The Book Waitress (Book 1, The Book Waitress Series)

by Deena Remiel

  “No problem. I’m new here, too, actually. Just arrived about an hour ago, in fact.”

  “And you’re on the job already? Wow. That’s what I call dedication.”

  “Here we are, sir.” She opened the door and ushered him inside. “Newspapers are organized by name, alphabetically, then by year, month, and day. They cannot be signed out, and I believe they must remain in this room.”

  “Please, call me Derek. You’ll be seeing me here a lot from now on doing research, so it’s only right.”

  “Okay, Derek. Please keep all food and drink out of the vicinity of the reference materials.”

  “Yes, ma’am or…?” He stood there, waiting. For what, she didn’t know.

  “Or what?”

  “Or maybe you could tell me your name so I don’t offend you by using that old lady term again.”

  “Ah, well, uh, my name is Camille. It just so happens the term ma’am, originally used in the 1660’s, is really a sign of respect when addressing a lady who is married. So it makes sense not to use that term for me since I’m not married. If you need anything further, I’ll be at the circulation desk. Good luck with your research.” She stepped toward the door.

  “I learn something new every day, Camille. Thank you. It’s important work I’m doing here, you know.”

  “I’m sure it is. I’m just gonna head out now. New ’round here. Gotta learn the ropes.” She backed out of the room and closed the door, hurrying back to her desk where she touched her hands to her cheeks. A full-on flush had erupted on her face and neck. She could tell just by looking at her reflection in her computer screen.

  Oh, my gosh! Why did he have to talk to her so much? And why did he have to look so darn cute? His pants and shirt didn’t need to be form-fitting for her to guess how toned he was underneath. His hair, short and smoothed back, just begged to be mussed with. And then, there were his eyes. Crystal, blue-green pools had locked onto hers earlier. Now, she wanted to drown in those mystical orbs. His pale complexion and lithe body reminded her of fae kings from faerie books she’d read a long time ago. She would love to be his queen, no questions asked.

  Shaking herself free from her entanglement with fantasy land, she picked up some materials that needed to be shelved and tried her best not to succumb to the distraction known as Derek. He was just being nice. He couldn’t help being adorable. And he certainly wasn’t making a play for her. Men didn’t do that with her. They didn’t do anything except exploit her awkwardness.

  Best to stay away and do your job, Cammy. Nothing good will come of encouraging a friendship with this man.

  ***

  It’s important work I’m doing here? Really, dude? That’s what you say to the most beautiful librarian you’ve ever seen? Smooth, Derek. Way to sound like an arrogant ass. He was doing important work, but when it came to talking to women, his tongue always seemed to tie up in knots and he wound up saying something stupid, like he did just now. He could blame his Hippie foster parents for not cultivating his social skills, but he loved them too much. Nope, this was all on him. Her honey-blonde curls had escaped their twist and knocked him for a loop as she ran to her desk. And his brain had turned to mush when their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Never before had he seen a color so intense and intriguing as her golden amber. To top things off, she slayed him when she walked over to the newspaper room. Her hourglass figure swished seductively side to side as though her hips were accentuating a silent internal rhythm.

  Rather than dwelling on his social ineptitude any longer, he decided to do what he came here for—research the mysterious disappearance of a child from the island. He was convinced there was a link between the current vanishing and others that had been reported in years past. All he needed was proof and some good leads and he could blow this case wide open. Starting with the local paper, he planned to prove that there could be an extremist satanic cult at work here.

  The last child vanished a few weeks ago. Police on the island told him the leads had gone cold, just like it had for all the other children who’d gone missing. When he asked if the FBI had been called in, they clammed up and abruptly ended the interview. Suspicious behavior like that put him on the alert. He may not know how to maneuver in the world of women, but being an investigative reporter, he knew all about asking the tough questions and getting answers. An award sitting on his mantle at home proved that. He put the Shelter Island police department on his list of people of interest, but knew he would have to tread carefully around them and anyone else that he might suspect of being involved. Too many questions would make people skittish and run. Or even worse, they’d turn on him.

  Getting comfortable in his chair, he began the tedious task of sifting through endless newspaper articles, beginning with the very first disappearance thirty-six years ago. Somewhere within these pages, the answer waited to be found. He readied himself for a very long session.

  ***

  A light rapping sound stirred Derek from his intense scrutiny of the Shelter Island News for June 6, 1982. He looked through the glass window cutout in the door and bade Camille to come in.

  “Excuse me, I don’t mean to be a bother, but the library closes in fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh, you’re no bother at all.” He looked at his watch. “Wow, time flies sometimes. Doesn’t it?” He scrubbed his face with his hands.

  “Yes, it does. If you’re not finished with these newspapers and plan on coming back tomorrow, you can leave them with me. Just write your name and phone number on a slip of paper and I’ll store them in my office.”

  “Well, aren’t you great? Not too many librarians have been as nice and accommodating as you. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that offer.” She gave him an odd look and her cheeks turned fiery red. “I mean, you know, your offer of keeping the newspapers for me. Not that you were offering anything else. Because you clearly aren’t. I mean we just met and you have to have my name and number in case I don’t show up, which I will come back, you know. Oh God,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to the table, “just shoot me now. Put me out of my misery.”

  “Um, I’m gonna head back to my desk now. Ten minutes. Closing. The library. Yeah.” He heard her heels scuffling across the floor. She’d left the door open.

  “Man, get your act together!” He admonished himself. “They may not let you back in here tomorrow considering how moronic you’re behaving. Holy hell. It’s a girl. A girl! Get a grip!”

  He replaced newspapers he’d gone through already and organized ones he wanted saved into a neat pile, putting his business card on top. With backpack hoisted onto his shoulder, he carried the bundle to the circulation desk. On his way over, he knew he had to make amends for his idiocy. “Here you go. These are the newspapers I’d like saved for tomorrow. That’s if you’ll let me back in this place. I’m so sorry for the way I behaved back there.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.” She waved him off and laughed lightly. “Usually I’m the one with the awkward comments to go along with the blush. So, I should thank you for taking the load off me this time.”

  “I’ll see you here tomorrow, then?”

  “I suppose you will.”

  “Okay, well then, good night, Camille.”

  “Good night, Derek.”

  He hoped his smile put her at ease rather than creeped her out even more than she probably was. She’d been kind to wave off his misstep, but she probably thought him a total loser. Oh, well. This isn’t Fantasy Island, and I’m not here to find love. I’m here to expose a satanic cult and hopefully save a child.

  Chapter Three

  What a day it had been! Camille reflected on the whirlwind that swept her up and had yet to drop her back down to earth. But now that the library had emptied of its patrons, she could stop and take a breath. She flopped into her chair and closed her eyes briefly. It was eight o’clock and she had about another hour of duties before she could go home. Or go back to the house that she would try to make a home.

  This
time of day at the library, she loved. The silence deafened, but brought peace. Reference materials needed re-shelving, so she checked them in and placed them on a cart to wheel about the stacks. A loud crash echoed through the empty expanse, and she nearly jumped out of her shoes. It had come from an area she had been to earlier, and she hoped it wasn’t what she suspected.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out, she mustered her courage and stalked over to the aisle where the Devil’s Handbook Volumes were housed. This time, she couldn’t blame herself for knocking them off the shelving, and she couldn’t blame a stray mouse or rat either. This time, the books laid purposely open next to each other from one end of the aisle to the other. She cautiously approached.

  “Hello? Hello? Anybody here?” she called out. Not sure whether she wanted an answer or not, she tip-toed over to the first book. As she picked up each successive book to put it away, she noticed, that on the opened page in each book, one letter was larger than any other.

  “What the hell is going on here?” she muttered.

  Her brain quickly sorted it out. GET OUT OF HERE! That’s what the letters spelled. Her heart fluttered, sending waves of electrical impulses across her back and arms. She would love to. Nothing would give her more pleasure than to go back to the home and library she loved. But a job’s a job, and she had a duty to go where her superiors placed her. On a personal level, she’d be damned if she’d let anyone intimidate her. Not anymore. Public school had ended years ago. She didn’t have to put up with this crap anymore.

  “Whoever you are, I’m warning you. I’m not easily scared off. This is my territory, so I suggest you treat me with some respect.” She felt like an idiot talking when no one was obviously there, but she also had to consider that what had happened may not have been done by an actual person, but by something otherworldly. Oddly enough, her social awkwardness didn’t include interactions with things paranormal or supernatural. For many years, part of her voracious reading included all things fiction and non-fiction within the paranormal and supernatural genres. She believed in ghosts and spirits, both kind and malevolent. It appeared that a demonic spirit had welcomed her earlier and asserted itself just now.

  Shelving the last volume, she returned to her cart. “Aw, now come on! Where have all the books gone?” She’d been about to put away a few volumes of Money magazine, so she looked on the shelf. “Huh.” It was there already. She rushed over to the next area, the shelf for Fortune magazines. “I’ll be damned.” Those books had been placed back in their places, as well. “What the hell is going on around here?”

  She went through her list of books to be shelved, and each and every one of them had been put back and in the right place. In her estimation, she’d had an experience with one malicious entity and one nice one. Or there’s one spirit that’s mischievous and remorseful. Either way, it warranted a conversation with the other women to see if they’ve had similar encounters.

  “Camille?” Startled, she spun around so quickly that her hair pin flew out and clinked on the floor.

  “Oh, Susan, hi.” She bent down, searching for the hair fastener. “Drat. Where did that thing go?”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Here it is.” She walked a few paces and picked up the wooden stick. “My, but you have beautiful hair. If I were you, I’d keep those long curls flowing freely.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Noticing her colleague’s short gray hair, she could see why. “It gets in the way, mostly. Susan, I’m glad you came down.”

  “I was just gonna tell you that Nancy and I are leaving for the night. Here’s the key to lock up the place. This master key locks all three locks on the front and back doors.”

  “There’s a back door?”

  “Of course, silly.”

  “Nancy’s only shown me my dungeon here. I haven’t seen the rest of the place.” She laughed. Susan didn’t.

  “Oh, my. Yes. She can get pretty single-minded and forget her manners. Come with me and I’ll show you where it is.”

  They climbed the stairs together and with each step, Camille went from wanting to share what had happened with the books to keeping her mouth shut. Warning flags were waving madly in her face. Susan, who lacked any sense of humor, chattered on and on about Nancy being a shrew. But she’d been there so long as supervisor, she didn’t think the workhorse would ever leave. Susan impressed her as a bit flighty with her gossipmonger ways, the sort that wouldn’t know a ghost if it smacked her in the face with ooze. She settled on keeping things to herself, for now, and hoped that tomorrow would be much less exciting.

  “So here’s the back door. We usually lock it up first, then lock up the front on our way out. We alternate who stays to lock up. It was Caroline’s day to lock up, so that’s why we gave it to you. Why mess with the schedule? You know?”

  “Right. Luckily, I only have a small bag to unpack anyway when I get back to the house.”

  “Ooh, I don’t think Nancy or I took that into consideration. I’m sorry.”

  “Honestly, I’m rather surprised she called me in. I mean, in my estimation, there wasn’t anything dire that needed immediate attention. At least not in my area. A bit insensitive, if you ask me, not that you did, but if you were to ask, I’d tell you that. But I need this job, so I think I’ll just stop talking now.”

  Susan stood with mouth agog. As if she hasn’t heard worse from Nancy? Camille didn’t think so.

  “Well, have a good evening then settling in. See you tomorrow.” With pursed lips, she squeezed out a smile for Camille, then turned and left the library.

  “What kind of freak show did you send me to, dear Lord?”

  There was a reason Camille disliked people so much. The two people she’d have to work with supported it. People didn’t care about each other. They were ego-centric and narcissistic. She’d make sure to avoid speaking with them as much as possible. And then she’d find a way to get off this damnable island, back to where she belonged.

  She trudged back downstairs to finish up her work. Just to be sure there would be no funny business she called out, “No more mischief around here tonight. You hear me, Mr. I Think I’m a Baddass? Go chase your tail or whatever you mean spirits normally do. But the nice one, I’ll call you Sweetie, you can stay and keep me company if you like.”

  Shutting down the computers was next on her list of chores to be done before turning out the lights and leaving. But these intriguing experiences piqued her curiosity. What kind of history surrounded this place? What kinds of secrets lay buried within the walls of such a long-standing structure? Finding the answers to these questions would shed much light on today’s disturbances. She shut down all but one computer, hers, and got to work.

  Her overstuffed backpack could wait, and the rest of her belongings were coming over in two days. She’d gotten lucky and her five boxes of “can’t-do-withouts” were able to be lumped in with some other goods on a moving van. Nancy would have to do without her for a day. Poor thing.

  When she typed in the library’s name on its catalog’s search, nothing came up. No books, magazines, or newspapers. She opened another tab and searched the internet. “Whoa, talk about a history,” she muttered. A page’s worth of articles popped up. A mixture of amazement and annoyance tangled within her. “Now, that’s odd. Why doesn’t the library have anything, but the internet does? Sweetie, are you thinking what I’m thinking? This here library is censoring itself. What exactly is it trying to cover up?”

  Camille stared at the screen, flummoxed. No wonder Shelter Island Library purposefully kept its name out of its catalog. A murder/suicide happened in the basement! That could definitely spell disaster for business. Seems a couple of librarians, John Stalworthy and Betina Graves, were both married to other people and conducted an illicit affair for months using the basement as their hideaway. He wanted them to divorce their spouses so they could marry each other. She didn’t. He went psychotic, killed her, and then shot himself in the head. She died instant
ly while he lingered on for a day before letting go and joining her in death.

  “Wow, Sw…Betina. I’m so sorry it ended this way. I’m figuring it’s you helping me out here. And I guess the scary jerk is John. Well, don’t worry. You have a friend in me. As for John, he better watch his manners from now on or I’m gonna get someone to come and shoo him away for good.”

  Strangely, she felt a pressure on her left shoulder, as though someone had given her a reassuring pat. “Jesus!” She gasped and bounded out of her seat, brushing off whatever had touched her. “Putting books away for me is one thing. Touching me, now that’s something else completely.” Sticking an authoritative finger in the air, she wagged it angrily. “Don’t ever do that again. If you understand me, make some kind of sound.”

  Three light taps immediately followed her request. “Holy mother of….” She twirled around a couple of times, trying to locate the sound, but couldn’t. “I think it’s time for me to head on home now. Yes, that’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll just turn off my computer, the lights, and I’m outta here. This is just nuts. Lots to digest in one day. Lots.”

  Not waiting for her screen to go dark, Camille turned off all the lights and dashed up the stairs to lock the back door. She turned off the lights for the main level and locked the front door. The air outside was a subtle mixture of warmth and then sudden cool breezes. She breathed it in and slowly let it out, forcing the tension to release her body from its stranglehold. What had she stepped into with this transfer? Nobody warned her about Nancy. No one bothered to mention the murder in the basement or its ghosts. Didn’t anyone have the least bit of loyalty or compassion?

  Walking back to her house, she found she wasn’t alone on the streets. Couples and singles were out having a stroll, walking their dogs, or shedding their calories from dessert with jogging. She supposed she might become one of them soon. Exercise and good health were important to her. Her only vice were McDonald’s French Fries. She laughed out loud as she recalled trying to persuade her professor to allow a study be conducted on the addictive nature of those beastly things. Of course, she’d said no, but Camille remained convinced that a secret ingredient held the key to her addiction.