He opened his mouth. Closed it. His shoulders dropped. “I was going to ask you about Dewey.”
“You were?”
He pulled a small rubber squeak toy shaped like a fish out of his pocket. “I saw this and thought he might like it.”
“Oh, thank you.” I stuffed the fish into my pocket. It squeaked. “And he’s . . . um . . . good. Putting on weight. I need to go.” I hurried down the steps marked “Employees Only” and said a prayer of thanks when he didn’t follow me.
Downstairs, a small crowd had gathered around the vault’s thick double doors. Flossie was already inside. She and Charlie had spent the morning tackling last-minute tasks to make sure everything was ready. Delanie noticed me first. She gave me a wide smile. Hubert Crawford, the president of Cypress’s museum board, thrust two thumbs up. He nudged Lottie Hayworth, who held up one of the historical romances that I had already lent her. “This is wonderful, dear. I’ve finished this one and am ready to check out another,” she whispered.
Tori spotted me. “There you are. I was worried something had happened.” She wrapped her hand around my arm and pulled me to the front of the group.
“Where have you been?” I whispered to her.
“Around.” Her right hand was wrapped in a makeshift bandage.
“What happened?” For the first time in our friendship, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Nothing.” She hastily hid her hand behind her back. “We can talk later. Right now, you have a library to open.”
Charlie gave me an encouraging nod. I cleared my throat before saying, “I’m not one for making speeches. But since today is an extremely important day for this town, I’m going to make an exception. As you know, I have devoted my life to our library. I’ve done so because I firmly believe in the power of books and how essential they are to our lives. While I understand the reason behind the changes that are taking place upstairs, I do not agree with the outcome. Removing physical books from a library is like removing a beating heart from a man. The heart is the driving force that keeps our bodies alive.”
I suddenly thought of Duggar and Luke. Duggar was the driving force at the heart of the town’s redevelopment efforts. Mayor Goodvale had hinted that Luke would take over that role. Did Tori see Luke as a threat to her coffee shop?
“I . . . um . . .” I’d forgotten what I was saying.
The police would never suspect her of murder. They had no way of knowing she was at the library the morning Duggar was killed.
“Um . . .” What was I going to do?
I looked out at the familiar faces of my book-loving friends. They were here because I’d rebelled against Duggar’s grand plans. I’d acted so out of character that I still could hardly believe it myself. Had Tori also done something drastic to save her coffee shop?
“To quote someone who has had to fight for access to books and education from a very young age, Malala Yousafzai. She said, ‘Let us remember: One book, one pen, one child, and one teacher can change the world.’ And with that, let us open these doors and change our corner of the world.”
There was a smattering of quiet applause as Tori pushed the double doors open.
The familiar smell of mildew, dust, and paper—scents that had been erased from the library upstairs—flavored the air in the secret bookroom. It was as comforting as the aroma of chocolate chip cookies baking in my grandmother Mimsy’s oven.
Dewey stood at the threshold. His tail held high, he greeted everyone who came into our secret bookroom with a soft meow.
During the past week, we had added several of the shelving units that the city workers had carried down to the basement for storage. The walls were covered with books and there were four additional aisles of books. We had a popular fiction section, a children’s section, and a large nonfiction section. I’d even created a local documents area in the far-right corner.
My fellow booklovers cooed happily when they entered the room. They pulled books from the shelves, piling them in their arms.
“The collection isn’t as extensive as what we once had,” Ashley Morgan, one of our younger patrons, mused. “But it is something. A start.”
“A blessing. I’m so happy you took matters into your own hands,” Gary Larsen, the lawyer my mother had hired to represent me, whispered. He was holding a tower of books that looked as if it might topple over at any minute. I showed him to the desk where he could check them out.
We still didn’t have a computer. Flossie manned the desk. She pulled a card from a pocket in the front flap, wrote down who checked out the book on the line, and then slipped a stamped “return by” book slip into the pocket. The public lapped up the nostalgic feeling.
“It’s like stepping back in time,” Hubert Crawford remarked. “I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done.”
I thanked him for his support. We planned to be open whenever possible. I’d sneak down to work the stacks when I could, and Flossie had volunteered to work in the secret bookroom whenever she was at the library to write. And if no one was available to staff the desk, the patrons could check themselves out on an honor system. Setting up the bookroom this way seemed safe enough. In all the years that I’d worked at the library, I’d never seen Mrs. Farnsworth come down into the basement. If something needed to be done down here, she’d always send me to complete the task. Anne viewed the basement as a place where only the maintenance staff ventured. And the small maintenance staff supported what I’d been doing down here. Three of them were here today checking out books.
“Please, remember, we’re a rogue library,” Flossie cautioned each patron at the desk. “If discovered, the town will likely make us close down. You are welcome to invite your neighbors, but only if you trust they can keep a secret. You know whom you can tell. They’re the same ones who’ll take a recipe to the grave before sharing it.”
As we neared the end of the hour, the bookroom had mostly cleared out. A few residents were still wandering up and down our short stacks, collecting books to take home or browsing the reference section area.
“Charlie told me what happened up there.” Flossie pointed to the ceiling. “Why would anyone want to hurt the mayor’s boy? He only moved home a few weeks ago. Kind of soon to be stirring up that much trouble.”
“How did he hear about Luke’s attack?” I asked. Charlie was across the room, flipping through the pages of an old yellowed volume of Sherlock Holmes mysteries. “I thought he was helping you all morning.”
“He left for about an hour after taking a phone call. Said he wanted to look around upstairs.”
“I didn’t see him upstairs.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She leaned forward over the desk. “I think he was lying. I think he went to deal with whatever that phone call was about.”
“You don’t think the call involved Tori?” I couldn’t stop thinking about her bandaged hand and how she’d tried to hide it.
“Honey”—she shook her head—“I don’t know what’s going on.”
“What are you talking about? It looks serious,” Tori asked.
“Luke,” I answered.
“You,” Flossie said at the same time.
“Me and Luke?” Tori shuddered. “That boy is too young for me. And too skinny.”
“You do know someone attacked him?” I demanded.
“Yeah, I heard. Everyone’s heard.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Where did you go this morning? What happened to your hand?” I pressed.
“This?” She eased her bandaged hand out from behind her back. “It’s nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, there’s no reason you can’t tell us what happened to it.” I hated feeling distrustful. Tori was my best friend.
“I—” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Wait. You just said you were talking about me and Luke? You don’t think that I hi
t him?” She shook her bandaged fist at me. “Why would I want to hit that scrawny little guy?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because the town is trying to sell your shop to a tech company?” I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to pretend my feelings weren’t hurt.
She snorted. “Yeah, I’m angry about that. Duggar had no right to call Perks a blight. And anyhow, I know how to punch a guy without hurting my hand. I—” She shook her bandaged hand at me again. “Wait a minute. Where did you hear about Duggar’s plans for Perks?”
“Certainly not from you.” I half turned away from her.
“Who told you?” Tori pressed.
“Betty told me.”
“That pointy-nosed tea spiller? She might call herself a reporter, but she’s nothing more than a big-mouthed gossipmonger. She’d do well to keep her mouth shut about my business, if she knows what’s good for her.”
“Shhh . . . ,” Flossie admonished, waving her hands like twin stop signs. “Now is not the time to go slinging threats around, not unless you’re looking to park your butt in a jail cell.”
Tori closed her eyes and huffed.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were having trouble?” I asked, pitching my voice low.
“You really have to ask? It’s because you had enough to worry about with the changes to the library, Tru. The trouble at my shop was nothing I couldn’t handle on my own.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. I started to tell her that she didn’t need to do these things on her own, that I was there to help her. Always.
“Y’all can sing Kumbayah later,” Flossie said. “Now hug and make up. There are more serious matters we need to discuss. Like, who in blazes is that guy?”
“Who?” I looked around and only saw friendly faces.
Flossie shrugged. “Funny. There was a guy standing right there staring at us. But he’s—poof—vanished.”
“Seeing ghosts again?” Tori nudged Flossie’s shoulder. “Instead of wondering about our quiet patrons, I think we need to talk about Luke Goodvale getting beat up. Who would do something like that? And why?”
“Anne has a motive,” I said.
Tori sighed long and loud. “Tru, you certainly have a chip on your shoulder when it comes to that girl. Sure, Luke is a scrawny guy, but I can’t picture petite Anne beating on our mayor’s boy.”
“Why not?” I fisted my hands on my hips. “Women are just as capable as men.”
“Often more capable,” Tori agreed. “But—”
“But nothing.” It was easier to suspect Anne of wrongdoing than to wonder about why my best friend continued to change the subject instead of telling me what had happened to her hand. “Anne had expected to get full credit for what she’s done to our library. But, instead, Mayor Goodvale showered all of his praise on his son’s head. He didn’t even mention her name. Not once. You should have seen her. She looked angry enough to beat someone senseless.”
“If that’s the case, then why didn’t Luke identify his attacker?” Tori asked.
“Did you see anything?” Flossie asked Tori before I could.
She started to say something but stopped herself. Her delicate brows creased as she frowned. “No. But the library was crowded. There were people at the opening I’d never seen before. And I know pretty much everyone in town. Don’t forget how Number One was on the town council and was a professional politician. He taught me the value of staying connected with the community.”
Her first ex-husband currently held a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives. While Tori had enjoyed his political aspirations and playing hostess at countless parties and fundraising events, she had not approved of his willingness to jump in bed with anyone who might advance his career, which was what had ultimately led to the end of their marriage.
“You think an outsider attacked Luke?” I asked.
Tori shrugged.
I wasn’t convinced. I explained to them how Luke had told the police that he was attacked from behind even though all of his injuries were on his face. “Why would he do that? I’ll tell you why: because he’s scared. Anne is a killer, and she’s downright scary when she’s angry.”
“I agree with you about one thing,” Flossie said. “It does sound like he’s too scared to talk. But let me give you an alternative reason for his fear. He saw Duggar’s killer that day at the library. And the killer—who might not be Anne—is trying to silence him.”
“No, no, no,” I protested. “That sounds more like a plot from a thriller than real life. Besides, he couldn’t have seen anything that morning. He was with his father at the time of Duggar’s murder.”
“What are the three of you whispering about over here?” Charlie asked. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Something good, I imagine.”
“We’re talking about how good you look in your suit,” Tori lied. She wrapped her arm around his. She nearly wrapped her entire body around him. “Did you have it specially made for your body?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. I was in Hong Kong two years ago.” While he told an amusing story about how he’d accidentally ordered a three-piece custom suit when trying to ask for directions to his hotel, I watched a stout man with huge arms and thinning black hair walk through the children’s section. Was that the stranger Flossie had seen? He headed toward the back corner where the local records were shelved.
“Best mistake I’ve ever made,” Charlie concluded. He ran his hands down the side seams of the suit jacket. “Fits better than any of my Burberry suits.”
“Excuse me.” I skirted around both Tori and Flossie. Tori was giggling like a smitten schoolgirl while Flossie was trading stories with Charlie, telling him about the time she and her husband had lived in Hong Kong.
I followed the stranger and found him in the back corner of the room flipping through our only copy of the local phone book. “May I help you?”
He turned toward me, sneered, and returned to flipping through the phone book. His back was slightly hunched, but instead of implying weakness, the hunch made his wide shoulders appear even wider.
He wasn’t someone I’d ever seen at the library. And he had the kind of face one remembered. After dark. In nightmares.
Who could have invited him, a stranger, to our bookroom? I suppose he could have been someone’s relative or friend who had tagged along for the opening.
“Are you new in town? Perhaps I can help you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
This time he didn’t even look in my direction. He grunted and then ripped a page right out of the phone book.
“Hey!” I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. He hadn’t even ripped the page out cleanly. The jagged edges taunted me. “You . . . you can’t do that.”
He dropped the phone book on the floor and took a step toward me.
I suppose I should have felt afraid. But seeing the phone book on the ground with its cover bent and then seeing him crumple the torn page before stuffing it into his jeans pocket ignited a rage inside me. “Sir, if you can’t treat our collection with care, you will need to leave. Immediately.”
His lip curled as if amused. “No one tells me—”
Someone behind me cleared his throat. The man froze. His gaze shifted past my shoulder.
“Was leaving anyhow,” he grumbled as he lumbered like an enormous raccoon down the aisle.
I whirled around to see who had frightened that horrible man and found Charlie with a strange smile on his face.
“Do you know him?” I demanded.
“Know him?” Charlie crossed his arms over his chest.
“Who is he? He ruined the library’s phone book. What kind of monster does that?”
He sighed. “He shouldn’t be here,” he said and started to walk away.
“But who is he?” I followed him. Clearly, he knew the man. “What is he doing down
here, in the library’s secret bookroom? How did he find out about this place? I need to—”
He grabbed my arm with a startling jolt. “Don’t pursue this, Tru. Don’t ask about Grandle. Don’t even think about him. When it comes to guys like that, a ruined phone book is the least of your concerns. If you see him again, walk the other way. Do you understand me?”
No, I didn’t. I didn’t understand any of this. But his grip had tightened, and quite honestly, he was scaring me. So I nodded.
“Good.” His hands dropped to his side. “I need to get back to my shop.” He turned and left me standing there feeling too stunned to run after him. I had to wonder, yet again, what was happening to our peaceful small town.
It seemed as if it was just yesterday when you knew the people around you. You knew their parents and their grandparents too. You didn’t have to lock your doors. Now, there were robberies and murders and vicious attacks. If this was progress, I didn’t want any part of it.
Chapter Eighteen
After the library had closed for the day, I went down to the bookroom to collect Dewey and turn off the lights. I’d told Mrs. Farnsworth that I’d leave through the basement’s back door. Ever since I’d started sneaking Dewey into work with me, I’d been leaving through the back exit. At first, Mrs. Farnsworth had acted suspicious. Now, it was simply odd behavior from her otherwise efficient assistant librarian.
When my kitty saw me, he gave a happy meow and jumped into a travel carrier that looked like an oversized tote bag. I’d taken him to the town’s vet the Saturday after finding him. She’d confirmed that Dewey was indeed a male cat. She deemed him a healthy one-year-old tabby, although quite underweight.
The Broken Spine Page 13
