Kate Flaherty was very pregnant and would only get bigger.
After rolling to a stop in a parking spot closest to the library entrance, she flipped the headlights off and killed the engine. She eyed the walkway, which appeared dusted over with a thick layer of snow, though it was being eaten away by the pounding sleet. It was too overcast for her to tell if black ice was covering the asphalt, but she assumed it was and climbed out of her truck with extra caution because of it.
When she had gotten the news of her condition last summer, she was pitched into a state of shock that for all intents and purposes really hadn’t lifted to this day. For a woman fast approaching fifty, she hadn’t thought it was possible to get pregnant. She had assumed that getting pregnant at her age would’ve taken skill and careful timing and perhaps the help of a doctor’s hormonal pills, none of which she had used because she wasn’t trying to get pregnant. Neither was Scott. This pregnancy had been a complete surprise.
According to Dr. Faulkner, by the time he had properly diagnosed her fatigue as a symptom of pregnancy, she had been just over one month along. She and Scott had spoken in depth and for hours about what it would mean to have a baby at their age, but ultimately neither could imagine terminating the pregnancy. They had gotten together later in life, and it made sense to start their family later in life as well. It wouldn’t be easy, but they both felt strongly that it was meant to be.
Kate took slow, short steps, her boots shuffling through slush, as she made her way to the entrance door. She should’ve brought an umbrella, but she had been getting more and more forgetful these days. She blamed it on the fact that she’d given up caffeine for her unborn child’s health. Instead, she had been drinking herbal tea nonstop, which didn’t bode well for her crushed bladder. She was in a perpetual state of dying to pee.
The library was warm as she waddled through the lobby, stripping her puffy hat off her head and tearing her gloves off with her teeth. She felt a hunger pang twinge in her stomach as she rounded through to the front desk where Hazel Millhouse was scanning books into the computer system.
“Morning, Hazel,” she said in a soft voice since there were a number of library patrons seated at the table behind her. Most were retired and some elderly. They were hunched over their morning papers or squinting at their laptops and reading the news online. Luckily, there wasn’t much news other than reports on the increasingly nasty weather and its effect on local businesses.
Hazel lifted her eyes from the stack of books on the counter, and a huge smile spread across her face to see Kate.
“Look at you!” she exclaimed, shuffling out from the counter to touch Kate’s round belly, not that she’d be able to feel the baby kick. Kate’s winter coat was much too thick for that. “You get bigger every time I see you.”
“That’s because I’m constantly eating,” she said dryly. And it was true. It wasn’t just her middle that was growing by the day and Kate feared to imagine what it would take to get back into shape once she had this baby.
“Oh, you’re glowing,” said Hazel to hush her self-criticism.
Kate was tempted to tell her that she was glowing because her face was damp with sleet, but instead, she said, “I was hoping to check out some maternity books. I reserved a few online, but perhaps there are others I should get. I’m looking for books about having a baby later in life.”
“Of course,” said Hazel, as she rounded behind the counter. As soon as her knotty fingers hit the keyboard, she began typing quickly to pull up Kate’s account. “Ah, yes. I see the books here.” After a moment spent searching through the cubbyholes behind her, Hazel set two maternity books on the counter and scanned them. “We should have a few more,” she said, as she began leading Kate through the library, passing aisle after aisle, the last of which she turned toward.
“I have to say, I’m nervous about the delivery,” said Kate, as the elderly woman began perusing the shelves. “I had the twins nearly thirty years ago.”
“Oh, you’ll do fine, I’m sure.” Hazel plucked a few books from the shelf and handed the first to Kate.
“What to Expect When You’re Expecting after Forty,” she read, eyeing the cover and thumbing through the table of contents. “Looks good.”
“And this one could be helpful,” said Hazel. “It’s about keeping your energy up.”
“Oh, great! I need to know about that,” she said excitedly, taking the book. “Without coffee, I’ve been struggling.”
Hazel gave the shelf a final once-over to be certain she hadn’t overlooked any other books that might be helpful, and then she led Kate back through the library. As they neared the counter, Mrs. Briar, an unfriendly older woman who also worked at the library—much to Hazel’s annoyance—was stepping out from the office behind the counter. She scowled at Kate even though Kate hadn’t made a peep.
“Good morning, Mrs. Briar,” she said quietly and the older woman hushed her as if she’d shouted.
“Hazel, look at this mess you’ve left,” she complained, indicating the books scattered across the counter.
“I didn’t leave a mess,” she objected. “I’m working on getting those books back onto the shelves.”
“I don’t see why you can’t use the cart,” barked Mrs. Briar, as she tapped a rolling cart that was behind the counter. “This way we can keep the counter clear.”
“All right, all right,” Hazel grumbled. “Let me get Kate squared away and I’ll clean up.”
As Mrs. Briar stepped out from behind the counter she glared at Hazel and then began stalking through the library.
“Unbelievable,” Kate whispered, resting her hands on the counter as Hazel began checking out the additional books for her. “I don’t like how she bosses you around.”
“Trust me, I don’t either.”
“I thought you two kept different shifts?” Kate asked, pulling her puffy hat onto her head.
“We were,” she grumbled. “And I’m her supervisor.”
“And she speaks to you like that?”
“It’s her personality. At least we only have one day a week together. It’s not pleasant, but I manage.” She shrugged. “Now, let’s see about finding you a plastic bag so these don’t get wet outside.”
After a few moments spent pulling the counter drawers open and shut, Hazel found an old grocery store bag, into which she placed Kate’s four books. As she handed the bag over, she mentioned, “You have these for three months.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“Take your time reading them, and if you’d like to renew, just give me a call. But not on a Monday,” she warned, flicking her eyes at Mrs. Briar who was hovering over one of the library patrons at the communal table. “When’s the big day?”
Kate looked at her belly. “Not for another eight weeks, but I’m afraid the time will fly.”
“Well, you should be able to get through at least two books by then. The information should set your mind at ease.”
“That’s the hope.”
As Kate pulled her gloves on, juggling the plastic bag, Mrs. Briar stalked toward the counter. Kate and Hazel knew exactly what she was itching to say—that the counter still wasn’t clear.
“Have a nice day, Mrs. Briar,” said Kate, but it didn’t lift the sour woman’s mood. “See you later, Hazel.”
Before Kate reached the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder at Mrs. Briar. The woman was barking some kind of complaint in Hazel’s ear and Kate would’ve marched right over and given her a piece of her mind if the unpleasant woman wasn’t now stomping her way into the back office.
She gave Hazel a final wave and set off into the dreary morning, slinging her plastic bag of library books into the passenger’s seat of her truck when she reached it.
She drove slowly and carefully through the icy streets, her arms stretching long to reach the steering wheel around her big belly. It had taken more effort than she’d thought she had adjusting her seat and shifting the steering wheel height a few weeks ago w
ith Scott’s help. Though he was a doting husband, he had been fighting her in terms of her business now more than ever thanks to the pregnancy. He didn’t want her exerting herself on the job and had argued that all of the heavy lifting would be bad for not only her back, but also the baby’s health.
To appease him, she had officially hired Maxwell Stone, the punkish thirty-something whose father had been involved in a secret and illicit affair with Doris Chestnut, whom Kate had accidentally found dead in the basement of the old Victorian house she was currently heading toward.
Justina, the top agent at Carnegie Real Estate, had bought the house last summer after Amy Roberts, the owner, had been arrested for the attempted murder of Mrs. Stone, Maxwell’s mother. The aggressive editor-in-chief of the Rock Ridge Tribune had been arrested as well, and with that disturbing case closed, Kate had been sleeping much better. But Justina hadn’t bought the house to live there. She needed to sell it and had hired Kate to renovate it top to bottom. Maxwell had helped, and finally the house was ready. All it needed was to be staged so prospective buyers could envision what their lives would be like should they choose to make a bid.
Parking her truck along the snowy curb in front of the old Victorian was a trick to pull off. Though snowplows had driven along this particular street several times during the last three snowstorms, their effort to clear the roads had left humongous snow banks where cars were meant to park. Kate rolled to a stop and checked her mirrors. She didn’t like how the left side of her truck was technically in the line of traffic. Visibility was low thanks to the sleet and the overcast lighting. If a driver was speeding along, he could easily clip her rear bumper, but with the snow bank, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do better.
Grumbling, she climbed out of her truck and glanced at the old Victorian. Lights were glowing from within the house, which told her that Maxwell had arrived early.
After locking her truck, she tottered her way up the snowy walk and when she reached the icy landing, she pushed the door open. It was warm inside, but she left the door wide open as she stomped snow and slush off her boots. She and Maxwell had worked tirelessly to tile the foyer with marble, and though a puddle wouldn’t warp their work, they had both agreed to do their best not to make a mess.
Bending over to remove her boots as she stood on the welcome mat just inside the entrance was a trick to pull off, but she slowly managed—first her right boot and then her left, which ended up stripping her sock off. She huffed, straightening up.
“Kate?” Maxwell called out from the living room around the corner. “That you?”
“You were expecting someone else?” she teased.
“Yeah, actually,” he said, hurrying into the foyer. He was dressed in his work jeans and a moth-eaten tee shirt, and Kate had no idea how he stayed warm without a sweater. “I ordered an extra-large cheese pizza for us.”
“Good Lord, why?”
“In case we get hungry.”
“Hungry? Maxwell, it’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
“But you’re always hungry,” he argued, a considerate yet apprehensive smile forming on his face.
She sighed. She was always hungry, but she didn’t want to turn into Jabba the Hutt by the time she finally popped out this baby. “Did you order a few salads as well?”
Maxwell screwed his face up as though she’d spoken in a foreign language.
“Never mind. Thanks,” she said, padding past him and into the living room where all the furniture they had rented out from Corey’s Cabinets was gathered in a heap at the center of the room.
Kate had organized the furniture delivery, which had arrived yesterday. Maxwell had assisted the movers in terms of unloading the items off the delivery truck, but both Maxwell and Kate had been too tired yesterday to get started on the task of actually arranging any of it.
As she took stock of the items, attempting to visualize where each piece of furniture should go, she pulled her wallet from her sweater pocket and found a twenty, which she extended to Maxwell without looking at him.
“Thanks, Boss,” he said, which was better than his usual nickname for her—‘Bossy.’
He only meant it as a joke, and Kate had to admit it was funny. She was a bit bossy, but nowhere near as nasty about it as Mrs. Briar. It was starting to weigh on her that the grouchy librarian might need a good talking to and Kate had half a mind to do it. No one should speak down to Hazel.
“So what are you thinking?” he asked, planting his fists on his hips and scrutinizing the clustered furniture. After a beat, he stared at the fireplace and suggested, “Maybe we should arrange the couch and matching chairs around the fireplace and position the settee in front of the bay window?”
“That doesn’t sound half bad,” she told him, as she fanned her face. Why was it that her fingers felt stiff from the cold but her face was hot and sweaty?
Before Maxwell jumped to task, he dragged the settee in front of the window and patted it, indicating Kate should have a seat. She didn’t hesitate, but shuffled immediately over and plopped down.
“Tea?” he asked.
She moaned but accepted, and he rushed off into the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to start drinking coffee again, but the fact of the matter was, that day was still a long way off. She would have to get through a good many months of breast-feeding before she’d be able to drink coffee, and when she did, it wouldn’t come freely. She would have to pump-and-dump after each cup.
“What are the options?” she called out.
From the kitchen, he responded, “I’ve got Chamomile—”
“That’ll put me to sleep!”
“And Rooibos—”
“You know how I feel about Rooibos!”
“What about Jasmine?”
“It doesn’t have green tea with it?”
He fell silent and she pictured him reading the box carefully. “No, it’s just Jasmine. It says herbal and no caffeine right here on the box.”
She sighed and told him it sounded fine. “Can you pour a lot of cream in it?”
“Will do!”
Moments later she heard the teakettle whistling on the stove, and then the bubbling sound of Maxwell pouring hot water into a mug. Gazing out the window, she hoped the sleet would let up. She didn’t mind snow. She had always thought that for some reason when it snowed the air warmed up a bit as though each flake pulled the freezing temperature out of the air. But this sleet was downright miserable. Even rain would be better.
Maxwell handed her the steaming mug, and as soon as she took a sip, he clapped his hands together, stating, “Let’s stage this house!”
As he began moving furniture near the fireplace, Kate realized her cellphone was buzzing in her overalls, which fit her strangely. She had found the extra-extra-large pair in a thrift store. Overalls weren’t exactly maternity wear, but she hadn’t been able to wrap her head around wearing sweatpants to work, so she’d bought the largest pair she could find. Though they fit her in her mid-region, the legs were too baggy and the straps kept falling down her shoulders. Bending forward to set her mug on the ground, the right strap fell off. She pulled it up her arm and grabbed her cellphone.
It was Scott so she swiped the LCS screen, answering the call.
“Hey there,” she said.
“How’s it going?”
Scott had been in the habit of calling her multiple times a day, which was sweet, but she’d come to understand what he was really after. Yes, he wanted to know how things were going with her, but really he wanted to hear that she was seated and resting and that Maxwell was doing all the work.
“I’m having some tea and watching my assistant muscle a couch through the living room,” she told him.
“Good, good,” he said, sounding relieved. “How about lunch at Daisy’s?”
Debating, she glanced out the window. “We have a pizza on the way. Plus the roads are downright terrible.”
“I can pick you up?”
“Do you want to eat h
ere with us?”
“It’s a possibility,” he told her, but his voice was cut off momentarily at the bleat of the call-waiting tone.
“Why don’t we touch base in a few hours,” she told him. “I’ve got a call coming in.” After letting him go, she answered the other line.
“Kate? It’s Hazel.”
“Hey, Mrs. Briar isn’t driving you crazy is she?”
“No, thank goodness. She’s locked herself in the office. I found another book for you.”
“Great, I can swing by for it in the afternoon.”
She felt eyes on her as she wrapped up the call, and as she dropped her cell phone into her overalls, she found Maxwell staring at her.
“Mrs. Briar,” he said with distain. “Of all the people to get murdered in Rock Ridge, the fact that she wasn’t one of them is insane.”
Chapter Two
“So do you know the sex of the baby?” Maxwell asked between bites of his pizza.
This had to be the hundredth time he’d asked that question, the same as he had asked on a nearly daily basis for the past three months.
“No, Maxwell. You know that Scott and I decided to wait until the baby is born.”
“So, any names picked out?” He clamped his pizza between his teeth as he hopped up and reached for the kitchen stove where the teakettle was whistling. After pulling the kettle off the burner, he glanced back at her.
The kitchen table wasn’t terribly comfortable and she felt like she had been sitting there too long, so she rose to her feet. “We’ve brainstormed, but nothing has really jumped out at us. I’m sure that won’t be the case as soon as the baby is born.”
“Chuck is a good name,” he suggested.
“Chuck isn’t a name. It’s a nickname,” she pointed out, which seemed to momentarily confuse him so she supplied, “It’s short for Charles.”
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