Like a Charm

by Candace Havens

  The next day, thanks to my somewhat devious nature, I was able to sneak out of the house before my parents came back from their morning hike.

  Deciding the library was the best place to hide out, I stopped by The Bakery for a warm croissant, coffee, and a sandwich for later. A light snow fell and it was cold enough that it stuck to the ground. Soon Sweet would be a winter wonderland.

  I gobbled down the pastry and went in search of the file on the computer about the librarian’s duties. While I really had no intention of becoming a librarian, I would try to keep things running. That is, while I searched for a loophole in the will.

  When I opened the document, I saw that it was long—almost twenty pages. I sighed. I knew being a librarian was harder than it looked, but there was everything from emptying the return boxes to shelving books to developing community programs to consider.

  “I had no idea,” I whispered to no one in particular and was surprised when, for once, no one answered back. Maybe the dead people were taking a break, but I didn’t think I could be that lucky.

  One of the main databases Mrs. Canard used to look up research was LexisNexis. I booted up the homepage and tried to think of something to search. I typed in Caleb Price, just for fun, as he was still very much on my mind.

  Thirteen hundred sources came up, including several for AP photos.

  Wow. There must be a lot of Caleb Prices around.

  I clicked on the first link, to a Dallas business journal. There was Caleb’s picture alongside his article about insider trading and how his investigation broke the story.

  It was well written and decisive. The article noted his life had been threatened more than once for messing with some high-powered people. He’d led the police in the right direction and all of the criminals were in jail.

  I spent the next three hours reading articles that covered everything from wars around the world to starving children to corrupt businessmen.

  Caleb was a brilliant writer, and I knew nothing about him. I’d spent the last few days with the man and he was a complete enigma. Carpenter, schmarpenter. He was a highly respected journalist.

  I picked up the phone and called Sam.

  He didn’t answer his cell, so I left him a message to call me.

  Each link I clicked on frightened me a little more. The man I’d fallen for constantly put his life in danger in the pursuit of the truth.

  Then there was the glamorous side of his life. Not only was he deemed the hottest bachelor in Dallas, he was named one of the top ten in the country.

  I put my chin in my hands. What did he see in me, a boring lawyer?

  There were pictures of him with supermodels on his arm and in the company of a bevy of actresses and heiresses. He smiled, and he was gorgeous, but in the photos the grin never quite reached his eyes.

  Now I knew why even when he was laughing, there was an aura of sadness about him. He’d seen things most of us only read about in newspapers or magazines.

  Caleb Price was a complicated package, and for the life of me, I didn’t understand why he was hanging out in Sweet helping a friend’s sister.

  Maybe she’s more than a friend.

  I sighed. He’d been spending most of his time with me, but she’d been out of town.

  My cell rang.

  “Kira, what’s up?” Sam was on the line.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whined, though I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

  “About?”

  “Caleb?” I added.

  “Um, you’re going to have to bring me up to speed on the conversation. I’m lost.”

  “You didn’t tell me he’s some big-time investigative reporter or that he’s man of the year. The man dates supermodels, for God’s sake.”

  Sam laughed and it made me angry.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I can hear that. Listen, I didn’t think about it. I just met the guy. I knew he wrote for a living, but I really don’t know that much about him. He’s nice, seems to adore you. I think he’s in Sweet to kind of get away from that celebrity hype. The guy’s been in Kuwait, Iraq, Bosnia, the Sudan, and everywhere else in the world where there’s been a war. He likes it here because it’s quiet. What’s the big deal?”

  Men.

  “The big deal is—what is wrong with him? Why the heck is a guy that perfect hanging out with me?”

  “Hey, he’s a nice guy, Kira. Just because he likes you doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with him.” He paused. “Well…”

  “Don’t go there,” I snarled.

  “I’m just saying…” He had the nerve to laugh.

  “I’m done with you. Go take care of your sick people.”

  “Man, touchy. Listen, if you want, I’ll check around town and see what people have to say about him. Have you seen that witch he’s helping? Geez, she’s hot. Maybe you guys could set us up on a date.”

  “I’m hanging up now before I say something very nasty.” I pressed the off button.

  If I was in love, I had to make myself fall out of it before Caleb came back. Simple. It probably wasn’t love at all. I mean, who falls in love on a first date? The whole idea was insane.

  No more Caleb. My focus needed to be on the library and figuring out what to do about that will. I didn’t have time for some relationship that probably didn’t even really exist. I was some port in the storm for the guy, an interesting sidebar during his stay in Sweet.

  I felt foolish. Time to get to work, Kira. I sat and made a list of everything I needed to do at the library.

  I’d do whatever it took to push that man out of my brain.

  * * *

  Cool Guys to Obsess Over Instead of Caleb

  Jude Law

  Cary Grant (dead, but cute)

  Paul Newman (old, but cute)

  Paul Walker

  Hugh Jackman

  Matthew Fox

  Steve Carell

  Paul Blackthorne

  Hugh Grant

  Hugh Laurie

  Hugh Dancy (I seem to have a thing for Hughs)

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  She did her work with the thoroughness of a mind which reveres details and never quite understands them.

  BABBITT

  By Lewis, Sinclair, 1885–1951

  Call #: F-LEW

  Description: 392 p.; 22cm

  I’ve always had the greatest respect for Mrs. Canard, but it doubled over the last week. The woman must have worked nonstop for the last thirty years. Being a librarian is way tougher than I ever imagined.

  In addition to answering questions over the phone and in person, most of which people could have used Google for, there was an extraordinarily long list of tasks that must be performed each day. From cataloguing and reviewing titles to researching and managing receipts of purchased items. Then there are adult and children’s programs, and maintaining the collections. This is a private library and she had several collections from the literary and art worlds.

  Overwhelming, to say the least.

  I hit the floor running every morning and fell into bed every night since opening the library on Monday. I don’t know what made me do it. After the girls from the high school had come in, it felt ridiculous to keep the library from the town residents just because I couldn’t make up my mind.

  And I needed to stay busy.

  The headhunter, Cynthia Jordan, called daily and finally I told her I wouldn’t be making any decisions until the end of the month. Once I said the words, I felt better. I told her that someone close to me had died and I needed to take care of family business before I took on a new position. Besides, no one starts a new job three weeks before Christmas. She wasn’t happy with the news, but I was firm in my determination.

  Over the last few days I’d helped kids with homework, taught adults learning to read, and tried very hard not to notice the strange things that were happening around me, including hearing a yippy little invisible dog and his huge wolf-sounding pal.


  A couple of times I swore I saw Mr. Greenblatt, who had been my imaginary friend when I was a kid. He’d been the pharmacist in town and always snuck me a sucker at the drugstore when my mom wasn’t looking. When he died, I didn’t really understand what had happened and my imagination had turned him into a friend.

  But twenty-five-year-olds don’t have imaginary friends.

  Monday, when I walked in, I saw several shadows in the shapes of people. Though I wanted to scream—out of frustration, not fright—I didn’t. I closed my eyes and wished them away. When I opened my eyes again, they were gone.

  Sort of gone, that is. One day at lunch, I thought I saw a hand around the teapot. I blinked and it was gone.

  Then there were the books. If I couldn’t find something that was listed as checked in, it would suddenly appear on the desk. I’d turn to look at the computer to make sure I was right, and when I’d glance back at the desk, there would lie the book I’d been looking for. More than a little freaky, but I’ve done my best to pretend I don’t notice these things.

  On Wednesday I found several boxes of Christmas decorations and wondered if I could force myself into the same giddiness that seemed to have overtaken the entire town. There were garlands and lights strung in every window and on the lampposts. Festively dressed trees with lights sparkling, and plastic snowmen, Santas, and candy canes were everywhere.

  Mr. McGregory and his Beautify the Town team put up a large wreath between the gargoyles over the front door of the library and strung garlands down the long columns.

  “We take care of the outside, you do the inside,” the elderly man informed me.

  I never did holiday decorating for my apartment in Atlanta, but when the kids came for the Homework Help session Wednesday afternoon and asked when I was putting up the tree, I hunted down the boxes.

  After they read and finished their homework, they helped me decorate. I baked cookies and we broke the number-one library rule of silence and played Christmas carols on the small CD player I’d brought down from the loft.

  I laughed so hard my stomach hurt as the kids danced around with the garlands and made earrings out of ornaments. Even the three teens who had been studying for midterms were into it. They helped me string the lights and hang the ornaments on the higher branches of the tree.

  “My mom always has to do everything herself,” complained Tanny. She was a bright girl who’d spent many afternoons here studying for her classes since she’d come with her friends that one Saturday. “I never seem to be able to do anything right when she’s around.”

  She reminded me a lot of myself at her age, all gangly arms and legs, and hair so wild nothing could tame it. If we became better friends, I’d someday share my secrets of the gel-mousse combo to de-frizz. I squeezed her shoulders. “Well, you must have been watching her carefully all these years, because you are doing a great job.”

  Nathan Marks, who always sat at Tanny’s table, but seldom did his homework, held up a shiny gold star. “Can I put this on the top?”

  “Sure.”

  He jumped up onto the front counter and placed it gently on top of the tree.

  Tanny ran around and flipped the switch and all of the lights came on. Everyone clapped.

  I sighed. “It is pretty.” We’d set up the nine-foot tree by the entry, next to the large counter. It meant I’d have to walk around the right side for the next few weeks, but it was worth it.

  “It feels like Christmas now,” Tanny whispered.

  Holding my hands behind my back, I agreed.

  We finished hanging the garlands in front of the counters and the smaller children completed their paper snowflakes for the tree.

  At six the parents arrived to pick up the kids and suddenly it all seemed very quiet. I’d just turned off the music and the lights when I heard whispering.

  “Who’s there?” I flipped the switch again.

  “We were just saying everything looks beautiful. You did a wonderful job,” the same husky voice I’d heard at the ashram said.

  “Where are you?” The disembodied voices still freaked me out, but not to the point where I wanted to wet myself every time I heard them.

  He chuckled. “Right in front of you. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see me soon. This thing happens in stages. You’ll be able to see a few of us now and then, or bits of us. Before you know it, you won’t be able to tell the living from the dead.”

  I cringed. I’d been seeing shadows the last few days, usually out of the corners of my eyes. “I’m going upstairs. You guys stay down here. I don’t care if this happens in stages or not, I’m not ready.”

  I heard several people laughing as I ran up the steps, and I let the break room door slam. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to stay upstairs when I knew about all the strangeness below. Honestly, it was the only place I had any real privacy. My parents’ business was thriving and if I left my room at their house I’d bump into strangers. At least here I could run around in my pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and not worry about it.

  Most nights I was so tired, I fell asleep instantly. I could only hope tonight was one of those nights.

  I’d just settled into my favorite fluffy reading chair with Jodi Thomas’s latest. I’m not a big fan of historical romance, but she writes about Texas and has characters that grab me by the heart and don’t let go. Soon after page five, I heard whimpering.

  “What in the world?”

  The sound grew louder as I neared the landing. Down at the bottom of the stairs was a huge dog, more of a horse really.

  He pawed the first step and let out a low howl.

  “How did you get in here? I think I would have noticed a dog the size of a small horse entering the library.” I didn’t know what to do. “Are you okay?” Like he can answer, Kira. “Um, are you hungry?” He pawed the step again. “I don’t have much experience with animals. You aren’t lunging for my throat or trying to kill me, so you’re probably just hungry. You want to come up?”

  The dog yelped and bounded up the stairs. He circled the large rug in front of the couch twice and plopped down with a happy sigh.

  “Well, okay.” I reached down and patted his shaggy head. The gray hair was much softer than it looked. I thought about calling animal control, but they would have been closed. The dog seemed perfectly happy to sleep on my rug. I couldn’t shove it back outside, where the temperature was below freezing.

  I put water and some leftover stew in bowls on the floor just in case the horse was hungry.

  I sat back in my chair and watched the massive ball of fur sleep.

  Where did you come from and how did you get in here? It snored and I laughed.

  I picked up my book and lost myself in the story about a rugged Texas Ranger and the woman he wanted.

  Several chapters later I looked up and the dog had moved.

  “Where did you go?” I searched the apartment and then the library downstairs. The animal was nowhere to be found.

  Great, now I’m seeing ghost dogs. I need serious help.

  * * *

  Favorite Dog Names

  Nike

  Spike

  Noodles

  Zorro

  Scooby Doo

  Tipper

  Bobo

  Max

  Jetson

  Dixie

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  Life isn’t long enough for love and art.

  THE MOON AND SIXPENCE

  By Maugham, Somerset (William Somerset),

  1874–1965

  Call #: F-MAU

  Description: xi, 220 p.; 22cm

  I was at the front desk, searching for what year the Beatles’ White Album was released, when a vase of deep red roses came into my peripheral vision.

  Looking up, I saw a hand holding a Waterford crystal vase with at least a dozen of the beautiful flowers. My eyes trailed up the arm to Caleb’s gorgeous face.

  I’m mad at him, I reminded myself. He ca
n’t just woo me with a bunch of flowers. I held up a finger and whispered, “One minute.”

  He nodded.

  “Sir, the album was released in 1968,” I said to the guy on the phone.

  “Aha! 1968! Sucka,” he yelled to someone on the other end of the line. “Give me my twenty bucks.” And he hung up.

  Turning to Caleb again, I bit the inside of my lip. I was confused. More than that, I was a little hurt that he couldn’t share one of the biggest parts of his life with me—his job.

  We hadn’t known each other that long, but that didn’t give him an excuse to hide something so significant.

  He leaned in to kiss me, but I pulled back.

  Frowning, he pushed the flowers to the side. “What’s wrong?”

  Just then the door banged open and a group of kids from the junior high wandered in.

  “Library closes in ten,” I reminded them.

  “Yes, ma’am, Ms. Smythe,” said Jason, a twelve-year-old dark-haired boy who had been spending a great deal of time in the arts section.

  I heard the boys snickering.

  “Kira, tell me what’s wrong.” Caleb put his palm down on the desk.

  This time I frowned and put a finger to my lips, shushing him. “Later.” I pointed to the back, where the children had gone.

  Caleb didn’t look happy, but he walked off toward the break room.

  Two minutes later Jason had made his selection and brought it to the desk. It was a book about Rubens and featured his baroque paintings of women and angels.

  “Excellent choice. I had no idea you loved art so much. I’m especially fond of some of his nudes,” I said nonchalantly.

  At this Jason and the other three boys gasped.

  “Painting the human body can be difficult, and Rubens made figures seem so lush and romantic,” I continued seriously. “And the detail, the colors. Well, their beauty is beyond words.”

  They all looked down at the ground as if their shoelaces were doing a fantastical dance.