Due or Die

by Jenn McKinlay

“Well.” Carrie paused and bit her lip. It looked as if she was trying to decide what to say. “Could you come to our Friends of the Library meeting tonight?”

  Carrie was wearing her hospital scrubs under her winter coat, so she was on her way either to or from work. Her long, dark brown hair was knotted at the nape of her neck and fastened into place by a large plastic hair clip. Streaks of gray were just beginning to show at her temples, while a hint of wrinkles had begun to form in the corners of her eyes.

  Carrie was on the short side of medium in height, and her figure was gently rounded as if she had been built specifically for giving hugs. She had a maternal softness about her that Lindsey felt sure was one of the reasons she was such a popular nurse.

  “Yes, I can make it,” Lindsey said. “Any particular reason?”

  Carrie let out a worried sigh. “We’re having the vote tonight.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  BRIAR CREEK

  PUBLIC LIBRARY

  “Ah,” Lindsey said. Now it was all coming into focus. “Bill Sint is still mad that you’re running against him?”

  “He called me a usurper,” Carrie said. She turned her nose up in the air as she said it, and Lindsey could just see Bill saying it in the same snooty way.

  “I suppose he could have called you worse,” Lindsey said with a chuckle.

  “The way he said it, it didn’t sound like it could be much worse.”

  Lindsey patted her shoulder. “I’ll be there to keep the peace. I promise. What time?”

  “We’re meeting in the lecture room at seven,” Carrie said.

  The library closed at eight, but Lindsey knew that Jessica Gallo, the library assistant for the adult department, was scheduled to work, so the reference desk would be covered and she could attend the meeting.

  “I’ll see you—”

  “Carrie, what is taking you so long?” a whiny voice interrupted. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

  “Markus, we’ve only been here for five minutes,” Carrie said over her shoulder. She turned back to Lindsey and said, “Sorry, he’s overtired.”

  Lindsey raised her eyebrows in surprise. Carrie was apologizing for her husband, Markus Rushton, as if he were a toddler who had missed nap time.

  She glanced over Carrie’s shoulder and saw a middle-aged man, bundled from his thick boots and puffy purple coat up to his scarf-wrapped head, stomping his feet behind her as if he were contemplating throwing a tantrum.

  “No problem, I’ll…”

  “Why do we have to be here anyway?” Markus interrupted her again. “Books are stupid. I mean who wants to waste their time reading when you can watch TV or surf the Net?”

  “Excuse me,” Lindsey said.

  She glanced more closely at Markus and could just make out a beaky nose and a pair of eyes that were too close together. That was all the skin he had exposed. She bit back the suggestion that he take his scarf and go for a full head wrap, but just barely.

  “Oh, you’re her, the new librarian,” he said. He looked her up and down. “I thought people said you were hot.”

  “Markus!” Carrie gasped, obviously horrified.

  “What?” he asked. “The way everyone was talking about her, I expected a little more Baywatch Pam Anderson and a little less old Meg Ryan.”

  Lindsey blinked at him. She had no idea what to say to this. Obviously, Markus found her lacking in the looks department, but she was hard pressed to think of that as a bad thing.

  Lindsey pulled her gaze away from him and looked at Carrie. “About tonight, yes, I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks,” Carrie said.

  “Yippity-do, can we go now?” Markus asked. “Sheesh, if you ask me, they should just sell all these old books and turn this building into someplace fun, like an arcade with mini golf. Now that would be cool.”

  He turned on his heel and stomped toward the exit as if expecting Carrie to follow on his heels like a faithful puppy.

  Lindsey pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying what she was thinking, which would have blistered Markus Rushton even through the layers of his purple puffy coat.

  “I’m so sorry,” Carrie said. Her face flushed a deep shade of crimson. “He’s not much of a reader.”

  Lindsey forced her lips to curve up. “That’s all right, not everyone is a book person.”

  Carrie squeezed her hand in thanks and turned to go. “I’d better…I’ll see you later.”

  “I’ll be there,” Lindsey said.

  The group was silent when she sat back down in her seat. They must have heard. Lindsey blew out a breath, not knowing what to say.

  “Mark Rushton is as stupid now as he was as a child,” Nancy Peyton finally said. “He went from having his mama take care of him to having his wife take care of him. I hate to say it, but that man is a dreadful waste of space.”

  “Talk about picking the wrong guy,” Charlene said. “Carrie is so nice, how did she hook up with him?”

  “For exactly that reason,” Mary Murphy said. “She is too nice. We all went to high school together and Mrs. Rushton asked Carrie if she would be Mark’s prom date because no one else would go with him. Carrie said yes, and she hasn’t been able to shake loose of him ever since.”

  “I heard he went on disability for a slipped disk in his back a few years ago and doesn’t even work now,” Violet said with a tsk.

  “Two kids in college and poor Carrie has to do it all,” Nancy said. “She has a job, does all the cooking, cleaning and upkeep on their house. Do you know last year she reroofed her house by herself? Markus refused to help because of his back, and she couldn’t afford to hire anyone.”

  “Sully and Ian went over to help,” Mary said. “They were surprised to find that Markus could pick up and move his flat-screen TV during Sunday’s football game but couldn’t apparently hammer down some shingles.”

  “Now that her kids are grown, why doesn’t she leave him?” Lindsey asked.

  “It must be the nurse in her,” Nancy said.

  “She’s always taking care of someone,” Violet agreed.

  “She’s just a good person,” Beth said.

  Lindsey considered herself to be a pretty good person, but she couldn’t imagine staying with someone who treated her so badly. She wondered if Carrie ever thought about leaving Markus, but then reminded herself that it was none of her business.

  “Let’s get back to George and Cecil,” she said. She didn’t like gossiping about someone she liked. “I don’t know about you, but suddenly, Cecil is not looking so bad to me.”

  There were a few sheepish laughs, and then Mary led the charge into the Brie and crackers and all thought of Markus Rushton was erased by good food and good conversation.

  It wasn’t until the Friends of the Library meeting that evening that Lindsey thought again about Carrie and her marriage.

  She sat on the window seat at the back of the lecture room, which had once been the upstairs study of the sea captain who had originally built the stone building that the library was housed in. Half of the second story of the main building had been knocked out to make vaulted ceilings, but this room, which seated forty people quite comfortably, had been kept for special meetings, such as tonight’s Friends of the Library meeting.

  Bill Sint, Carrie’s competition for the position of president of the Friends of the Library, was dressed in a dark brown corduroy blazer with tan suede elbow patches over a pale blue turtleneck. His jeans were pressed with razor-sharp creases, and his heavy winter boots showed not a trace of the mud and slush that covered the walkways outside. Lindsey wondered how he managed that.

  Bill was tall and thin, with jet-black hair that Lindsey suspected was dyed, as he had to be well into his seventies. His most common expression was one of irritation. He always had one eyebrow raised higher than the other, and even when Lindsey said hello to him, she got the feeling he felt interrupted by her good cheer. Not for nothing, but she certainly hoped Carrie was voted i
n as the new president, because working with Bill had become tiresome. She’d even put up with Carrie’s obnoxious husband if she had to.

  Although, as she scanned the crowd, she realized that wasn’t going to be a problem. Carrie’s husband was not in attendance. She didn’t imagine he’d be a member of Friends given his feelings about books and all, but still, she would have thought he’d make an appearance to support his wife. Then again, he hadn’t really oozed supportive spouse when she’d met him.

  As the meeting went through roll call, Lindsey turned in her seat and glanced out over the town park, which was empty. Then she tried to pick out some of the Thumb Islands in the bay, which were visible in the dark evening only as tiny lights on the water. Finally, she glanced at the town pier. The pier was long and wide and had two big pole lights, which kept it illuminated at night to deter vandals from harming or stealing the boats docked in the bay.

  At the base of the pier was the Blue Anchor, Mary’s restaurant. It was the residents’ favorite watering hole, and judging by the light spilling out of its windows, the café was doing a bustling business even on this bitter January evening.

  Lindsey caught some movement on the pier and her gaze took in a tall man, his lanky build discernible even under his thick peacoat. He wore a fisherman’s knit cap over his mahogany curls, but Lindsey knew it was him, Mike Sullivan, known to the locals and tourists as Captain Sully. She tried to ignore the burst of pleasure she felt at the sight of him and failed miserably.

  Sully had become a good friend over the past few months. He shared her love of reading, and she found his quiet presence comforting and intriguing. She told herself she would have felt the same rush of happy if she’d spied Nancy or Violet walking on the pier. Yeah, right.

  She watched Sully hunch against the frigid wind that blew in from the water. At the end of the pier, he turned and ducked into the Anchor, probably to see his sister, Mary, and grab some dinner. Lindsey had a sudden longing to be at the Anchor, too.

  When she turned back to face the room, she noticed the tension in the lecture room was as thick as a spring fog and much more uncomfortable. Both Carrie and Bill would now address the group, each offering their vision of the future of the Friends of the Library.

  Carrie had changed out of her hospital scrubs and looked very professional in a gray wool skirt and matching blazer over a pale pink blouse. She wore thick black stockings, to combat the cold, with a pair of stylish boots.

  She looked every inch the efficient person that she was, and her presentation included a PowerPoint that outlined a well-thought-out proposal with realistic expectations to raise funds for the library.

  Bill’s presentation was technology free and read like a grocery list of things he had accomplished while being president, some of which sounded more fictional than the books on the shelves in the library below.

  Finally, they were ready to vote. Lindsey checked out the assembled group. There were about twenty members in attendance. The cold weather had kept most of the elderly Friends home, and much of Briar Creek’s summer population was not in residence at the moment, making their turnout even fewer.

  Mimi Seitler, the secretary, asked Carrie and Bill to wait in the hall while the members voted. Lindsey felt sure this was to keep any of the members from being intimidated into voting against their inclination.

  Bill yanked the lapels of his blazer with a snap as he surveyed the room with his left eyebrow up in its usual arch. “I trust you’ll all make the right decision.”

  Carrie said nothing. She merely gave a small smile and a wave and followed him out the door. When Bill looked to be lingering in the doorway, Mimi shut it in his face. Lindsey had no doubt about how she would be voting.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Mimi said. She resumed her seat at the front of the room. “All those in favor of Bill Sint remaining president, raise your right hand.”

  No one moved. Not even a finger fluttered in an upward direction.

  “All those in favor of Carrie Rushton becoming our new president, raise your right hand.”

  All of the hands went up. It was Carrie by a landslide. Not a big surprise.

  Mimi opened the door and ushered the two candidates back inside. Carrie looked nervous. Bill looked smug. Oh, dear, Lindsey had a feeling this was not going to go well.

  “After all of the votes have been counted, it has been decided by the Friends that Carrie shall be our new president.”

  Carrie looked surprised and pleased, while Bill opened his mouth and shut his mouth. His left eyebrow arched so high it could practically scratch an itch at his hairline.

  “Thank you, all,” Carrie said. “I promise to do my very best.”

  Bill glowered at her and then the group.

  “I will not concede!” he said. “I demand a recount.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  BRIAR CREEK

  PUBLIC LIBRARY

  “Oh, no,” Mimi said. “You really don’t want to do that.”

  “Yes, I do!” Bill insisted. “In fact, I demand it.”

  Mimi sighed. She gave Bill an exasperated look like she didn’t think he had the sense to look both ways before he crossed the street. “Fine. There is no need to do a recount. It was unanimous. Everyone voted for Carrie.”

  Bill gasped as if she’d slapped him. “That can’t be.”

  His gaze scoured the room, but everyone avoided eye contact.

  “Is this true? Doug?” Bill glowered at an older gentleman sitting in the back row. “Look at me, Doug.”

  Doug Dowd, wearing a pressed shirt with a string tie, twisted his gloves in his hands and glanced quickly up and over the top of Bill’s head.

  It was enough. Bill turned to frown at another older and chunkier man in the third row. “Warren?”

  Warren was braver than Doug. He raised his hands in a placating gesture and said, “Now don’t go taking it all personal, Bill.”

  “I can assure you, Warren,” Bill snapped. “It is personal.”

  Lindsey would have felt sorry for him if he weren’t such a pompous windbag.

  “Well, I suppose there’s nothing more to be said.” He stomped over to his chair and gathered his overcoat and briefcase.

  He had trouble tying his scarf around his neck as his hands were shaking. The entire room watched him go; no one offered to help him. Now Lindsey did feel bad for him.

  She rose from her window seat and gestured to Mimi that she was going to check on him. Mimi gave her a nod of thanks.

  Bill must have been moving at a small run, because Lindsey didn’t catch him until he was just stepping out the front door into the cold.

  “Mr. Sint, Bill!” she called.

  He spun around quickly as if he had been expecting someone to call him back. He looked disappointed to find that it was Lindsey.

  “What?” he snapped. “Are you here to gloat about your victory?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked. The blast of cold air made her long to step back into the toasty library, but she didn’t want to offend him any more than she already had.

  “Library directors don’t attend Friends’ meetings,” he said. “Unless, they’re presenting some information. But not you, oh, no, you were there to witness me getting voted out of office. What did I ever do to you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. “But I had nothing to do with how the vote went.”

  “Of course you did,” he argued. “Everyone wants to impress our new, little library director. Did you tell them all how to vote and then decide to show up to make sure they did?”

  “No!”

  “Ha!” He scoffed. “Well, now you’ve got what you wanted. Little Carrie Rushton will run around and do your bidding with no ambitions for the group other than to fund your ridiculous children’s programs. I hope you’re happy.”

  Lindsey wanted to tell him that the more he opened his mouth, the more she was delighted with the outcome of the election. But it didn’t seem like the most diplomatic
way to assuage the ruffled emotions of the former president.

  “Your service over the years has been much appreciated,” Lindsey said. “We would welcome your advice and input in any capacity you care to share it.”

  “Get stuffed!” Bill snapped, and he tossed his scarf around his throat and strode off into the night.

  As she watched him stomp toward the parking lot, she saw Marjorie Bilson come hurrying up the walk. She was a tiny thing, petite and skinny and full of nervous energy. She reminded Lindsey of a sparrow, hopping about with sharp eyes, a sharp beak and plain brown feathers. She too was a member of the Friends, which Lindsey found odd since Marjorie was not much of a reader.

  Marjorie stopped next to Bill and put her hand on his arm. Lindsey had noticed that the tiny woman looked at Bill with a certain amount of worship in her brown eyes. Lindsey couldn’t see why, but who was she to judge.

  Bill shrugged her off and said some terse words that were muffled by his scarf. Marjorie emitted a shriek of horror, which even from thirty feet away, Lindsey heard quite clearly. Then she clapped a mittened hand over her mouth and followed Bill out to the parking lot.

  This couldn’t be good. Marjorie was probably the only person who would have voted for Bill, and obviously, she had missed the vote. Lindsey wondered if Bill would demand a new election based upon that alone.

  She stepped back into the warm library with a sigh. She could feel a pair of eyes watching her and she turned to find the indomitable Ms. Cole, who ran their circulation desk, watching her.

  “Mr. Tupper never had any problems with Bill as the president of the Friends of the Library,” she said. She gave Lindsey a look of disapproval over the upper edge of her reading glasses.

  Lindsey sighed. Mr. Tupper, the former director of the Briar Creek Public Library, had been perfect in Ms. Cole’s estimation. In the nine months Lindsey had been here, Ms. Cole had never missed an opportunity to make a comment that found Lindsey wanting in comparison to the hallowed Mr. Tupper.

  Always a monochromatic dresser, Ms. Cole was usually in shades of gray or beige. Today, she had thrown caution to the wind and she was in varying shades of purple, from her opaque violet stockings and grape lollipop wool skirt to her bulky lavender sweater. Instead of softening her mannish features, however, the pastel colors seemed to wash out the skin tone on her portly person, leaving her looking a bit jaundiced.