them they knew a lot of people in town and I was hopeful they would find some faces they recognized.
I walked Maggie to the front entrance. “You were quiet,” I said.
She ran a hand over her blond curls. “I like Keith’s idea to display the pictures,” she said. “But I think we need a way to get more people in here to look at them.”
“Any suggestions?” I asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know yet. Do you think I could come back and take a look though the photos some other time?”
I nodded. “Of course. Just let me know what works for you.”
She hugged me, promised she’d call about the photos and left.
I went back to the meeting room to tidy up. Rebecca and Sandra had taken the box of photos and moved to a table in the main part of the library. I tucked the chairs in against the table and opened the window blinds about halfway to let a little sun in. Abigail tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around she handed me a coffee mug.
“Oh, thank you,” I said. “You read my mind.” I took a long drink.
“Dishes are done,” she said, “and there are three cinnamon rolls left for our break.”
I wrapped both hands around my cup. “Thank you,” I said. The seniors’ quilting group was set up in our other meeting room and I could see Susan through the open door, checking someone out at the circulation desk. It was going to be a busy day.
• • •
The temperature was in the high sixties by lunchtime, so I decided to go for a walk. Marcus was out of town taking a course on crisis negotiation. He’d left a message on my voice mail and when I called him back I’d had to settle for doing the same.
I walked down along the Riverwalk as far as the hotel before turning back. I knew that a month from now the wind would be coming in off the water and pulling at the tree branches, so I was glad to take advantage of the out-of-season warmth while it was here.
I had just turned the corner toward the library when a man stopped me on the sidewalk. He looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies; a tourist, I was guessing, since his face didn’t look familiar. “Excuse me,” he said with a polite smile. “Could you tell me if I’m headed in the right direction for the library?”
“Yes, you are,” I said. “I’m headed there myself. I can show you.”
The man smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He offered his hand. “I’m Victor Janes.”
Victor Janes was maybe five foot nine, with salt-and-pepper hair. He was on the thin side, I noticed, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but his handshake was strong.
“I’m Kathleen Paulson,” I said. “Are you related to Simon Janes?”
“Simon is my nephew,” he said. “His father and I are brothers.” We started walking. “Is Simon a friend of yours?”
Were Simon and I friends? I wasn’t sure how to answer that. We’d met at a fundraiser for the library’s Reading Buddies program. At the time his daughter, Mia, had been our student intern. Simon and I had gotten to know each other better over the past few weeks, working together to try to figure out if a proposed development out at Long Lake had had anything to do with the death of an environmentalist. Did that make us friends?
I settled for saying, “Mia works for me.” I gestured at the library building. “I’m actually the librarian here.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the library,” Victor said. “And I wasn’t what you’d call the studious type back in the day.” He smiled and looked up at the roof and the copper-topped cupola. “That can’t be the original weather vane?”
“It is,” I said. “It had a bit of a cant to one side, but we managed to get it straightened out. Rumor has it that happened one year at Homecoming, when a surprisingly lifelike effigy of the high school principal ended up on the roof.”
“It was tied to the weather vane and it was a lot heavier than it looked.” He shifted his gaze to my face. I was having a hard time keeping a grin in check. Victor Janes cleared his throat. “Or so I heard.”
“I’m sure it was,” I said.
I led him down the sidewalk to the main entrance. Insi
de he stopped and looked around, taking in everything from the wide plaster medallion on the ceiling over the circulation desk to the sun coming through the stained-glass window. “I heard the building had been restored, but I didn’t expect anything like this,” he said. “Very nice.”
“Thank you,” I said. I looked in the direction of the stacks. “Is there anything I can help you find?”
“Could you tell me where I could find whatever you have on vegan cooking?”
“The subject in general or cookbooks?”
“The subject in general,” he said. “I’ve been following a vegan diet throughout some . . . health issues, but I left my books at home.”
I wondered if those health issues were why he seemed a little gaunt and pale. “They would be in the 613s.” I pointed across the room. “Go down to the end of those shelves and turn right.”
Victor smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“If you need any help please let one of us know,” I said. He headed for the stacks and I turned and walked over to the front desk. Mary was there, staring unabashedly after Victor Janes.
She shook her head. “Lord love a duck, it can’t be,” she said, more to herself than to me, it seemed.
“Can’t be what?” I asked.
“That can’t be who I think it is.” She was still staring after Victor, who had disappeared “I didn’t really think he’d come.”
“It’s Simon’s uncle.”
She turned her attention to me then. “I know that. You might want to go get a fire extinguisher.”
I frowned at her. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“If Victor Janes is back in town there’s a good chance we’re going to be struck by lightning.” Mary made a face, two lines forming between her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me no one told you?”
I stifled a sigh of frustration. “I think it it’s pretty clear no one did since I’m completely lost.”
She patted her heavily hair-sprayed gray curls. “I don’t want to be a gossiping old busybody but since darling little Mia works here you should probably understand the nuances.” Her expression was serious.
“All right,” I said.
“Like you said, Victor is Simon’s uncle, his father—Leo’s—twin. Victor had an affair with Simon’s mother, Meredith. He convinced her to run off with him and shortly after she was killed in a car accident.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Simon was about fourteen or fifteen. Leo was devastated and disowned his brother. No one in that family has spoken to Victor in more than twenty years.”
“Why would he come back now, after all this time?” I said.
“He’s sick,” Mary said flatly.
I stared at her. I’d never heard so little compassion in her voice.
“Apparently he has cancer. I don’t know what kind. Leo’s here for the first time in years and I’d heard that he invited Victor to come for a visit, and maybe even for some kind of reconciliation.” Her mouth twisted. “I guess blood is thicker than water.”
Something of what I was thinking must have shown in my face.
“I must sound cold to you,” Mary said. She was several inches shorter than I am and she cocked her head to one side and looked up at me. “Meredith was my friend, Kathleen. I haven’t told Mia that because as far as I know Simon never talks about his mother and I didn’t want to go stirring things up. I know Meredith wasn’t blameless in what happened. But there was a rumor that she was on her way back to Leo and Simon when she was killed.” She stared past me, at some memory maybe. “I didn’t realize how much I still blame him. I guess I’m more judgmental than I thought.” Her gaze came back to mine.
I reached over and touched her arm. “I don’t think you’re judgmental,” I said. “I think you’re a good friend.”
The phone rang then and Mary reached for it. I headed up to my office.
• • •
I had just finished updating the public-access computers later that afternoon when Mia Janes came in—half an hour early—for her shift. I didn’t need Mary or anyone else to tell me the man with her was her grandfather, Simon’s father and Victor Janes’s twin brother. I could see the resemblance.
As usual Mia was sedately dressed in a white shirt, gray jacket and dark pants with no holes or worn spots. Her hair was streaked a deep plum color, which looked good with her fair skin.
Leo Janes was smiling at Mary across the circulation desk as I joined them. “Mary, it’s good to see you,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, too, Leo,” she said.
Leo turned to his granddaughter. “Mary was friends with your grandmother.”
“I didn’t know that,” Mia said.
“I probably have some pictures of us from high school,” Mary said. “Would you like me to see if I can find them?”
Mia beamed at her. “Yes,” she said. “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s not any trouble,” Mary said. “You have to promise not to laugh at my clothes.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Mia said, looking a little puzzled.
“I have two words for you. Go-go boots.”
Mia pressed her lips together in a valiant attempt not to laugh. I did laugh and then tried to disguise it into a cough. It didn’t work.
Mary turned, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Are you laughing at the idea of me in a minidress and white patent-leather go-go boots, Kathleen?” she asked. I could see a hint of smile lurking behind the mock frown she gave me.
“I am making every effort not to,” I said as my shoulders shook with laughter.
Mia smiled. She was a serious young woman and it made me feel good to see her so clearly happy. She turned to her grandfather. “Grandpa, this is Kathleen Paulson, my boss.”
He held out his hand and I shook it. “I’m Leo Janes,” he said with a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my granddaughter.” He looked so much like his brother and yet he didn’t. The color in Victor’s hair and beard had been touched up, I suspected; Leo had more gray. He also had a few more lines in his face but also far more warmth. And he and Simon had the same smile.
“Sweetie, there’s a tin of oatmeal-raisin cookies upstairs in the staff room for you. If you don’t go get them now I can’t promise they’ll be there by the end of the night,” Mary said. “Heaven knows the cinnamon rolls I sent over this morning with Rebecca seem to have disappeared.” She eyed me and I tried to look innocent, hoping I didn’t have any crumbs on my clothes to give me away.
Mia narrowed her eyes at Mary. “Are you going to talk about me while I’m gone?”
Mary put a hand on her chest in mock outrage. “I can’t believe you’d ask that,” she said. She paused for dramatic effect. “Of course we are!”
Mia laughed. “I’ll be right back,” she said to her grandfather.
“Thank you,” Leo said to Mary. “She loves working here.”
“We love having her,” Mary said. She looked at me. “Kathleen, could you watch the desk for a minute?” She pointed at a man over at the card catalogue. “I don’t think he understands that our computers don’t have touch screens. He’s going to poke his finger right through the monitor.”
“Go ahead,” I said.
She came around the desk. “It’s good to see you,” she said to Leo, patting his shoulder.
He nodded. “It’s good to be back.”
Mary hurried across the floor and I turned to Leo Janes. “Mia and Simon both speak highly of you,” he said. He’d been studying me, I’d noticed, since I walked over to join them, watching me in much the same way I’d seen his son do. Something else they had in common.
“They’re both special people,” I said. “Simon probably didn’t tell you that he made a v
ery generous gift to our Reading Buddies program.”
Leo gave his head a slight shake. “He didn’t. But Mia told me.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “She also told me she called him an ass.”
I remembered how Simon had walked into the library several days after a disastrous fundraiser for the literacy program. He’d handed me an envelope with a very large check inside. When I’d thanked him, he’d told me the person I should be thanking was his daughter. She had pointed out that he could easily afford to help fund Reading Buddies and called him out because he hadn’t.
I laughed. “She did. And yes, that probably had a lot to do with the first donation. But he’s made two more since then.”
I could see the gleam of approval in the older man’s eyes.
“And Mia is so good with people. The little ones love her. She gets down on the floor with them at story time and when she reads she does all the voices.” It had only taken a little encouragement to nudge Mia out of her shell. “She actually put orange streaks in the hair of a couple of the seniors from the quilting group for Halloween.”
Leo smiled and once again I saw the resemblance with his son. “She thinks of you all as family and that means a great deal to me, Ms. Paulson. She only has Simon and me.”
I noticed he didn’t mention Victor.
“Please call me Kathleen,” I said.
“Then you’ll have to call me Leo,” he countered.
I nodded. “I can do that.”
A burly man in a dark overcoat and sunglasses came in the main entrance then. He stopped to remove the glasses and I automatically smiled in his direction. Leo followed my gaze and it seemed to me his expression hardened a little, his jaw tightening.
The man’s eyes seemed to slide over Leo. He turned left and headed for the stacks. Mia’s grandfather watched him go. “Is that someone you know?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “The man just looked familiar for a moment. That’s all.”
Mia returned then, hugging the tin of Mary’s cookies to her chest. “Grandpa, can I trust you to take these home and not eat them all?” she asked.
