Murder at the Library

CHAPTER 1 - FLIP-FLOPS IN THE SNOW

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I muttered to myself as I circled the airport parking lot for what felt like the millionth time. The flight from Minneapolis landed twenty minutes ago, and the VIP I was picking up was probably wondering why no one was there to greet him.

I pleaded with the universe, “Please don’t let him call my grandmother to ask where his ride is.”

Grandma was a stickler for a number of things. Never dog-ear book pages, don’t even think about tracking dirt on newly mopped floors, and keep your elbows off the table. But the worst sin of all? Well, that was being late. Not being on time was practically tantamount to committing murder.

Okay, perhaps I’m being a bit extreme. I don’t really think my grandmother would compare being tardy to killing someone, but it was still a pretty serious crime in her eyes.

No wonder my stomach was churning. If Grandma found out that I hadn’t been at the arrivals gate well before the plane landed, she’d be quietly disappointed in me.

The problem with quiet disappointment is that it can linger. Guilt smolders inside, threatening to overwhelm you. But my grandmother doesn’t do loud, showy displays of emotion. No one in my overly reserved Norwegian-American family really does. To be honest, there are times when I think a heated exchange might be preferable to keeping it all inside. You have a blow up, clear the air, and then you move on.

A couple walking across the parking lot distracted me from thinking about how people deal with their emotions differently.

“Here we go,” I said, doing a fist pump. “The parking gods have heard my plea.”

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. It was taking these two forever to clear the snow off their sedan. When the last snowflake was finally banished from their windshield, I inched forward, ready to slip into their spot once they pulled out. But just as I was about to claim victory, a blue pickup truck cut in front of me and swooped into the parking space.

I’d recognize that battered, rusted-out piece of junk anywhere. It belonged to Bobby Jorgenson, a guy I’d gone to school with. He had a reputation for causing trouble, and was certainly causing me some now. I laid on the horn.

“I was waiting for that spot,” I yelled when he got out of his truck.

“Sorry, Thea.” Bobby’s cocky grin indicated that he didn’t feel any remorse whatsoever. He jammed a gray beanie on top of his shaggy mullet, then said, “Gotta go. Don’t want to be late.”

Bobby ran toward the terminal, darting between cars and jumping over barricades like someone who was trying to elude the police. My parking nemesis was no stranger to evading law enforcement. Whenever there was a report of petty theft, vandalism, or disorderly behavior in our small town of Why, Bobby was usually the suspect. Unfortunately, this afternoon the police were nowhere to be found, and I was stuck circling the parking lot yet again.

Unlike Bobby, I didn’t usually flaunt the rules. But this was an emergency. So, I pulled into the loading zone and said a silent prayer that the airport security guards wouldn’t tow my car.

I had to elbow my way inside the small terminal, which was insane. This was a small, regional airport in western North Dakota with three or maybe four flights a day. Why did it look like half the county was here?

Someone bumped into me and I inadvertently jostled the older woman in front of me. The petite lady had been standing on her tiptoes, trying to see over the people in front of her. She twisted her head to look back at me.

“Sorry, ma’am,” I said.

She smiled good-naturedly. “Can’t be helped. We’re packed in here tighter than the bras in my underwear drawer.”

Okay, that was an interesting tidbit about this woman’s unmentionables that I didn’t need to know. “Why are there so many people here, anyway?” I asked.

“Don’t you read the newspaper?” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “We have a celebrity arriving here, right in our very own county.”
I scanned the area. Folks of all ages were humming with excitement, a high school band was tuning up in the corner, and a reporter from the local television station was testing his microphone. I snorted when I saw Bobby Jorgenson poised by the arrivals door, clutching a bouquet of red roses. He’d probably swiped the flowers from the gift shop. He certainly hadn’t been carrying them earlier.

Although my grandmother thought the guy I was picking up was a VIP, I was stunned that anyone else shared her view.

“Wow, I can’t believe everyone is here to see Why’s new library director,” I said.

The older woman gave me a funny look. “Library? What are you talking about?”

“The board of trustees hired a new director for the library,” I said. “His name is Hudson Carter. He’s flying in today. Well actually, he should already be here.”

I scanned the airport terminal. My grandmother had only given me a vague description of what Hudson looked like—in his 30s, dark hair, and above average height. Normally that would have been enough to go on, given how few people flew in and out of the tiny airport on a daily basis. But with this crowd, I wasn’t sure how I was going to spot him.

“We have a library in Why?” The woman shook her head. “I didn’t realize libraries were a thing anymore.”

I bit back a smile. Thank goodness I was here instead of my grandmother. As Why’s former library director, Grandma would not have been amused by the woman’s comment. There would have been a lot of that quiet disapproval going on.

“Yep, we have a library,” I said. “It’s next to the bowling alley.”

“But there’s so much to watch on streaming channels. Why would anyone need to read a book?”

She appeared genuinely perplexed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an uncommon reaction these days. People liked to unwind with their favorite shows rather than immerse themselves in a book. Personally, I did both, but with the caveat that I never watch a movie or TV series based on something I’ve read. No matter how hard they try, the Hollywood versions always disappoint.

Rather than try to convince her that books are worthwhile, I changed the subject. “If you’re not here for the library director, why are you here?”

A huge grin spread across the woman’s face. “The minute I saw on my Instagram feed that Seatrina was going to be here, I made this.” She unfolded a sign and held it up for me to see. Large turquoise letters spelled out, ‘Seatrina.’ Silver glitter flew off the poster board as she waved it enthusiastically in my face.

“Who’s Seatrina?” I asked.

Her jaw dropped. She started to reply when the crowd erupted. Whoops of excitement competed with the high school band’s out-of-tune rendition of ‘Celebration.’

“She’s here,” the woman shrieked repeatedly as she jumped up and down.

I put my hands over my ears to muffle the noise, then looked in the direction of the arrivals gate.  The first thing that drew my attention was the enormous fluorescent green beehive on top of the twenty-something woman’s head. Her eyes were the exact same unnatural color—clearly the work of contacts. It looked like Seatrina was struggling to hold her head up due to the immense size and heft of her hairdo. Or maybe it was the dinner plate-size earrings that were weighing her down.

My eye was drawn next to her sequined halter top, cut-off shorts, and high heels. Apparently, she hadn’t gotten the message that this was February in North Dakota. The minute she got outside, the woman was going to freeze her tush off if she didn’t slip and fall on it first.
Seatrina held up her hands for silence. I was mesmerized by the way the iridescent makeup covering her exposed skin sparkled in the harsh overhead fluorescent lighting.

A hush fell over the room, everyone waiting with bated breath to hear what their idol was going to say. But before she could speak, Bobby pushed his way through the crowd screaming, “I love you, Seatrina. I want to have your babies.”

Everyone roared with laughter. Bobby’s face reddened. “I mean, I want you to have my babies,” he spluttered.

Someone in the back shouted, “No one wants to have your babies, Bobby.”

“Leave the girl alone,” someone else said.

As other people chimed in with rude comments about Bobby’s suitability as a baby daddy, I started to feel sorry for him. But then I remembered how he had stolen my parking spot.

Seatrina took pity on Bobby, squeezing his hand and bestowing a quick kiss on his cheek.
Bobby looked like he was going to faint. “Does that mean you’ll have my babies?” he asked in a squeaky voice.

She looked horrified. “Uh, no. That’s a hard pass.”

A member of Seatrina’s entourage grabbed Bobby’s arm and steered him away. Bobby looked dazed. I guess it’s not every day you offer to impregnate your celebrity idol, only to be turned down in front of a large crowd.
The news reporter called out, “Can you tell us why you’ve decided to take a break from filming and visit the area?”

Filming, huh? So, this Seatrina was some sort of television or movie star. I peered at her more closely, trying to place her, but I came up with zilch.

When Seatrina didn’t answer his initial question, the reporter added, “Do you have connections to the county?”

She cocked her head to one side, as though considering how to answer this. Her beehive was tilted at an odd angle, giving off a leaning tower of Pisa vibe. Not that I’ve ever been to Italy, mind you. While I’ve traveled extensively around the States for work, I’ve never been to Europe. Hopefully, one of these days, I’d take a vacation there.

Seatrina straightened her head before replying to the reporter, her beehive snapping back into place. “No comment,” she said firmly. Gesturing for her entourage to follow, she sashayed out of the terminal.

The party-like atmosphere ramped up as people excitedly compared pictures they had snapped of Seatrina and shared theories about her mysterious appearance in our county. Eventually, folks decided it was time to head home, and the terminal cleared out.

A lone man stood next to the arrivals and departures screen. He was dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. Clearly another person clueless about winter weather in North Dakota.

Assuming he was a lost member of Seatrina’s entourage, I pointed at the exit. “She went that way.”

He frowned. “She already left?”

“Uh-huh, about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Really? I thought she would have waited for me.” He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, causing some of the curls to stand up at odd angles. “Okay, I guess I’ll have to take a taxi then. Do you know where the baggage claim is?”

“Um, right behind you.” I pointed at the lone carousel. The conveyor belt was slowly whirring around, but it was devoid of any luggage except for one small cardboard box.

“I don’t see my bags.” He looked around. “There must be another carousel around here.”

“No, that’s the only one,” I said. “Maybe your friends took your luggage with them?”

“My friends?”

I bit back a smile. I guess being part of someone’s entourage didn’t necessarily mean everyone was buddy-buddy. Well, at least he was honest about it. “Your colleagues then.”

“Colleagues?” He chuckled. “No, it’s just me and Dr. McCoy.”

“Wait a minute, aren’t you here with Seatrina?”

“Who’s Seatrina?” he asked.

“Honestly, I had never heard of her before today,” I said. “But apparently, she’s famous. But if you’re not with her, then . . .” My voice trailed off as I put two and two together. “Oh, wait a minute, are you the new library director?”

“I am.” He held out his hand. “Hudson Carter.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said as we shook hands. “I’m Thea Olson. Rose Olson’s granddaughter. She sent me to pick you up. But she didn’t say anything about a Dr. McCoy. Is that your wife? Partner?”

Before Hudson could respond, a yowling noise interrupted us. That’s when I noticed a pet carrier on the ground next to the librarian.
Hudson chuckled as he bent down to unlatch the door. A large, fluffy black and white cat raced out, meowing loudly as he inspected his surroundings. Hudson scooped the cat up and presented him to me. “Thea, allow me to introduce you to Why’s new library cat—Dr. McCoy.”

* * *

After I had quickly run outside to unsuccessfully plead with the security guard not to ticket my car, and returned, Hudson went to check on his missing luggage. He left me to get acquainted with Dr. McCoy. The cat was cuddled in my arms, showing me where he liked to be scratched—behind the ears, please—when my phone rang.

“Hi Grandma,” I said, wedging the phone between my shoulder and ear so that I could keep stroking Dr. McCoy. I had a feeling any interruption to my petting services would not be well received.

“Why are you talking on your phone while you’re driving?” my grandmother asked. “You know how dangerous that is.”

“You’re the one who called me,” I pointed out. “And besides, I’m not in the car.”

“Where are you?”

“At the airport, waiting for Hudson.”

“But his plane landed fifty-three minutes ago,” my grandmother said. “You should already be on your way back to Why.”

“There’s been a slight delay,” I said. “Hudson’s luggage didn’t make the connection from Minneapolis. He’s trying to sort it out now.”

“Uff da,” Grandma said, uttering a Norwegian expression of dismay common in these parts. “There aren’t any other flights scheduled today, so he won’t get his bags until tomorrow.”

“I know.” I twisted my head to keep Dr. McCoy from batting my earring, but it didn’t help. The cat was persistent, snaking his paw around my neck and poking at the silver hoop. “Hey now, enough of that.”

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing,” I said to my grandmother while I set Dr. McCoy down. I gave the cat a stern look, warning him to behave. “No wandering off or spitting up hairballs on the floor,” I mouthed.
Dr. McCoy gave me the feline equivalent of a shrug, then proceeded to chew the laces on my Sorel boots.

“It sounds like there’s some sort of commotion going on,” my grandmother said.

I stifled a laugh as Dr. McCoy untied my left boot. “Just the local wildlife.”

“Wildlife? What kind of wildlife could there be at the airport? You’re not making any sense.” Grandma changed the subject, saying, “Since you’re running late, just bring Hudson directly to the library. I don’t think you’ll have time to take him to his lodgings before the reception starts.”

“I still don’t understand why a reception was scheduled the same day Hudson arrived. Couldn’t they have given the poor man some time to settle in first before he meets the library board of trustees and all the other community bigwigs?”

“It wasn’t my decision,” my grandmother said. “I suggested it take place this weekend. The rest of the board agreed, but Thornton insisted it had to be tonight.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he did. That man is so full of himself. I don’t know how you and the others put up with him.” I glanced down to check on Dr. McCoy. I was relieved to find he had lost interest in my shoes and was now curled up by my feet, napping. Turning my attention back to the ill-timed reception, I said, “What I don’t get is why Thornton got to decide when the reception was going to take place. Ivy is the president of the board, not him.”

My grandmother chuckled. “I don’t think Thornton accepted the fact that he lost this past election. He’d won every election for the past ten years. I think he assumed the board would just keep re-electing him. He thought he’d be president for life.”

“He bullied the board into electing him year after year,” I pointed out.

“It helped that he ran unopposed in the past. Thankfully, Ivy had the courage to put her hand up this time.” Grandma sighed. “But despite the fact Thornton lost, he’s still been calling the shots. I hope Ivy can stand up to him going forward.”

“Well, I guess there’s one benefit to having retired,” I said. “Now that you’re not the library director anymore, you don’t have to deal with Thornton.”

There was a long pause before Grandma responded. When she did, her voice sounded wistful. “I’m going to miss it. I know Hudson will do a wonderful job running the library, but it’s still hard to . . .” She cleared her throat, then continued, “Never mind that. Let’s focus on getting Hudson back here in time for the reception.”

I craned my neck, trying to see inside the small office where Hudson was filling out paperwork. “Um, Grandma, we might have another problem.”

I could sense her frowning on the other end of the line. “What kind of problem?”

“Hudson did know this job was in North Dakota, right?”

“Of course, he came here to interview in November.”

“Hmm. Was it by any chance at the beginning of the month? That was when we had that unseasonable heat spell going on.”

“Thea, what’s with your sudden fascination with the weather?” my grandmother asked impatiently.

“The man is wearing shorts and flip-flops,” I blurted out. “I’m not sure he understands how cold it gets here in the winter. It’s like that Seatrina and her entourage. She was wearing a skimpy outfit and the rest of her group were dressed like they were going to spend the day on the beach.”

“Seatrina? Who’s that?”

“Honestly, I don’t have a clue, but everyone else in the county seems to know her.”

“Back up a sec,” Grandma said. “Shorts and flip-flops. Why is Hudson dressed like that?”

“No idea. We didn’t have a chance to discuss it. Hudson wanted to catch the baggage claim guy before the office closed. But the issue is that—”

My grandmother interrupted, saying quickly, “He doesn’t have his luggage so he can’t change clothes. Okay, I see the problem.”

“Yeah, he’ll freeze to death the minute he steps outside.”

“There’s a more serious issue than that. Hudson needs to impress the board, and I don’t think shorts and flip-flops are going to cut it.”

“Why? They already interviewed him,” I said. “They must have been impressed by him, otherwise they wouldn’t have offered him the job.”

“The board members who were at the interview were impressed,” she conceded. “But things have changed since then. Thornton is dead set on firing the poor man, and he’s been busy trying to convince the other board members to go along with him.”

“But Hudson hasn’t even officially started. How can the board fire him already? Why would Thornton even want to do that?”

“It’s complicated, and we don’t have time to get into it.” Grandma took a deep breath, then said, “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Go by the farmhouse and have Hudson borrow one of Grandpa’s suits. From what I remember, they’re about the same size. Then you bring Hudson directly to the reception. I’ll try to keep Thornton and the others distracted in the meantime.”

The door to the office opened, and Hudson walked out clutching a stack of papers in his hands. “It looks like he just finished,” I said to my grandmother. “We’ll be on our way soon.”

“Thea, promise me one thing,” she said. “Don’t tell Hudson what I said. I don’t want him to worry about his job.”

“Sounds like he should be though,” I said.

“I’m sure we can fix it,” Grandma said. “Hudson will never need to know.”

I shook my head at her use of ‘we.’ My grandmother had a way of roping me into helping with all sorts of unpleasant tasks like cleaning out the garden shed—do you have any idea how many spiders live in there?—canning pickled cabbage, and repairing damaged books. One time, she even had me investigate a murder. At least this time, all I had to do was help save someone’s job. How bad could that be?

* * *

“All set?” I asked Hudson. My tone was a little too chipper, which is typically a sign that I’m trying to hide something. Fortunately, Hudson didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss. The last thing I wanted was for him to ask me what was wrong. What would I say? ‘It’s been nice knowing you,’ ‘Don’t get too comfortable here,’ or ‘I hope you have a return ticket to Florida.’
I felt terrible for the guy. Imagine picking up and moving halfway across the country for a job, only to find out your head is on the chopping block upon arrival. How would he feel having to go back home and tell his friends and family that his stint as a library director didn’t work out? Would he be humiliated? Dejected?

Actually, I had an inkling of how he’d feel. I’d left a promising career in Minneapolis eight months ago and returned to my hometown of Why. It’s a small place, so naturally the rumor mill had kicked into overdrive. Speculation about why I had moved back home was rampant. Most people assumed it was because a guy had dumped me. The reality was far more boring—office politics. But who wants to talk about the cutthroat nature of corporate America when you can gossip about people’s love lives instead?

Hudson held up the paperwork. “They said my bags should be on the first flight from Minneapolis tomorrow. They’ll deliver them to the library. I’m all set for toiletries until then, but in terms of clothes—”

I held up my hand. “My grandmother already sorted that for you. She’s arranged for you to borrow something from my grandfather to wear to the reception tonight.”

“Wow, that’s nice of her.”

“Word of warning, Grandpa isn’t exactly known for his stylish clothes. He owns two suits and I think they both date back to the last century. He spent his life working on the farm. So, most of his wardrobe revolves around overalls and hats he picks up at the local feed store.”

“I’m not exactly known for my fashion sense, either. My wife used to buy all my clothes for me, and now that she’s, um . . .” Hudson’s eyes grew moist, then he abruptly looked off into the distance. When he turned back to me, he smiled faintly. “Sorry, it’s hard to talk about it.”
Dr. McCoy rubbed against Hudson’s legs and meowed plaintively, as though he shared his human’s feelings. Hudson scooped the cat up, then said to me, “The past few years have been tough. Your grandmother probably told you about it.”

I shook my head. “Told me about what?”

“Oh, I thought she would have.” Hudson took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “My wife died in childbirth. Losing her and our baby was . . .”

Putting my hand gently on his arm, I said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Hudson was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled. “One of the reasons I was excited to take this job was to escape Coconut Cove. Don’t get me wrong, I love my hometown. But there are so many reminders of my wife and the future we had planned. People mean well, but they’re always asking me how I’m doing. It wasn’t a casual, ‘Hey, how are you?’ either. There’s always an undercurrent to the question, as though they’re assessing my mental state.”

“That must have been tough,” I said.

“Coming here is a fresh start for me,” Hudson’s voice started to crack. “The grief will never go away, but maybe not being in a place where my wife and I had our first date, or going to the beach where we got married, or passing by the hospital where we saw the ultrasound for the first time . . . maybe it will be easier here.”

My stomach twisted in knots. Hudson had been through so much already and now he was going to have to fight Thornton tooth and nail to keep his new job. As I watched Hudson press his face into his cat’s fur, I knew one thing for certain—I was going to do everything I could to make sure Hudson kept his job and his fresh start in North Dakota.


CHAPTER 2- THE DISAPPEARANCE OF PAUL BUNYAN

When Hudson and I walked into the library a couple of hours later, my grandmother was waiting for us in the foyer. Grandma looked polished and well put together as usual, wearing a charcoal colored skirt, a merino wool sweater in a pretty shade of peach, and one of her trademark silk scarves tied around her neck. She started to greet us, but when we took off our coats, she was rendered speechless.

I gave her a nervous smile, then walked over to the coat rack. After pushing aside a long brown wool coat, a bright yellow puffer jacket, and a poncho, I passed Hudson a couple of hangers. As he hung up our coats, my eye was drawn to the rack of free books on the opposite wall. I was intrigued by a book about seashell identification, but I looked back at my grandmother when she spluttered, “Why is Hudson dressed that way? This isn’t a costume party.”

I couldn’t make eye contact with Hudson, otherwise I’d break out laughing. His getup was pretty comical—a pair of my grandpa’s old overalls and a blue plaid flannel shirt, along with the flip-flops Hudson had arrived at the airport wearing. At least it was warmer than the shorts and t-shirt he had on before.

“Why isn’t Hudson wearing one of your grandfather’s suits?” Grandma demanded.

“Well, slight problem,” I said. “Dr. McCoy must have had an upset tummy—”

Hudson held up his hand. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have fed him so many treats while traveling.”

“If I remember correctly, Dr. McCoy is your cat,” Grandma said.

“That’s right. I sent you pictures of him after my interview.” Hudson looked anxious. “Is it still okay if he comes to work with me?”

My grandmother and I exchanged glances. It was a well-known fact that Thornton did not like cats. Actually, ‘not like’ is putting it mildly. He despised them. And since Thornton wanted to fire Hudson, the fact that his cat was going to accompany him to work each day seemed like more ammunition he could use.

“Absolutely. And if anyone says differently, you tell them to talk to me,” Grandma said firmly. Then she turned to me. “What happened to the suit?”

“As soon as we got to the house, Dr. McCoy started exploring. You know how cats are,” I said. Grandma nodded, probably remembering Georgie, my childhood tortoiseshell cat. “Before I knew it, Dr. McCoy had dashed upstairs and into your bedroom. Um . . . well, that’s when he threw up on the suit you had laid out on the bed.”

“I’ll get it dry cleaned,” Hudson said quickly. “Or buy your husband a new one.”

“Don’t worry about it,” my grandmother said gently to Hudson. Despite the fact she and Grandpa didn’t currently have any pets, she’d always had a soft spot for animals. “Where is the good doctor now?”

“He’s in your laundry room,” Hudson said. “Don’t worry. The door is locked. He won’t escape.”

“Don’t be so sure. When cats want to do something, they usually find a way to make it happen.” She chuckled, then turned her attention back to me. “Why didn’t you lend Hudson your grandfather’s other suit? Or at least get something else from the closet?”

“Easier said than done.”

My grandmother waved a hand in Hudson’s direction. “It shouldn’t have been that hard to find him something better to wear than this.”

“Even if there had been anything in the closet, it wouldn’t have fit Hudson. The suit you laid out wouldn’t have worked either. Just look at him.”
As Grandma examined Hudson more closely, she seemed to realize the issue. My grandfather and Hudson weren’t exactly the same size. The overalls Hudson was wearing were at least four inches too short and two sizes too big.

“Hmm . . . I must have misremembered how tall you were.” Grandma frowned, then snapped her head in my direction. “What’s this about there not being clothes in your grandfather’s closet?”

“It was completely empty,” I explained. “The only clothes of Grandpa’s I could find is what Hudson’s wearing. And that was tucked away in the back of a dresser drawer.”

My grandmother furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand. Were we robbed?”

“The only thing missing was Grandpa’s clothes. Not exactly the typical loot that thieves are looking for.”

“At least not the smart ones,” Grandma said. “But it sounds like the type of thing Bobby Jorgenson would do. One of the gals from my book club found Bobby in her kitchen last week, putting a piece of blueberry pie into a plastic container. When she asked him what the heck he was doing, Bobby said that he didn’t want to get crumbs in his truck.”

“Is your friend okay?” Hudson asked.

My grandmother waved her hand in the air. “She’s fine. Bobby does that kind of thing all the time. When my friend threatened to call the police on him, Bobby dropped the pie on the floor and ran out of the house.”

I shook my head. “I doubt if Bobby stole Grandpa’s clothes. Right now, the idiot is probably camped outside of wherever the celebrity Seatrina is staying like a lovesick puppy.”

“You keep mentioning this Seatrina person.” Grandma looked perplexed for a moment, then she got back to business. “Never mind all that. What we need to do is get Hudson inside.” She pointed at his flip-flops. “Couldn’t you have at least gotten him some proper shoes? His toes are blue.”

“His feet are at least two sizes bigger than grandpa’s.”

“Believe me, I tried to cram my feet into a pair of your husband’s boots, but it wasn’t going to happen.” Hudson looked at the double doors which led into the library and frowned. “I can’t go in there dressed like this. What are people going to say?”

“That you have a good sense of humor,” I suggested. “Imagine what a great story this is going to make later.”

My grandmother didn’t look convinced. “Well, it is what it is,” she said with forced brightness.

Hudson took a deep breath, then held the door open for us. For a moment, I thought he was going to flee the scene once Grandma and I had entered. But instead, he followed us inside with more confidence than I could have mustered if I were in his situation.

While growing up, it had felt like I spent as much time at the library as I did at school or at my grandparents’ farmhouse. It was like a second home to me. Now, standing next to Hudson, I tried to see it with fresh eyes.

The main part of the library was known as the ‘Reading Room.’ It had comfortable seating areas, book displays, and public computer kiosks. A large counter where patrons could check out materials and library staff were available to answer questions was located near the entryway. Behind the counter were two offices—one for the library director and one shared by the reference and youth librarians.

Off to the right was what community members affectionately called the ‘Imagination Room.’ The bright, cheerful space housed the children’s collection, as well as an area for teens to gather. I smiled when I saw the welcome banner hanging over the arched entrance to the room. Based on the crooked letters spelling out Hudson’s name, I suspected a group of the elementary kids had made it.

Opposite the Imagination Room was another arched entrance which led to the Collingsworth Wing, a more modern addition to the library dating back to the 1980s. There were rows of bookshelves where the adult collection was housed, racks of periodicals and newspapers, and tables with chairs where you could often find people working. At the back of the Collingsworth Wing was a hallway which led to meeting rooms, restrooms, the staff break room, and a storage room.

I glanced at Hudson and my grandmother. They were talking quietly to each other. From what I could hear, it was a fascinating discussion about the merits of the Dewey Decimal versus the Library of Congress cataloging systems. Fascinating, that is, if you were a librarian, less so if you were a mere mortal.

After the two of them appeared to come to some sort of consensus about how books should be organized, my grandmother led us to the meeting room where the reception was taking place.

“Can I have your attention, please?” she said, her voice carrying across the room with its usual calm authority. After everyone turned in her direction, she continued, “Allow me to present Why’s new library director, Hudson Carter. We’re lucky to have someone of Hudson’s caliber accept this role. He comes to us from Coconut Cove, Florida, where he was the youth librarian. He also has extensive volunteer experience, including serving as a volunteer lifeguard and on the board of the local food bank. He reads widely, but admits to a special fondness for sci-fi books. Please join me in welcoming Hudson to our library and to the community.”

As everyone clapped politely, I scanned the room. Some people looked confused by Hudson’s attire, while others appeared bemused. Regardless, they were all good-natured about it, smiling at the new library director. Everyone except one man—Thornton Silas.

Thornton was in his mid-fifties, shorter than average with a stocky build. He was one of those guys who took fitness seriously. Not so much because he enjoyed working out, but because the thought of acquiring a beer belly made him shudder. He wore his light brown hair in a mullet, maybe to compensate for the slightly thinning hair on the top of his head or to try to reclaim his lost youth. The bottom half of his mullet was currently covered up by a thick yellow and white striped scarf he had wrapped around his neck. His arms were folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed, and he was shaking his head. If disapproval could drip off someone, the carpet underneath his feet would be soaking wet by now.

Standing next to Thornton was Ivy Gordon. The current president of the library board of trustees was a regal-looking woman in her early forties. She wore her dark brown hair in box braids which she had pulled into a bun. Her hot pink eyeglasses matched her blouse, and a royal blue pencil skirt paired with black high-heeled boots completed the stylish outfit. Ivy was a naturally warm and encouraging woman, traits which made her an effective elementary school principal. Her kind smile in Hudson’s direction was a stark contrast to Thornton’s glower.

Thornton stage whispered to Ivy, “Is this some sort of joke? The man looks like a cross between a rodeo clown and a surfer.”
Ivy took a step sideways, as though to distance herself from Thornton. Some folks rolled their eyes at Thornton’s statement. Others shrugged. These types of arrogant digs from Thornton were par for the course.

To his credit, Hudson didn’t react to Thornton. Instead, he turned and gave a slight bow in my grandmother’s direction, thanking her for her introduction.

“I bet some of you are wondering why I’m dressed like this,” Hudson said. “Well, the airline seems to have misplaced my luggage and then I had, um . . . let’s just call it a costume malfunction involving a cat. But Mrs. Olson was kind enough to let me borrow some of her husband’s clothes.”

Hudson continued with his remarks for a few moments, telling everyone how pleased he was to be in Why. When he had finished, my grandmother invited everyone to enjoy the refreshments, then turned to Hudson. “Why don’t I take you around and introduce you to everyone? Some of them you met when you came to the interview. But there will be some new faces. Why don’t we start with . . .” her voice trailed off as Thornton stormed toward us, Ivy trailing behind him.

“So, this is the famous surfer boy from Florida,” Thornton said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Hudson held out his hand, but Thornton refused to shake it. “How do you expect anyone to take you seriously if you read science fiction? Librarians should read serious works, like The Odyssey.”

“I studied the classics in college,” Hudson said. “It’s interesting how women have a more prominent role in The Odyssey rather than what you find in other ancient works, don’t you think?”

Thornton looked flustered for a moment, then he jabbed a finger in Hudson’s direction. “That’s not what The Odyssey is about.”

“That’s the wonderful thing about reading,” Hudson said good-naturedly. “Everyone can take away their own meaning from a book.”

The other man scowled. He took a step forward, getting in Hudson’s face. “I heard about your cat. Bringing that mangy creature to the library isn’t going to happen on my watch.”

“What’s your cat’s name?” Ivy asked, ignoring Thornton.

“Dr. McCoy,” Hudson said with a smile.

Ivy’s eyes lit up. “As in Star Trek?”

“Are you a fan?”

“Absolutely.”

“Which is your favorite series?” Hudson asked.

“Well, if you had asked me a few years ago, I would have said Deep Space Nine, but now—”

Thornton held up his hand. “Enough with the sci-fi babble. This is a library, not one of those conventions where people dress up in ridiculous costumes.”

“We do have several Star Trek books in the library,” my grandmother pointed out. “They’re very popular.”

Thornton pressed his lips together. “Humph. We’ll see about that as part of the review.”

“What review?” Hudson asked.

Before Thornton could explain, the youth librarian approached us. Erik Andersen was in his mid-twenties. Although he wasn’t originally from the area, Erik had the classic Scandinavian looks that so many of the residents of Why shared, including myself—tall, fair-skinned, blond hair, and blue eyes.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a problem with the coffee maker,” he said.

“Can’t you see we’re talking?” Thornton snapped. He turned his back on Erik and began telling Hudson why science fiction didn’t merit a place on the library shelves.

Erik twisted his hands and tried to interject, but Thornton’s loud, non-stop rant about the lack of shelf space for classic books made it impossible.

Grandma intervened, inserting herself in front of Thornton. “We can discuss this later.”
Giving my grandmother a grateful look, Erik said, “The coffee maker was working earlier, but now it’s refusing to cooperate.”

“Is it one of those large urn types you use for parties?” Hudson asked. When Erik nodded, Hudson said, “I used them all the time at my former job. I can help you figure it out.”
Erik looked relieved. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

“It’s nice to meet you formally,” Hudson said to the other man. “Mrs. Olson has said such good things about you.”

“Rose, please,” my grandmother said to Hudson. “No need to be so formal.”

“We could use some more formality around here.” Thornton looked down at Erik’s jeans and sneakers. “Especially when it comes to the dress code.”

Ivy frowned at Thornton, then turned to Hudson. “We’re lucky to have Erik on the library staff. Not only is he a fabulous youth librarian, but he also plays a key role in the county-wide literacy program.”

“Waste of time, if you ask me. If people can’t read or write, it’s their own fault.” Thornton looked pointedly at Ivy. “Or it’s a failure of the school system.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes. “It’s exactly that kind of attitude that makes people reluctant to ask for help. I’ll have you know that the school system works hard to identify children who need additional support, and we have excellent programs and resources in place to assist them. But there are still some people who slip through the cracks—perhaps they have a learning disability that wasn’t diagnosed, or English might not be their first language, or maybe they came from a disadvantaged background. That’s where people like Erik come in. They provide enrichment programs for children, and classes and tutoring for adults.”

“I think it’s great that you’re a member of the board,” Hudson said to Ivy. “Strong relationships between the schools and the library are important.” Then he turned to Erik. “I’m looking forward to hearing more about the literacy program.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Thornton said. “Erik, shouldn’t you be fixing the coffee maker? And this time, don’t make it so strong. Also, I noticed there aren’t any napkins on the buffet table. You better get some out there.”

Erik’s eyes widened as he scurried off in the direction of the staff kitchen.

“You know, Thornton, Erik doesn’t work for you,” Grandma pointed out.

“We’ll see about that,” Thornton said ominously. “In any case, he might want to make sure his resume is up to date.”

* * *

After his veiled threat about Erik’s future employment, Thornton excused himself, saying he needed to speak with some fellow board members about their upcoming meeting. As Thornton strode across the room, I noticed some people avoided eye contact with him, while others smiled at the man as though hoping to curry favor.

Hudson looked rattled by Thornton’s treatment of Erik, but quickly regained his composure. “Maybe I should help with the coffee maker,” he suggested.

“That’s a good idea,” Grandma said. “The staff kitchen is at the end of the hall.”

Once Hudson had left, Ivy turned to my grandmother. “Thornton has been bad-mouthing Erik for weeks. I don’t know why, but for some reason, he’s out to get him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” my grandmother reassured Ivy. “Thornton’s bark is worse than his bite.”

Her tone was light. However, based on our conversation earlier, I knew Grandma was worried about Thornton. And rightly so. Not only was Thornton looking for an excuse to fire Hudson, he also apparently had it in for Erik. I wondered if the rest of the library staff were in jeopardy as well. But I couldn’t figure out why. Thornton had always been a mean-spirited man, but now his behavior was reaching new levels of viciousness.

“Normally, I’d agree with you,” Ivy said. “But something is different this time. Did you know he tried to put an item on the board meeting agenda about charging for library cards?”

My grandmother furrowed her brow. “That doesn’t make any sense. The purpose of a public library is to provide free access to books and services to the community.”

Ivy scowled. “He thinks if people really want to use library resources, then they should pay.”

“Next thing you know, he’ll want to ban books,” I said.

“Uff da,” Grandma said. “Over my dead body. Book banning goes against everything the community of Why stands for.”

“I totally agree,” Ivy said. “As long as I’m president of the library board, it will never happen.”

My grandmother smiled at the other woman. “I’m grateful you’re in charge. Even though I’m retired, I’ll still always look out for the library.”

“You mean meddle in the library,” I joked.

Grandma batted back playfully. “Meddling is a form of caring, dear. You know that.”

I grinned. “Oh, don’t I ever.”

Before my grandmother could retort, the library assistant approached us.

“I know this isn’t normally one of your volunteer days, but would you mind covering the front desk?” Carol said to me. “I need to help the knitting circle set up some equipment in the other meeting room, and Erik is busy helping with the reception.”

“Of course,” I said.

As I turned to follow the woman, I heard Ivy say to my grandmother, “I’m surprised Thea didn’t follow in your footsteps and become a librarian. Hasn’t every woman in your family worked at this library?”

I couldn’t hear my grandmother’s response, but I knew it would be supportive of my career choice. However, I suspected that Grandma had always been a little disappointed that I had gone into organizational development instead of library science.

Grandma understood why I’d made that choice, though. Shortly before the car accident that killed both of my parents, my mother had completed her master’s degree in library science. I still remember the party my family held to celebrate her achievement. My mom had been so happy that she was now officially a librarian. Then, a few days later, her dreams were extinguished forever and my brother and I were left orphaned. After that tragic event, I had vowed never to become a librarian.

Volunteering at the library, though, was a good middle ground. I got to be involved, but without the full-time commitment that my mother, my grandmother, and the women before them in my family had made.

“I’ll try not to be too long,” Carol said to me, interrupting my ruminations. “You might get some people wanting to check out books, but if it gets too busy, don’t hesitate to come grab me.”

As I sat on the stool behind the front desk, a group of high school kids came in. There weren’t many places in town where the teenagers could hang out in the dead of winter at night besides the movie theater, the bowling alley, or the pizza place. And since those places cost money, and the library was free, this is where they often ended up.

Standing near a display of new books, the kids joked about who had a crush on whom, argued about who was going to do better on the upcoming chemistry exam, and made plans to ‘borrow’ a carved wooden statue of Paul Bunyan from the rival high school in the next town over.

I pretended not to hear this last bit. Back in my day, it’s possible I may have participated in the ‘liberation’ of Paul Bunyan one winter night after a basketball game. Sure, it was a prank I probably shouldn’t have been involved in, but it’s not like I personally carried the statue out of the gym or drove the getaway van. I merely distracted a group of teachers by pretending to faint in the hallway.

Now that he’s a police officer, my brother, Leif, likes to joke about how I aided and abetted criminal activity. Fortunately, even to this day, he’s never ratted me out to our grandparents. Probably since he knows the dirt I have on him from his high school days is ten times worse.
The kids started to get too loud, so I suggested they hang out in the teen space in the Imagination Room.

“Yes, ma’am,” one of them said, immediately making me feel ancient.

The door from the foyer opened again, distracting me from thinking about the fact that I’d attained ‘ma’am’ status. A short, husky guy approached the desk, clutching a large paper bag in his hands. He was wearing a dark gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled low over his eyes with a scarf covering the rest of his face.

“Is Erik here?” he asked quietly, setting the bag on the counter.

His voice sounded familiar, but without being able to see the guy’s face, I couldn’t place him.

“Erik is busy with the reception for the new library director,” I said. “Can I help you?”

“When will he be done?”

I glanced down and checked the time on the computer monitor. “Let’s see, it’s eight now. The reception is due to end in about forty-five minutes, assuming they don’t run late. The library closes at nine though, so you won’t have much time to catch him then. Are you sure I can’t help you instead?”

“No,” he said abruptly, his deep voice booming out across the room.

The teenagers were standing in the entryway to the Imagination Room and they looked over in our direction as if to ask, ‘How come he gets to be loud and we don’t?’

The guy tugged at his hood as though trying to make sure it covered every inch of exposed skin. He lowered his voice, and said, “I’ll wait.”
One of his sleeves got caught on the edge of the counter as he went to pick up his paper bag. As he jerked his arm away, his hood slipped, revealing auburn hair and unique, different colored eyes.

“Logan, sorry I didn’t realize it was you,” I said.
Instead of replying, he yanked the hood back over his head, then rushed off in the direction of the Collingsworth Wing. I didn’t have time to wonder what was going on with Logan as several patrons approached the counter at the same time. After checking out books and pointing people in the direction of the restrooms, I finally had a chance to catch my breath. Realizing Logan had left his bag on the counter, I picked it up and headed to the Collingsworth Wing to give it back to him.

I walked down the aisle between the stacks, finally finding Logan standing with his back toward me in the section which housed books classified in the 500s of the Dewey Decimal system. I wouldn’t have guessed that Logan was interested in anything to do with geology, hydrology, or meteorology. But then again, I’d developed an interest in sea turtles earlier this year, something that surprised both me and everyone else to no end, considering the fact that I had never even swam in the ocean.

But Logan and science-related subjects . . . surprising. He had been a popular kid in high school. With an easy-going personality and natural athletic ability, it was no surprise that he had been captain of the wrestling team, not to mention prom king during his junior and senior years. But after Logan had graduated high school a few years ago, he appeared to withdraw, becoming a loner, and bouncing between one dead-end job and the next.

“Hey, you forgot this up front,” I said. “It feels like some books. Did you mean to return them?”

Logan spun around to face me, and when I saw what was in his hand, I was so stunned I nearly dropped the bag. He was gripping a hunting knife, its blade glinting in the overhead light. I started to ask him what the heck was going on when something caught my attention on the shelf behind Logan. For a moment, I thought it was a mouse, but quickly realized my eyes were playing tricks on me. It was a leather knife sheath, not some creature making itself at home in the library.

“It’s not mine, I swear,” Logan spluttered. “I found it behind some books.”

“Really,” I said dryly. “You just happened to be looking behind some books and found a knife lying there.”

“Here, just take it,” he said, sheathing the knife, then thrusting it in my hand. Then he grabbed the paper bag and pushed past me, muttering something about waiting for Erik somewhere else.

I looked down at the knife in my hands and shook my head. What in the world was going on? Why did Logan pretend the knife wasn’t his, and more importantly, why was he carrying a knife in the library?

CHAPTER 3 - FLUORESCENT BANANAS

After my encounter with Logan, I went back up to the front. By this point, the teenagers had moved into the Imagination Room and there were only a few people quietly milling about, looking at the book displays. The only conversations I overheard were in hushed tones, mostly about Seatrina’s appearance in the area.

When Carol came back a few minutes later, I showed her the knife Logan had handed me.

“My cousin got her husband one of those for Christmas,” she said.

“This knife belongs to your cousin’s husband?” I asked.

“No, they live in Minnesota,” Carol said. “It couldn’t be his.”

After I explained that Logan claimed he found the knife behind some books in the science section, the library assistant furrowed her brow. “That’s odd. I shelved books there earlier today. It certainly wasn’t there then.”

“It has to be Logan’s,” I said. “He knows we don’t allow knives or other weapons inside the library. So, when I caught him, he probably pretended it wasn’t his.”

“I’m not so sure.” Carol pointed at an insignia on the sheath. “This is a custom-made knife and pretty expensive. I doubt if Logan would readily give up something that costs so much. It’s not like he would have been in serious trouble. We just would have told him he had to take the knife out of the library.”

I thought about Logan’s erratic employment history. “How could he afford something like this?”

Carol shrugged, then offered to store the knife in the office. “Maybe he’ll come back for it later.”

“Maybe. But somehow I doubt it,” I said.
After entrusting the knife to her, I rejoined the reception. Ivy was rapping the podium to get everyone’s attention.

“On behalf of the library board, I wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight to welcome Hudson to the community,” Ivy said. “I’m excited to announce that one of the new programs that Hudson will be introducing to the library is—”

Before she could finish what she was saying, Thornton interrupted. “I’m afraid Ivy’s enthusiasm is getting the better of her. We won’t be announcing any new programs at this time.”

Ivy gave Thornton a funny look. “We discussed this at our last board meeting.”

“I wasn’t at that board meeting,” Thornton pointed out.

“That’s right,” she said evenly. “You had an impromptu trip to Hawaii.”

“It must be hard making ends meet on a principal’s salary. Especially as a single parent,” Thornton said, his voice dripping with condescension. “So, I can forgive you for being jealous that I can afford to travel.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Ivy said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my announcement.”

Thornton whispered something in Ivy’s ear. She flinched and started to pull away, but whatever he said next caused her to stand still with her shoulders tense and her eyes wide. When Thornton finished speaking to her, Ivy gave him a brittle smile, and then took a step backwards.

“What’s going on?” I asked my grandmother.

“I don’t know,” Grandma said in hushed tones as she adjusted the scarf around her neck. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

Hudson was standing on the opposite side of the room next to Erik. He caught my eye and gave me a questioning look. I gave him what I hoped was a light-hearted shrug, then turned my attention to Erik. The youth librarian was wringing his hands together as he watched Thornton out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see what was going to happen next.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. Thornton held up his hands to get everyone’s attention, then he said something that sent shock waves through the audience. “Ivy has decided to step down from the library board effective immediately. Since I’m vice president, that means I automatically succeed Ivy as president of the board. And, in this new capacity, my first order of business will be to conduct a thorough review of the library budget and staffing.”

I turned to my grandmother. “Can he do that?”

Usually an articulate, quick-witted woman, 
Grandma appeared to be at a loss for words. 

My stomach churned as I watched her struggle to gain her composure.

I didn’t see Hudson come up behind us, so I was startled when I heard him ask, “Should I be worried?”

“We all should be,” my grandmother said quietly.

* * *

Thornton’s announcement had certainly put a damper on the rest of the evening. Small groups of people clustered together, presumably talking about Ivy’s resignation and Thornton’s power grab. Ivy stood off to the side, eyeing Thornton warily.

As the reception wound down, Grandma suggested to Hudson that now would be a good time to show him his new office. I wondered how long it would actually be Hudson’s office before Thornton forced him out, but I kept the thought to myself.

Erik was visibly shaken. He looked relieved when I offered to clean up the coffee service and other dishes.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll go help out front.” What he probably left unsaid was ‘anything to get as far away from Thornton as possible.’

As I gathered up empty coffee cups, I noticed Thornton holding court in one corner of the meeting room. Several people, including one of the city councilors and a couple of local business owners, were hanging onto his every word. The snippets of conversation I overheard alarmed me. Thornton was trying to gather support for his plan to slash the library’s budget and make staffing cuts. Sadly, he seemed to be succeeding.

At the opposite end of the room, the owner of the bowling alley, Simon Fischer, was huddled up with a couple of his buddies. They were teasing him about the jacket he was wearing.

“Man, that thing is bright,” one of them said, shielding his eyes as though he were being blinded. “You look like a fluorescent banana.”

The other guy pointed at the embroidered emblem on the front. “Isn’t ‘Bowling’ supposed to have an ‘l’ in it? That says, ‘Bowing.’”

“Yes, I know,” Simon snapped.

“Why are you wearing a jacket inside, anyway?” the first man asked. “You must be sweltering to death.”

“I’m making a point.” Simon jabbed a finger in Thornton’s direction. “If that man thinks I’m going to let him get away with producing inferior goods with my money, he has another thing coming. I want everyone to see the shoddy workmanship that came from the factory he hooked me up with. I’ve got cartons and cartons of crappy products that I can’t sell. All because of that man.”

Oblivious to the other man’s hostile gaze, or perhaps because of it, Thornton gave Simon a cheerful thumbs up. “Looking good, sport.”

My tray was full by this point, so I made my way to the kitchen. As I was walking down the hallway, I passed by a group of knitters making plans for their next session. One woman suggested that they make Seatrina an afghan. The others enthusiastically agreed.

Shaking my head at the celebrity mania that had taken over the town, I set the dishes in the sink. After rinsing and loading them in the dishwasher, I went back to the meeting room to get the coffee urn. The library was due to close soon, so I was hurrying back to the kitchen with it when someone jostled my elbow and the urn’s lid popped off, splashing coffee onto my top.

“Oh, gosh, Thea,” a woman said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. Did you burn yourself?”

After repositioning the urn in my arms, I looked up and saw Logan’s mom standing in front of me. “No, it’s okay, Ashley,” I said. “The coffee was cold.”

As usual, the middle-aged woman looked exhausted. No amount of concealer could hide the dark circles under her gray eyes. Her shoulders were slumped and her dishwater blonde hair was lanky. Her air of fatigue wasn’t surprising. In addition to working full time at the bowling alley, Ashley also worked a second job as a cleaner to make ends meet.

“How did the knitting go tonight?” I asked her.

Ashley’s expression brightened as she pulled a pair of aqua-colored gloves out of her tote bag. “I just finished these. Aren’t they gorgeous?”

As I admired the mohair yarn she had used, Ashley dug through the knitting supplies and projects in her bag.

“You’ve got a lot crammed in there,” I said.
“What can I say? I love knitting. I do it every chance I get—first thing in the morning before I have breakfast, on my work breaks, and while I’m watching TV at night. My knitting tote bag goes everywhere with me.” Ashley pulled a tiny pink hat out of her bag. “Here, this is what I wanted to show you. We’re making beanies for the children’s hospital in Bismarck.”

“That’s sweet,” I said.

“It makes me wish I had a grandbaby,” Ashley confided in me.

I tried to keep my expression neutral. Logan was Ashley’s only child, so if she was going to have grandchildren, Logan would have to provide them. However, Logan hardly seemed mature enough or financially stable enough to become a father at this point in his life.

“Is Logan seeing someone?” I asked.

Ashley sighed. “No. There was a girl for a while, but she broke it off. What about you? Are you dating anyone?”

“Uh, no,” I said, wishing I hadn’t brought up this particular topic.

“What about the new library director? I heard he’s single.” Ashley wagged a finger at me. “I bet your grandmother would approve.”

“Hudson and me? Definitely not,” I said firmly.

“But he’s cute.”

I looked down at the coffee urn in my arms. “You know what, this is getting heavy. I better get this to the kitchen.”

“Want a hand?”

I knew Ashley meant well, but I really didn’t want to continue the discussion of my love life. Before I could decline her offer, Simon spotted us on his way to the men’s room. He was dripping with sweat, probably because he still had that ridiculous jacket on. I wondered if he knew that not only was the color unappealing, but also the cut of the jacket didn’t do his short, stocky build any favors.

Simon wiped his brow, causing his light brown hair to stand up at an odd angle, then jabbed a finger in Ashley’s direction. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at work.”
I took this as my cue to leave, and said, “I’ll let you guys talk.”

As I walked toward the kitchen, I heard Ashley claim, “I scheduled tonight off ages ago.”

“You’re lying,” Simon growled. “There’s no way I would have approved of that. I’m going to dock your pay for the hours you missed. Now, you better hightail it back to work.”

I tried to busy myself in the kitchen and ignore their argument, but Simon and Ashley’s voices were so loud I could hear them over the running water.

“Simon, I swear to you, I’m not lying,” Ashley said. “I always have the first Tuesday of every month off for my knitting circle. Your wife covers for me.”

“Covering for you. Exactly,” Simon spit out. “You snuck out of work and my wife had to fill in for you at the last minute.”

“Is that what Michelle said?” Ashley said, her voice trembling.

“She didn’t have to . . .” There was a pause, then Simon said coolly, “Maybe I should find someone more reliable.”

“No, Simon, please, I need this job.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said. “Now, skedaddle back to work before I fire you on the spot.”

I poked my head out of the kitchen to see if Ashley was okay. The poor woman was leaning against the wall, pressing her fingers against her face as if trying to keep tears at bay. She looked at me sharply, then fled into the ladies’ room. Unsure whether I should follow her, I stood in the hallway for a few moments.

A friendly face couldn’t hurt, I decided eventually. But just as I was about to push the door to the ladies’ room open, I heard a noise behind me. Turning around, I saw Logan slinking down the hallway. Where had he come from? It certainly wasn’t the kitchen—I was just in there. The only place he could have been was the storage room, but why?

Logan stood stock still when he saw me, like he had been caught doing something wrong. I glanced at his hands, relieved to see only his paper bag, rather than a knife or some other weapon that he had mysteriously found behind some books.

Something was going on, though. Logan’s jaw was clenched and his fingers were gripping the bag so hard that some of the paper had ripped on the side.

I took a cautious step forward. “Are you okay, Logan?”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You don't seem fine,” I said gently.

“You sound like my mom.”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t meant as a compliment, but I let it slide. “Erik is at the front desk now. I know you were looking for him.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, then edged past me.

What was up with that guy? On another day, I might have asked Ashley about it, but she had enough to worry about with Simon threatening to fire her.

My cousin, Freya, had just told me that Mercury was in retrograde this week. “I know you think it’s all a bunch of mumbo jumbo, but mark my word, this is going to be a time of upheaval and misfortune,” she’d forewarned.

While I certainly didn’t believe that the stars and planets were influencing events, something certainly was going on today. It had all started with my parking struggles at the airport, a ticket for leaving my car in the loading zone, Hudson’s lost luggage, Ivy’s sudden resignation, and Thornton’s power grab, not to mention Logan’s knife. Just thinking about it all was overwhelming. I took a deep breath and resolved to focus on what I could control.

* * *

As I watched Logan’s retreating back, I thought about what I could actually control. How much coffee I drank each day, whether I used dark brown mascara or black, curbing my impulse to buy books—those are all things I had some degree of control over. But the bigger stuff . . . I wasn’t so sure. Shaking myself mentally, I decided to stop dwelling on how complicated life could be and go check on Ashley instead.

When I entered the ladies’ room, Ashley was standing at the sink, running a brush through her hair. After giving me a faint smile, she set her brush down, then pulled a tube of lip gloss out of her purse. I recognized the brand—it was from a top-end cosmetics line, one that was too pricey for me.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

Ashley finished applying her lip gloss, then said, “I guess you overheard Simon.”

“He seems like a tough boss.” I grabbed a paper towel and wiped some water off the counter. “I used to work for someone like that.”

“What did you do?”

I sighed. “Put up with it.”

“Yeah, same.” Ashley chewed on her bottom lip, mussing up her freshly applied lip gloss. “Simon’s wrong about my shift tonight, but there’s no way he’d ever admit it.”

“Why don’t you look for another job? There are plenty of places hiring in town.”

Ashley looked at me intently, her dark gray eyes watering slightly. “I’ve worked at the bowling alley since I moved back to North Dakota. Gosh, it’s been almost seven years now. I can’t imagine working anyplace else.”

“I know what you mean. I went to work for a company straight out of college. I thought I’d retire from there. But then, after what happened . . .” I paused, debating whether to share what had prompted my departure from my last place of employment. It’s not like it was a secret, especially in this town. Nothing stayed secret here for long. But still, I wasn’t in the mood to rehash things.

“Anyway,” I continued. “I did end up leaving and it turned out for the best. Now I have my own consulting company. I can work from home and I have a flexible schedule.”

Ashley’s expression hardened. “Must be nice.”

I felt my face flush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way,” I spluttered.

“It’s fine,” Ashley said. “Sometimes, I wish my life had turned out differently, that’s all. But I should count my blessings.”

“How long has Simon owned the bowling alley?” I asked, changing the subject back to what I hoped was more neutral ground.

“He bought it last year,” Ashley said. “Before that, it belonged to the Grangers.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” I said. “Sweet couple.”

“They were. They helped me out of a tough situation. I’ll always be grateful to them.” Ashley slung her purse over her shoulder. “Anyways, I better get back to the bowling alley before Simon fires me.”

After she said goodbye, I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and chided myself. It’s okay to be grateful for what you have, but maybe keep it to yourself next time. When your good fortune makes other people feel bad about how their life turned out, you need to learn a lesson in humility.

After my little self-lecture, I headed to my grandmother’s office . . . correction Hudson’s new office.

Wow, it was going to be hard to start referring to it as ‘Hudson’s office.’ For as long as I could remember, the cozy, dark-paneled room had been my grandmother’s domain. A large walnut desk took pride of place. Full bookcases lined one wall, and the other was decorated with Grandma’s framed needlepoint and family pictures. Next to the window was a tattered, but comfy armchair and ottoman, where I had spent many hours reading after school.

Would Hudson re-decorate the office? If so, I wondered what look he would go for. Being from Florida, maybe he’d go for a surfer vibe. Or was a sleek modern look more his style? Of course, Thornton might end up driving Hudson out of town before he even got a chance to get settled and think about office decor.

As I stood outside the door, I heard laughter coming from Grandma’s office. I poked my head through the door. “What’s so funny?”
Grandma grinned at me. “I was telling Hudson about the time you buried your mom’s jewelry box in the backyard. You were going through a pirate phase and buried treasure was all you could talk about.”

I felt my face grow warm for the second time this evening. When you’re as pale as I am, bright red cheeks practically glow in the dark. I was too mortified to make eye contact with Hudson. He was gracious enough to sense my discomfort, and said, “That’s nothing. My mom is always telling people about how when I was five, I would collect rocks from outside and put them in the fridge. Florida gets hot in the summer and I didn’t want them to burn.”

Grateful for the shared pain of childhood embarrassment, I turned to look more closely at Hudson. He was a good-looking guy, and I had a feeling the single ladies in town would be making a beeline to his place to drop off muffin baskets and casseroles. Did people know that he was widowed? If so, would it make a difference? Not for some of these single gals—they would play a long game of baked goods and home-cooking in the hopes that once he got out of mourning, he’d look their way.

“I’m going to head home now and have a word with your grandfather about his missing clothes,” Grandma said to me. “I’ll drop Hudson off on my way. It’s been a long day, and he has an early start tomorrow. Erik will close up the library.”

“Okay. I won’t be far behind.” I picked up a dirty coffee cup from the desk. “I’ll just pop this in the dishwasher.”

After a final tidy of the kitchen, I was ready to head out. The library was due to close in a few minutes and was pretty much deserted by this point. Even the library assistant had left for the night. Erik wasn’t at the front desk, but I could hear him in the office he shared with the reference librarian.

“Don’t give up now,” Erik was saying to someone. “You’ve come so far.”

“I don’t want anyone to find out, especially my mom,” replied a man who sounded a lot like Logan.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Erik said. “This is confidential. It’s just between you and me.”

“I don’t know, man. I think this is a bad idea.”
I heard a chair scraping on the floor, then Logan rushed out of the office. His frantic exit caused me to step back quickly so he wouldn’t collide into me.

“Thea, I didn’t know you were still here.” Erik was standing in the doorway of his office. He looked at me warily. “Did Logan see you?”

“I don’t think so. He was in too much of a hurry to notice that I was behind him,” I said.

Erik exhaled slowly. “Good. That’s good.”
“What were you talking with him about? Was it about the knife?”

“Knife. What knife?”

“I found him with an expensive hunting knife. He claims he found it behind some books.”

“That’s strange.” Erik shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor for a moment. When he looked back up at me, he had an earnest look on his face. “I need you to do me a favor and forget what you overheard.”

“I didn’t hear much. Just you promising that you wouldn’t reveal whatever secret he’s keeping.”

“Oh, so you didn’t hear the part about—” Erik abruptly stopped speaking mid-sentence.

I arched an eyebrow. “Well, now I’m curious.”

“You have to trust me on this, Thea. Logan’s a good guy. If I break his confidence, it will undermine everything we’ve been working on.”

“Sounds like Logan isn’t the only one with a secret.” Then I held up my hands. “You know what, it’s actually none of my business.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. One day, I hope to tell you about it. Then you’ll understand.”

Erik walked me to the foyer. After I grabbed my coat, he thanked me again, then locked the door behind me.

Once I was outside, I turned and looked back at the library with its original historic architecture and the more modern addition. My eyes welled up as I thought about the changing of the guard today—my grandmother retiring and Hudson taking her place. As I wrapped my arms around myself, I felt a warm presence surrounding me. Maybe it was my ancestors, the women who had built and run this library, telling me not to worry and that everything would be okay. I only hoped they were right.