Chapter 8
The next couple of days passed quietly. Violet went to play with Lily Park during the day, and Paisley worked at the library.
She loved the job of being Sutton’s Creek’s librarian and she threw herself into designing educational programs and services for the community.
So far they’d added a scrapbooking workshop, a reading challenge for children, and hosted a mystery book club open to newcomers as well as the private Bookalicious Besties club.
She was even planning a romance novel book club that was open to everyone, and she hoped they might get a thriller club started too.
There were other duties to perform, including helping patrons find what they were looking for, answering emails, and updating the collections. The staff, comprised of two library techs and a handful of volunteers, wasn’t a big one, but she liked them all. Well, almost all.
One tech in particular, Fern Carter, made no bones of the fact she thought Paisley had stolen the job that’d rightfully been hers.
She also had her library science degree, she’d been employed at the library for the past five years when she’d moved back to town after a decade away, and she had ordained herself to be Aunt Hettie’s designated successor because of those things.
The problem was that Fern had pissed off too many people to ever get the job. She held grudges over minor disagreements, she made snide comments, and it was even rumored that she’d harassed a former volunteer she didn’t like with anonymous emails to the point they quit.
Paisley didn’t know how true that was since Fern was still employed, but nobody wanted her in charge. The library staff had apparently threatened to quit en masse if she was promoted.
When Paisley arrived, Fern had given her the full silent treatment, complete with a superior stare down her nose, for a solid week.
Now she’d progressed to grunts, disapproving silences, and passive-aggressive suggestions, anonymous of course, peppered at random throughout the day. Paisley sighed as she took the latest suggestion from the box and read it.
Outside groups should not be allowed to bring food into the library. The book club meeting last week, and the resultant casserole crowding of the refrigerator, forced people to leave their lunches at home. Suggest people eat before or after their book club meetings.
The refrigerator had hardly been overcrowded, and everyone had enjoyed the leftovers. Except Fern, of course. She’d brought her lunch, as always, but she’d had to put the bag into the crisper drawer.
Where it had been the only item in the drawer for pity’s sake.
Paisley folded the paper very carefully and tucked it into the book she’d checked out. When she took it home tonight, she was going to toss this suggestion in the trash where it deserved to be. Or maybe she’d take it to the gun range and ask Ethan to set it on fire when they lit the fireworks.
A little shiver traveled across her skin. Ethan had poked around her house day before yesterday, making notes, and then said he’d get back with her. They had exchanged phone numbers, her heart pounding the whole time she’d typed his in so she could send a text back to him.
He’d gotten her text, added her to his contacts, and then he was gone before she had to take Violet to the Parks’ house.
She hadn’t heard from him since, other than a brief text to tell her the fireworks were Friday night at nine and he had the parts for her toilet and sink.
He said he was sorry that he’d been too busy to swing by, but he could install them this weekend if that was fine. She’d said it was.
A few minutes later, Daphne had texted to tell her all the details about Friday, which was tonight.
There would be food at hers and Kane’s place.
There would be drinks. Fireworks would commence the moment it was dark, and they would all take turns keeping Violet awake if necessary.
There was also a goat and a pony, which they thought would help with keeping Violet interested enough to stay awake.
Both animals were on loan from a farmer, and he’d assured them neither cared about fireworks. The goat was deaf and the pony was a badass. There was a saddle and a bridle, and Violet could ride the pony if she wanted.
Paisley teared up thinking about it, same as she had when she’d gotten the text. She’d debated texting Ethan to ask if it was his idea, but she’d refrained. If he wasn’t texting her, then she didn’t need to start a conversation with him.
Problem was, she wanted to. So badly. Because he was the only person in this town who’d known her before—well, other than Aunt Hettie, but that was different—and he knew Trey.
Not only knew him, but had worked with him at one time.
Trey hadn’t been openly monstrous, but Ethan hadn’t suggested she was making it up.
He’d said it himself. He knew how Trey was trained, knew what he was capable of.
Having someone understand made her feel less alone.
Not that it fixed anything between her and Ethan. Nothing ever would. Too much time, too much heartache, too much distance to ever breach again.
Megan, the other library tech besides Fern, appeared in the door to the tiny office where Paisley had her desk. She looked harried. “Fern’s out there haranguing Mr. Watson about his T-shirt again.”
Paisley got to her feet. “What’s it say today?”
Fern had a thing about sayings on clothing.
She managed to take the most offense possible, no matter the circumstance.
And Mr. Watson had a variety of T-shirts that she really hated.
Paisley was pretty sure he delighted in lighting her fuse and did it on purpose.
Still, she had to shut that shit down ASAP.
“Well, it’s pink for one thing. And it has a unicorn on it.”
“Okay. How is that offensive?”
“It’s probably the slogan. Not Today, Sparkletits.”
Paisley snickered. “Oh lord.”
“To be fair, there’s an asterisk in place of the I.”
Mr. Watson was a small man, wiry, approximately seventy, and he was a regular.
He stood with his hands on his hips, chest puffed out, in the mystery section.
Agatha Christie and Louise Penny were his current favorites, though he also went for the serial killer stuff sometimes.
Fern ought to take note of that, but of course she didn’t.
Her face was mottled with crimson and she had a finger pointed at his chest.
“Can I help?” Paisley said, stepping into the fray.
Mr. Watson spoke first. “Yes, dear. Please tell this harpy I can wear a pink unicorn shirt if I want to. It’s none of her business.”
Fern’s eyes bulged. “Mr. Watson, it’s not the color. It’s the…the word. Specifically the word at the end.”
“Sparkletasterisks?” Mr. Watson said, purposefully misunderstanding. “I grant you it’s not a real word, but you never know what they’ll add to the OED, do you?”
Paisley rather doubted sparkletasterisks was going to catch on and wind up in the Oxford English Dictionary, but she supposed one never knew.
“Please don’t call Ms. Carter a harpy, Mr. Watson.
And Fern, Mr. Watson’s shirt isn’t violating any rules about library attire.
He has a shirt, and we aren’t in the business of policing what people wear unless the language is obviously obscene or abusive.
I don’t think you can make the argument in favor of this being so. ”
Fern was practically frothing at the mouth. She glared at Paisley. “Yes, well, you would side with him.”
“I’m not siding—”
“You’re not from around here and you only got this job because your aunt forced the committee to hire you.
” Fern’s furious gaze raked over her. “Or maybe you used your assets to get in good with the city council. I hear that Councilman Armstrong will do anything for the promise of a good time. Yes indeed, the only harpy around here is you.”
Paisley took a step back, too shocked at the woman’s vitriol to respond right away. Mr. Watson puffed up even more.
“You foul old turnip,” he growled at Fern. “You’re just a jealous, spiteful hag and you know it! Miss Paisley is a breath of fresh air in this musty old library and you can’t stand that. Not to mention she wouldn’t waste a microsecond of her time on Chuckles Armstrong. You might, though…”
Fern whirled on her heel and marched off. “I’m going to the mayor,” she yelled over her shoulder. “This is harassment and a hostile work environment!”
Megan’s eyes were wide. Debbie Rich, the volunteer on duty, peeked from behind the circulation desk.
If there were any other patrons in the library, they hadn’t shown themselves.
Paisley sighed. Mr. Watson turned to Megan and Debbie.
“You two are delightful,” he said. “I’m sorry about the musty library comment. ”
“It’s fine, Mr. Watson,” Megan said.
“You aren’t wrong about Fern,” Debbie added. “She’s jealous. And mean. Did she quit? Because I really hope so. Life would be so much nicer around here if she did.”
Paisley took a deep breath. Her heart raced and her skin was hot, despite the coolness of the AC.
She hated being yelled at. She’d never liked it, because who would, but Trey had turned it into a blood sport.
Because of him her fight or flight response was coded to flight, and it flared whenever anyone was actively unpleasant to her.
“I doubt she quit,” Paisley said, focusing on her breathing. In, out. In, out. “But she’s bound to be extra unpleasant for a while.”
“The mayor isn’t going to do a damned thing,” Mr. Watson said. “She likes you, and she doesn’t like Fern. You’re safe.”
“Maybe so, but do you think maybe you like to bait her with these shirts, Mr. Watson?”
He grinned at her. “I guess I enjoy it a might bit, yes ma’am. But I’ll be more careful with my choices on library day. Or I’ll put something over it before I walk in.”
“Thank you,” Paisley said. “I appreciate it.”
Mr. Watson patted her shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Miss Paisley. Just like your Aunt Hettie. Not that she’s a kid, but she used to babysit me when I was knee high to a grasshopper. Always liked her. Like you, too.”
“Thank you. Are you here for the new Louise Penny? I think Debbie has it behind the desk for you.”
“Yes, ma’am. Grabbing some Michael Connolly too. Always love a good Bosch novel. Though I gotta admit, Mickey Haller is a close second for me these days.”
“What happened to Jack Reacher?”
“Jack’s in a class by himself.”
“True.” They walked to the circulation desk where Debbie pulled out Louise Penny. “Would you be interested in leading a thriller discussion group sometime?”
“I’d love to, dear girl. Just let me know.”
“You got it. I’m going to leave you in Debbie’s capable hands while I go call the mayor and give her a heads up.”
Paisley said her goodbyes and returned to her office.
She placed a call to Susie Green’s office.
Susie had once been an actress in daytime soaps.
She’d lived in New York for years, playing a hyper-sexed diva turned matriarch (as time went on), but then she’d retired and come home to Sutton’s Creek.
She’d promptly gotten involved in politics and found herself sitting in the mayor’s seat in the town hall.
Fortunately, Susie Green didn’t put up with a lot of crap.
But Paisley still owed her a call now that Fern had kicked up a cloud of dust.
Mayor Green took her call right away, sighed a lot, then promised to take care of Fern.
Paisley set her phone down and put her head in her hands.
Her heart still beat faster than normal, and a shiver rolled down her spine.
Anxiety did that to her, and the aftermath of confrontation always left her anxious.
Being a librarian wasn’t all books and reading, no matter what people thought.
It was a lot of tasks, many of them managing other people’s emotions as well as her own.
Like retail work, only without the selling.
Her phone pinged with a text. She didn’t intend to pick it up, not until she was calmer, but her eyes were drawn to the screen. When she saw Ethan’s name, all thoughts of Fern Carter fled.
Ethan: I’ve got some free time now if you’d like me to take care of the toilet and sink.
Paisley sighed. Just her luck. I’m at work. I don’t get off for another two hours.
Ethan: I can swing by and pick up your key, get the work done, and bring it back to you.
Her stomach tightened. She knew Ethan wasn’t the bad guy.
Knew he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt her and Violet.
And yet she couldn’t help but think of Trey and how innocently he’d behaved at first. Wanting to help her.
Comfort her. Get food for her, pick up her prescriptions, grab things at the grocery store.
Three dots flashed across the screen before she could formulate a reply.
Ethan: Something just came up. I’ll be there later, after you’re home. Does that work for you?
Yes, she texted back. Sorry, I was answering a question for a patron.
Ethan: It’s fine. See you around six.
See you.
Paisley put her phone down, her heart pounding. She hated—absolutely hated—how paranoid she was now. How she overanalyzed everything and couldn’t make up her mind because she wasn’t sure if her instincts about a person were right or if she was missing something.
Trey had done that to her. Changed her. Made her mistrustful and suspicious. She wanted the old Paisley back—but she would never come back. That Paisley was dead and buried.
The reason for the new Paisley was so she didn’t wind up dead and buried for real.
When her phone buzzed again, she picked it up automatically, thinking it must be Ethan.
But the number was unknown. Her throat constricted. Black spots crawled into the edges of her vision.
You’ll get what’s coming to you. Wait for it.