by Cindy Myers
“My father wasn’t overly concerned about my well-being, so I don’t see why you should be either,” she said.
She waited for him to offer up some defense of her father, readying her own reply, welcoming the opportunity to give full vent to her emotions.
Instead, he surprised her by stepping forward, his hand cradling her cheek, the tenderness of the gesture and the softness in his eyes like a blanket smothering the fire of her anger. “You deserve someone who cares about you, Maggie,” he said, his voice a rough caress. “You deserve the best.”
Then he turned and left, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined the moment, though her cheek still felt warm where he’d held her.
“And in this blessed valley we shall found a town, Eureka! For here we have indeed found true treasure.”
Cassie had no idea if her great-grandfather had ever said any such thing, and he hadn’t exactly named the town. He’d sold a bunch of his land at bargain prices to a group of miners and their hangers-on, and a town had just sort of happened. But a play needed drama, so Cassie had no qualms about adding it when necessary. The basic facts were still there: without her great-grandfather, there wouldn’t be a town, at least not right here.
“Excuse me.”
Cassie stared at the computer screen, frowning. After the miners cheered, what should happen next? Should they carry Festus Wynock around on their shoulders? Or break into song?
“Excuse me. Lady?”
Cassie turned and confronted two watery blue eyes behind round spectacles. It was that strange kid again, Lucille’s grandson. “What do you want?” she snapped. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The boy didn’t even blink, just continued to stare at her. “I have a paper to write,” he said. “I need to see all your books on local mining.”
First Indians, now mining. What was it with this kid? “I showed you before where the local history section is. Did you look there?”
“There’s a sign that says some books are locked up behind the front desk and are available upon request.” He nudged his glasses farther up his nose. “I’m requesting.”
“You’re not old enough.” She turned back to her computer, but her train of thought was derailed. She’d moved the most valuable historical books—the ones that had belonged to her family—to a locked case after Jacob Murphy had walked off with one. If it wouldn’t have been so much trouble explaining things to the library board, she’d have taken them all home.
“Are they porn or something?”
Of all the . . . Cassie whirled to face him. “We do not keep pornography in this library,” she said.
“Then I’m old enough to read the books,” he said.
Cassie was ready to refuse him, but she knew what that would lead to. He’d run tell his grandmother, the mayor. Then Lucille would show up to tell Cassie why she had to hand over the books. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
She stood, deliberately taking her time, and pulled a clutch of keys from her pocket. “You may only examine the books in my presence, and you may under no circumstances remove them from the library.”
“Whatever.”
What was wrong with parents today, allowing such bad manners? Her father would have locked her in her room for a week if he’d heard her address one of her elders as this boy talked to her.
She opened the bookcase and indicated a trio of brown leather-bound volumes at the end of the top row. “Those books mention mining in this area.”
“I’ll need any books you have on Indians, too,” he said, helping himself to the three books, plucking them off the shelf all three at once with hands that were surprisingly big for a boy his age.
Jake had had hands like that, with long fingers and bony joints, a smattering a red-gold hairs across the knuckles . . .
“Do you know if any of these say anything about the Ute Indians mining gold?” the boy asked, flipping through one of the books.
“The Indians didn’t mine the gold,” she said. “The miners did.”
“The Indians did, too,” he said, his expression hardening.
Whatever, Cassie thought, but she didn’t say it. She didn’t have time to spar with this boy. “You can sit at the table there and look through the books.” She pointed to a wooden table closest to the checkout desk. “Let me know when you’re finished.”
She returned to her desk, and to the half-finished play on her computer, but her concentration had been destroyed. When she tried to write more dialogue for her great-grandfather, she heard Jacob Murphy instead, asking to see those same books about mining. He’d probably been the last person besides Cassie to crack them open. She’d been taken in by his big smile like everybody else. God, when she thought of the way everyone had carried on at his memorial service. You’d have thought the town’s patron saint had expired. The man was nothing but a thief and a bully. Why was Cassie the only one who could see that?
“Is there anything in these books about mining other things besides gold?”
The boy was speaking too loudly for a library; he was too lazy to get up from the table and approach her like a considerate person. “Keep your voice down,” Cassie hissed, in the loud whisper perfected by librarians everywhere.
“I said, is there anything in these books about mining stuff besides gold?” He copied her whisper, overenunciating in a way that might have been mocking. Was he mocking her?
“This is your paper. You do the research yourself.” She turned her attention back to her computer, hands poised over the keyboard as if the words would pour forth at any moment.
She heard a chair scrape back against the floor and sneakers squeaking across the room. “What are you working on?” the boy asked, looming over her shoulder like a gangly bird— an ostrich or an emu, something with a spindly neck and beady eyes.
It was too late to shield the screen from his view. “I’m writing a play about the founding of the town,” she said. “For our Pioneer Heritage Festival.” She’s always thought heritage festival sounded better than Hard Rock Days, which had led more than one tourist to expect long-haired leather bands and giant amplifiers instead of pretend miners and water fights in the street.
“People sure talked funny in the old days.” He squinted at the screen. “Who’s Festus Wynock?”
“He was my great-grandfather. He founded this town. The land this building sits on used to belong to my family.”
“If he had all that land, what are you doing working in a library?”
Cassie started to tell him it was none of his business, but when she opened her mouth, the truth came out instead. “Festus was a lousy businessman. He lost a lot of the family money through poor management, and my grandfather and father lost most of the rest.” She still had the house and some old books and antiques, but the family history was her only real legacy.
“I don’t even know my father,” the boy said. “And my grandfather, at least the one I know, is a tool.”
Cassie had no idea what he meant by tool, but apparently nothing good. “My grandmother was a wonderful person,” she said. “She was smart and beautiful and kept my grandfather from making even bigger mistakes.”
“I don’t know my grandmother all that well, but she seems pretty cool.”
Shrewd was the word Cassie might have used to describe Lucille—much like Cassie’s own grandmother, God rest her soul. Cassie respected her, though the women would never be friends.
This boy intrigued her, though, even as he annoyed her. “Tell me your name again,” she demanded.
“Lucas,” he said, eyeing her warily.
“Lucas, I want you to be in my play,” she said. “You can be the messenger boy who announces the discovery of gold in the mountains above town.”
He shook his head, backing away. “I don’t want to be in any play,” he said.
“Nonsense. You’ll be perfect for the role.” She hadn’t actually written that part yet, but she would. She turned back to the computer. “I’ll notify you when rehea
rsals begin.”
He might have mumbled another protest, but she was too engrossed in the words on the screen to hear. What this play needed was a villain. A good-looking, silver-tongued swindler who’d pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. And a heroine, the courageous daughter of the town founder, who would see the handsome devil for the snake he truly was.
Barb emerged from the shower pink faced and dewy, her hair swathed in a bath towel turban, her body wrapped in a too-short terry robe. “Where’s Jameso?” she asked, looking around.
“He had to leave,” Maggie said. If he hadn’t, they both might have said—or done—things they’d later regret. “He brought you these.” She handed Barb the sunglasses.
“The darling man.” Barb donned the glasses. “I couldn’t imagine where I’d left them.”
“He said to tell you he turned in the moving van.”
“I knew I could depend on him.”
“You knew no such thing,” Maggie said. “You only met him yesterday.”
“I have good instincts.” She sat at the table, sunglasses still in place. “What else did Jameso have to say?”
“He said the mine is dangerous and we were idiots to go in there.”
Barb pursed her lips. “He didn’t really say we were idiots, did he?”
“No, but it was implied.”
“He was just upset because you scared him.”
“Why should anything I do affect him one way or another? I’m certainly not losing sleep over him.”
“No? Too bad.” She removed the sunglasses and gave Maggie a long look. “Did you show him the stones we found in the mine?”
“No.”
“Why not? He might have known what they were.”
Maggie busied herself lining up the salt and pepper shakers, avoiding Barb’s gaze. “There wasn’t a good opportunity. And I don’t think we should tell anyone yet. I don’t want a bunch of people like Bob up here trying to check things out for themselves.”
“If you asked Jameso to keep a secret, I’m sure he would.”
Maggie started to object that Barb didn’t know any such thing, but why waste her breath? “After I get cleaned up, let’s go into town. We can stop by the library and see if we can find any information about the stones.”
Chapter 13
An hour later, Maggie parked the Jeep in front of the Eureka library. “The librarian, Cassie Wynock, can be a little touchy,” she said as she switched off the ignition and pocketed the key. “My dad stole a library book and she’s still upset about it.”
Barb looked amused. “Oh my,” she said. “I had no idea your old man was such a hardened criminal.”
“If that’s the worst thing I ever find out he did, I’ll consider myself lucky,” Maggie said.
Cassie was helping a mother and her young daughter when Maggie and Barb entered. They waited for their turn at the front counter. “Hi, Cassie,” Maggie said when the librarian turned to them. “This is my friend, Barbara Stanowski. She’s visiting from Texas and we’d like to use the Internet.”
Cassie’s expression was cold. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” she said.
“Oh.” Maggie was taken aback. “Is the Internet down?” She glanced toward the row of computer terminals, where a teenager and an older man sat engrossed.
“You’re not a resident of Eureka County,” Cassie said. “You don’t have a library card. I can’t allow you to continue to come in here and use the library’s resources.”
Maggie blinked, stunned. “You didn’t have a problem before,” she said.
“That was a one-time courtesy. I can’t allow you to take advantage. The computer terminals are for our regular patrons.”
“Excuse me.” Barb stepped forward, a brilliant smile on her lips that made Maggie wince. She knew that smile. It was a smile that had annihilated snippy shop clerks and imperious committee members throughout Houston. “This lovely library is a publicly funded institution, is it not?” Barb inquired.
“Yes, but—”
“And those computers and the Internet service and even your salary are paid for by taxpayers.”
“Yes, local taxpayers.”
“Of course.” Barb’s smile never dimmed, though the look in her eyes sharpened. “But Ms. Stephens is living here now. So, you see, she is a taxpayer.”
“She doesn’t have a library card.” Cassie’s pout lent her face an unfortunate piggish look.
“Then perhaps you could issue her one,” Barb said.
“Oh, yes,” Maggie said. “I’d love a library card.”
“I’ll need proof of your legal residence,” Cassie said. “A driver’s license or a utility bill.”
“I live off the grid,” Maggie said. “You know that. I don’t have a utility bill. And I haven’t had a chance to get my driver’s license changed over.” Not that she had the slightest intention of doing so. She wasn’t moving to Eureka; she was only here on an extended visit. Just until she got things settled.
“Then I can’t give you a card.” Cassie turned her back to them.
Maggie felt Barb stiffen. By all rights, the librarian should have been a steaming puddle on the floor from the heat of the gaze Barb shot her. “I’d like to speak to your supervisor,” Barb said.
Cassie’s smile was a low-wattage imitation of Barb’s, but with just as much malice behind it. “I don’t have a supervisor.”
That couldn’t be right, Maggie thought. She probably had to report to the county government. And there was probably a state library board. Fat lot of good that would do them today. “Come on, Barb.” She tugged at her friend’s sleeve. “We can use the computer at Reggie’s office.”
With a last, withering look at Cassie, Barb turned on her heel and marched out of the library, Maggie in her wake. By the time they reached the Jeep, Barb was muttering a steady stream of obscenity-laced invective against Cassie and her ancestors. “Who died and made her queen?” Barb asked as she buckled her seat belt.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t really matter. Reggie said we were welcome to use the computer in his office.” Though she hated to bug him.
“I can’t believe she’d punish you for something your father did. You didn’t even know the man. And over a stupid book. I should have just offered to pay for the thing and be done with it.”
“It’s not really about the book,” Maggie said. “At least, I don’t think it is. The book did belong to her family, and is probably irreplaceable, but I think she’s more upset because my father pretended to be interested in her when he really only wanted the book.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Yes.” Maggie remembered the hurt in Cassie’s eyes when she’d told the story—the sting of false hopes and betrayal she knew all too well.
“Then you don’t know that’s what really happened,” Barb said. “You only have her side of things.”
“It’s the only side I’ll ever have, since my father isn’t here.” She pounded the steering wheel with her palm. “That’s the frustrating thing about all of this. The deeper I dig into my father’s life, the more of a tangle it becomes. Maybe I should just give up and go home.”
“Then you’d always wonder and worry about those unanswered questions,” Barb said. “Besides, where is home now? Some apartment in Houston? Not that I don’t miss you, but you seem to be settling in well here. You’re making friends, and you have a cute little cabin with a killer view.”
“And five miles of road only navigable by snowmobile in the winter.” Maggie found a parking space near the Last Dollar and guided the Jeep in.
“If that’s a problem, I’m sure you could find a place in town this winter.” Barb unfastened her seat belt. “I thought we were going to your lawyer’s office.”
“We are. He’s upstairs from the café.”
“Let’s eat first. I’m starved.”
Maggie started to protest, but her stomach growled. All she’d had since breakfast was coffee and a few Lorna Doones, and i
t was almost two. “All right,” she said. Maybe food would improve her mood.
“Hey, Maggie!” Danielle greeted her with a wave, then came out from behind the counter to throw her arms around Maggie in a hug.
Maggie returned the gesture, touched and little taken aback. “This is my friend, Barbara Stanowski,” she said. “Barb, this is Danielle, one of the owners of the café.”
“Nice to meet you,” Danielle said. “Jameso said Maggie had a friend visiting. Y’all come sit over here.” She led them to the same booth Maggie had occupied before. “What would y’all like to drink?”
They ordered iced tea and she hurried back to the kitchen. “Friendly girl,” Barb said, squinting at the chalkboard menu Maggie had directed her to.
“Wait until you see her partner, Janelle.”
As if on cue, the blonde emerged from the kitchen. Today a red beret topped her head, and she wore a matching cropped red sweater and black skinny jeans. “Dani said I had to come out and meet your friend,” she said by way of greeting.
Maggie made the introductions. “It’s nice to meet some friendly people after the reception we got at the library,” Barb said.
“Was Cassie on one of her tears today?” Janelle asked sympathetically.
“She refused to let us use the library computers because Maggie doesn’t have a library card,” Barb said. “And she won’t issue her a library card because her driver’s license doesn’t say she lives in Eureka County.”
“If it’s any comfort, she doesn’t like me and Danielle either,” Janelle said. “But if you get your driver’s license changed, she’ll have to give you a card. Meanwhile, Dani and I have books you can borrow, if you like paperback mysteries and romance novels.”
“I should have given my dad’s collection to you instead of the library,” Maggie said. “He had a lot of mysteries.”
“I know. We used to trade books a lot,” Janelle said. “We’d be happy to trade with you, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that. Today we just wanted to use the Internet.”
