by Deena Remiel
The Book Waitress
By Deena Remiel
The Book Waitress
By Deena Remiel
Copyright ©2012 by Deena Remiel
Kindle Edition
Cover Art by Scott Carpenter
The Book Waitress is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher and/or author, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
Published by Firewalker Press
Dedication
To my favorite book waitress, Jamie Everett
Acknowledgements
Where do I begin to thank all the people that helped put this series together? I shall begin with my husband and kids, who suffer through days of seeing my body on the couch, but know I’m not really there. My aunt and uncle have been invaluable, giving me a hideaway when I needed it for some serious laying down of words. My friends, Amber, Belinda, Kris, and all my girls who fight for keeps… they are my army against self-doubt.
When I decided that my female lead would be a librarian, I didn’t need to go far to research. I’d spent a year working as one! But I also checked my rememberings with Miranda Wyatt Mills, and she helped validate my memories. I knew that as time went by, I would need help with keeping The Book Waitress fan page thriving, and Kristina Haecker stepped right up to the plate. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Whatever would I do without my dear editor, Nicole Hicks? When others cringe at editing, with her as my editor, I look forward to it.
Finally, I must thank all of my wonderful fans and friends who have embraced my stories time and again. It is for you that I write and create these fantastical worlds.
Table Of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
“Watch your step there, young lady.” A deep, raspy voice broke through Camille Dutton’s frantic mind. “Just up those stairs to the upper deck. It’ll be about eight minutes to the island once we shove off. Enjoy your trip.”
“Thank you.” Eight minutes? It might as well be eight years! Ignoring the nausea threatening to erupt and drown the ferry before it even left the dock, she smiled graciously. The weather-beaten gentleman, the deckhand, she supposed, nodded at her with a crinkled smile and ushered the next person onboard. With every step she climbed up the steep metal stairs, she repeated a mantra to soothe unsettled nerves.
It’s not forever. It’s not forever. Finding an opening at the bow of the ferry, she took up temporary residence against the railing, and dropped the heavily laden backpack from her shoulder to the deck. The churning clouds mirrored her dark mood and hovered dangerously low over the expanse of water. Eight minutes of deep, dark wetness would now separate her from the life Camille had known for twenty-four years. She’d never been further than eighty miles from her home. She didn’t need to travel far; not when she had thousands of books at her disposal to take her wherever she wanted to go.
Her involuntary transfer to the Shelter Island Library, or forced exile as she preferred to call it, would last only as long as it took to find a permanent librarian. Her boss had promised, and she vowed to hold him to it. With her parents recently passed, she longed to stay in the house where they’d infused her life with cherished moments. This upheaval at work made their absence all the more painful to bear.
Shelter Island seemed the antithesis of its name. Camille had been lovingly sheltered by her parents and insulated within the comforting walls of her town’s library. She’d read all of the books repeatedly, from cover to cover. Going to this unknown town, living in a strange home, and working at an unfamiliar library left her feeling exposed to more than just the elements. It invited all manner of creature born to lay siege on her well-constructed fortress of solitude.
The ferry’s whistle blew as its engines kicked on and thrust the boat into the Sound. She gasped and closed her eyes, pressing fingers against the cold steel that kept her from jumping ship. A gusty breeze whipped her ponytail into a frenzy of curls that slapped at her neck and cheeks. Eyes smarted and watered as a rush of air assaulted her face. She couldn’t bear to watch as her life receded into the horizon. Looking forward was just as painful, and she pondered what lay ahead.
Laughter broke through her misery as two young children raced about playing tag. The raucous offered her a few moments of reverie, thinking back fondly on her own childhood antics. She chuckled lightly. Oh, to be so young and happy-go-lucky! I remember having that carefree exuberance…once upon a time. If only she could find a tenth of the fearlessness she’d had as a child, she would take on this latest challenge with all the ferocity of a lioness. Instead, she’d allowed it to wither and die along with those she’d mournfully laid to rest.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as horrible a transition as she envisioned. Maybe her anxiety skewed her perception of reality. She read enough psychology books to know for certain, and gave herself an amateur diagnosis—borderline agoraphobic with a possible detachment disorder. Who was she kidding? I’m just plain socially awkward and can’t stand crowds.
Getting moved to Shelter Island, then, should be a dream come true. The population for most of the year hovered at around three thousand but shot up during the summer. The library, with its historic pedigree, offered her the opportunity to read books that no other library had in its possession. But something didn’t feel right. Out of all the other librarians, those who were much more outgoing than she, why had they picked her?
Jolted from her musings by the arrogant blast of the horn, she trudged over to the stairwell and conducted her death march to the gate as the boat docked. People nudged passed her with disregard, waving at friends or family, she supposed, who waited onshore and shouted greetings of welcome. Not one person among them had come for her. She hadn’t expected anyone because she didn’t arrange for a pick up. Admittedly, she hadn’t exactly planned well for this move. Denial and no one to snap her out of it came to bite her in the butt. Hoisting the monstrosity of a backpack onto her shoulder, she mustered all the fortitude she had within her, brokered a smile, and walked off the ferry to find a cab and her new home.
***
Camille slipped her hand inside her jacket pocket and pulled out a crinkled note with an address scrawled on it. She looked at it, peered at the house through the cab window, and sighed. Yup, this is now home. It fit her mood perfectly. Overgrown shrubbery and weeds surrounded the front yard of unkempt grass. Rotted stairs led up to a small wooden porch with a pair of rocking chairs set on either side of the front door.
“We’re here, Miss. Need help with your bag?”
“Oh, no. Thank you, I’ll manage.” She fished inside her pocketbook for her wallet and keys to the house. “How much will that be?”
“Ten dollars and fifty cents.”
“Here’s fifteen. Keep the change.” She thrust the bills into his hand and put her wallet away.
“Thanks. You ever need to get somewhere in a hurry, call me. Here’s my card.” He handed her a bright yellow business card and smiled.
“Will
do.” The cab door creaked as she opened it, and screeched even louder as it closed. As she stood on the sidewalk, the cabbie tore off up the road, leaving her to size up the remainder of the house’s exterior.
“Can’t judge a book by its cover, Cammy.” No, but it sure tells a lot about what’s inside.
The roof and siding looked to be in good condition, and the sea foam green shingles complimented the greenery of the Dogwood trees on the property. All in all, for a rental, she rated it three stars. She’d tackle the overgrown bushes and weeds eventually. She decided standing outside only delayed her complete transition to her new life. Swinging the key ring on her finger, she marched up the path to the front door, praying the inside would be a bit more appealing.
“Here goes everything,” she mumbled, and turned the key in the lock. The house seemed to sigh with a whoosh of air as she opened the door.
She made a quick scan of the space before her and smiled genuinely for the first time that day. What a charming space! Scooting further into the room, she fell in love. The style of the fully furnished cottage pleased her sense of whimsy. An oversized, white couch and chair flanked a small fireplace, its mantel loaded with knick-knacks of fairies, goblins, elves, and gnome statuettes. She inspected each one, their unique designs reminding her of all the fantasy stories she’d read over the years. The ones that either comforted her when she felt down or allowed her to escape from the pain of reality. Gas lamps on doilies adorned the maple side tables, and on the far end, waiting patiently to be discovered, were bookshelves overflowing with books.
Camille wasted no time dropping her backpack to the floor and raced over to see what gems lay nestled together waiting for her perusal. Books. They would be her saviors while she transitioned into this whole new world, alone. Non-fiction, classics, suspense, horror, and romance novels co-mingled on every shelf, no rhyme or reason. She’d fix that.
A telephone rang, and at first, it didn’t register in her brain that it came from inside the house. But the insistent shrill urged her to locate and answer it before she went mad. Racing around like a lunatic, she found it in the kitchen, and scurried to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Camille? This is Nancy Westin, the library supervisor. I just wanted to see if you’ve settled in yet. We need you down here as soon as possible.”
“Oh, well, I’m here. Just arrived, in fact. Haven’t had a chance to unpack my bag. But if you need me that badly, I’ll come straight away.”
“Please do. It’s a mess since Caroline left us.”
“I passed the library on my way here, so I know exactly where to go and how far it is. It shouldn’t take me longer than a few minutes to walk over after I’ve freshened up a bit.”
“No freshening up necessary. We’ll see you shortly.” Nancy’s terse command and pinched voice sent chills up and down Camille’s spine.
Just as she was going to respond, she heard a click and scoffed. “Looks like someone’s forgotten her phone etiquette. And I have to work with this lovely person? I really dislike people.” She sighed and trudged upstairs to her new bedroom.
Despite the urgency in Nancy’s voice, Camille decided she needed to clean up. The library would have to wait a little while longer for its new caretaker to arrive. She may not be comfortable around people, but she knew how to present a professional appearance for work and was determined to do so now.
Spilling the contents of her pack onto the bed, she sifted through the items until she found a suitable pair of pants, a blouse, and her bag of tricks that would transform her weary, bedraggled look into a refined librarian. A little blush to bring her back from the dead, some gloss to soften the lips, and a brush-through and twist into a chignon to tame her long, unruly curls. Giving herself a stamp of approval in the dresser mirror, she set off to tackle her demons, known and unknown.
Chapter Two
“I’m doing my best, Nancy. You know we’ve been down a person, so cut me a little slack.”
“So who’s going to pay for all the books we can’t find because they’re lost on the shelves or stolen due to your lazing off? Let me get my calculator ready and I’ll give you an idea of how much money your lackadaisical attitude is costing us.”
“Excuse me.” Two heads swiveled to face Camille, one with a look of surprise and annoyance, the other with relief. She’d been standing in the office doorway having gone unnoticed for a few minutes and decided she’d heard enough. It was time to play professional. “I’m Camille Dutton, your interim librarian. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Please interrupt. I’m about to get an ulcer. My name’s Susan and this is Nancy. And I, for one, am very glad you’re here.” Susan smiled with a look of relief.
“Thank you,” she said, offering a smile of her own. “I’ll do my best to get up to speed. You know, ulcers are caused by diet and stress.”
“Yes, well….” Nancy flashed a dismissive glance. “Why don’t we begin with your duties? I’ve scheduled you for the periodicals department. It’s a rather robust area with a lot of traffic. But I was told it is your area of expertise. Follow me and I’ll give you the rest of the list. Susan, mind the front and circulation.”
As they walked to the stairs and headed down one level, Nancy spouted her litany of daily chores and scheduled maintenance to be done after closing. “Here, take this paper so you can memorize it.” She shoved the list into Camille’s gut and waved her hand around like a game show model. “This is the Periodical Department. Your responsibility. You need to know this place better than you know yourself as soon as possible. It’s set up similarly to the branch you’re from. Some periodicals must be signed for and are housed behind the circulation desk. The patron fills out a slip of paper, gives it to you, and you go get the requested periodical. When they return it, you put it away. When new ones come in, enter them into the system catalog, put the call numbers on the spines and shelve them accordingly. I’ve got my own work to catch up on, so if you have any questions, try to figure it out on your own or ask Susan.”
With that, she turned and stalked back up the stairs, leaving Camille standing by the circulation counter, stunned by her supervisor’s abrasive manner. It couldn’t have been something personal. She’d done nothing to warrant her rudeness. People. They were so complicated. She guessed that’s why although she couldn’t stand them, she loved to study their nature. I could write another master’s thesis on Nancy alone.
Checking her watch, she supposed she’d be there well after closing. That gave her a few hours to acclimate to her surroundings and introduce herself to the books. Taking a good look around, she had to admit the place had loads of charm. Wooden book stacks lined the perimeter of the space and flanked heavy oak tables with green leather-bottomed chairs set in the center. Stained glass skylights washed the floors with a kaleidoscope of jeweled colors. The overall appearance spoke of age and history. If these walls could talk, oh what they might say!
She walked around the currently empty area, up and down the aisles, caressing the spines of the books as she went past. The walls may not be able to talk, but the books certainly do. History lived here. People’s research, opinions, and all manner of science were immortalized within the covers of the journals found here.
A series of loud cracks and slamming sounds pierced the silence. She squealed, jumped, and turned to look around. No one stood before her, but a slew of books were lying in a messy heap on the floor, some opened, some closed. Looking right and left, peering through the stacks and between the books, she still didn’t see who could have tossed them to the floor. And when she’d walked past a few moments ago, she knew how securely they were in place on the shelf.
“That’s very odd. How the heck did this happen?” Scratching her head, she walked over to the offending books, and as she picked up the first, noticed the title The Devil’s Handbook.
She bent down and picked up another. Same title, different volume. This one had been splayed open to a
particular page. Spells. There were spells and recipes written for different evil purposes. She plunked herself down on the floor as curiosity compelled her to flit through the pages to see more. In all her five years as a librarian, she’d never seen a periodical whose sole purpose was to teach how to worship Satan. She glanced over at the other books lying askew on the floor, and they, too, were part of the collection.
A soft bell rung in the distance. Scrambling to her feet, she quickly closed the book and replaced all thirteen volumes back on the shelf. The bell rang again.
“Coming! I’ll be right with you!” Camille straightened her outfit and swept stray strands of curls away from her face as she dashed over to her circulation desk. Waiting at the high counter stood a tall, blonde-haired man in loose-fitting jeans and a plaid shirt. He slapped slips of paper against his palm, and shifted a beat up backpack slung over one shoulder.
He turned and their eyes locked as she scurried around the desk and pasted on a professional smile. Thank goodness she’d been rushing about. It masked the true reason for her breathlessness—his heart-stopping, blue-green eyes. “How can I help you, today, sir?”
“I’d like to check these out, please, but I don’t know where to find them.” He flashed a pearly white grin. “I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Sure.” Looking at his order slips, she noticed they were all for newspapers. They were kept in a different place from the journals. She looked on the floor plan taped to the desk and located their home. “Follow me, please.”
She joined him around the front of the circulation desk and walked to the far end of the room. Archived newspapers were in a small room off the main area. His slips listed local and national newspapers for June of the last six years.
“I’m usually self-sufficient in a library, but I’m new to the island and this place is quite different from the ones I’ve been to. So thanks for helping me.”
