Chapter 11 #3
“Excellent!” A small box, when opened, revealed a stack of pink cards. In careful penmanship, Dotty filled it out for Rachel, handing it over. “There you go. And if you become a permanent resident, we can convert the card for you.”
“I’m never becoming a permanent resident here, Dotty. I live in L.A.”
“So many people who come here say that, but the ones who truly fall in love tend to stay.”
“That’s not going to be me.”
Dotty’s eyes twinkled. “If you say so, dear. Now,” she said with a soft hand clap. “Let’s find you a book. What do you like?”
“Mysteries.”
“Any specific kind? Is there a book you’re looking for?”
“It’s pretty obscure. Max Seeck’s newest.”
“Oh! We have that. Let me show you.”
Suppressing her surprise, Rachel followed Dotty to a themed display table. Between Janet Evanovich’s newer books and Jonathan Kellerman’s, Rachel saw a group of familiar covers.
“Nordic noir? I can’t believe you have this!”
“They’re books. This is a library.”
“No, I mean, it’s really niche.”
“It is. You can thank Kell Luview for it.”
“Kell. Of course.”
“He started by asking for Smilla’s Sense of Snow when he was barely old enough for an adult card. Went from there. As a teenager, he was very vocal in making requests, and now he donates some of the books.”
“Wow.”
Seeck’s book was in Dotty’s hands. She held it up. “Let’s get you checked out so you can start reading.”
Kell was everywhere. Everywhere. Pieces of him were embedded in the town, from the way he helped Dutch with her henna business, to building the Nordic noir book section, to cutting skydivers out of trees, to hand-pulling poison ivy in the town center without pay.
There was nowhere in Luview Rachel could go that wasn’t touched by Kell.
And she loved it.
“Here you go.” Dotty slid the book and her new card over the counter. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Help me hide.”
“Hide? You want me to put you in a cupboard?”
“Hah. No. I just need a quiet corner where no one will see me so I can work.”
“I absolutely can.” Dotty pointed to a far corner. “Head on over to the display in non-fiction called Epistemology. No one ever goes over there.”
The two shared a laugh, and a very grateful Rachel made her way to a tiny cluster of study carrels, dumped her bag on the table, and got to work.
For three hours, no one verbally attacked her, glared at her, or made her into the devil’s handmaiden. It was a productive three hours, too. Dotty was right.
Epistemology refuge for the win.
By the time her stomach growled, demanding attention, it was three in the afternoon and her inbox was eighty percent clear. Hours of video had been watched and cataloged, and a long document full of notes was ready to be revised and sent in as a report.
She even managed to find a restroom and a water fountain, amused that she returned to her grade-school self as she slurped from the spout. With bottled water everywhere, when was the last time she’d done that?
Stomach rumbling, she began packing up, wishing she had a simple protein bar to stretch out her time here. Time to grab a salad somewhere, and another coffee.
As she made her way to the front desk, she planned to thank Dotty before leaving, but a young girl was checking out a stack of books, chattering away about some book called Catfishing on Catnet. As Rachel waited, she let herself breathe, the pull of work and responsibility relieved a bit.
“RACHEL HART!”
A thin, white-haired woman in an enormously puffy down coat, the kind that went down to her ankles, stormed up to Rachel, furious brown eyes buried under wrinkles and anger.
So much anger.
“Anne, please keep your voice down,” Dotty said, coming around the counter quickly.
“HOW DARE YOU!”
“Anne!” Dotty pleaded. “Not here!”
So much for hiding at the library.
“This town has been nothing but wonderful for all my seventy-nine years of living here, and I won’t have some cold-hearted businesswoman who even Kell Luview won’t trust bad-mouthing it.”
Dotty took Anne firmly by the arm and hissed in her ear. “Anne, this is not the place. Go outside and yell. My library is a quiet sanctuary and you cannot do this here.”
Startled out of her anger, Anne looked at Dotty and softened.
“Sorry. I’m just so mad at her!”
“Rachel, meet Anne Petrinelli. Her husband was the former town clerk and I believe she’d like a word with you.” Dotty looked pointedly at Anne. “Out there!”
Filled with dread, her appetite suddenly gone, Rachel walked outside with Anne, who immediately turned to her and said, “Everything you said about this town is wrong, and if my Stan were alive to hear it, he’d have a second heart attack.”
“Stan? Your late husband’s name was Stan?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“My father’s name is Stan, too.”
“Oh.” She frowned deeper. “How... coincidental.” An evil eye struck Rachel. “You’re not lying about that, too, are you?”
“Lying?”
“Kell told Boyce you couldn’t be trusted.” She sniffed. “I see why.”
“Anne, I–”
“It’s Mrs. Petrinelli to you, thank you very much.”
“Okay. I can see you’re very upset by my words. May I ask what upset you the most?”
“Backward? Stuck?”
“I see. Yes, those were wrong, and I apologize.”
“Apology not accepted. You don’t rant like that a few days before Valentine’s Day. You ruined the whole feel of the town common!”
“It was an accident. I had no idea that microphone was on.”
“Hmph.”
“I am very sorry, Mrs. Petrinelli.”
“Hmph.” This time, the sound was more forgiving. Anne pursed her mouth and said, “You mentioned an electric trolley.”
“Yes?”
“What’s that all about?”
This was not what Rachel had expected, but she’d go with it if it meant Anne would stop yelling at her.
“In some tourist towns, especially beach towns, they have these adorable electric trolleys that take people up and down the main road. They’re free–they’re designed to help showcase the town and give families an added reason to visit, but they’re really helpful for parking problems. You set up larger parking lots on either end of the route, and then there’s less traffic in town. ”
“You mean like Old Orchard Beach?”
“What’s that?”
Anne was disgusted again. “You’ve never been to Old Orchard Beach? Down the Maine coast? South of Portland?”
“I’m from Los Angeles.”
A massive eye roll was the old woman’s response, until she added:
“I know what you’re talking about. Been on the one there. Never thought of bringing one to our town here. They’re expensive, though.”
“Sure. But your town finance committee can find ways to pay for it. And the increase in tourism, especially from families and people with mobility issues, could offset the cost.”
“Mobility issues? I hadn’t thought of that, either.”
Rachel smiled, relieved that the tone of the conversation was shifting. “It was just a thought.”
“A good one, even if it came out in a soup of vitriol, Rachel.” Anne contemplated her. “I don’t know what to think about you.”
Rachel’s stomach growled loudly.
“Other than to think you need to go eat.”A smile cracked across Anne’s face, the two chuckling nervously.
Or, at least, Rachel was nervous.
Anne just chuckled.
“Go eat. Do yourself a favor and get the falafel plate from Bilbee’s.”
“Bilbee’s has falafel?”
“Sure. Rider adds whatever he likes to the menu. Had some great falafel at a restaurant in Cambridge a few years ago and now it’s a special.”
“That sounds really, really good.”
“His prime rib Friday special is even better.”
“Thank you for the tips.”
“You’re welcome. If you’re going to criticize my town, you need to get to know it first.”
And with that, Anne pulled her ski cap down on her head, turned around, and stomped off.
Leaving Rachel’s stomach to gurgle harder.
Falafel, huh? At Bilbee’s.
Which was on the other side of town.
Rachel walked back to her car, trying to shake the sense that she had a giant target on her back. Perfect for this town, since bullseyes were typically red.
As she approached her parking spot, she groaned. A white envelope was tucked under the windshield wiper. Opening it, she found – horror of horrors – the parking ticket was on pink paper, and in the shape of a heart.
No.
Just... no.
Those five hours in the library, hiding in Epistemology, had been a break from the stress of everything. Work had become her only break.
What a commentary on her life.
The ticket was punishment for being able to breathe a little.
So unfair.
Snatching the ticket, she climbed into her car and read it, pulling out her phone to send pictures to Dani, so Dani could take care of it. Pausing, she remembered that Markstone’s didn’t cover parking tickets under employee reimbursement.
The instructions on the envelope read: Parking violations must be paid by mail or in person at the Police Department. Cash or personal check only. No out of state checks. Credit cards are accepted but incur a $3 service fee.
Rachel looked at the fine.
Ten dollars.
She could certainly afford a $3 surcharge on a $10 ticket, but she was agog at the ridiculousness of the situation. Cash or personal check only? A thirty percent fee for using a credit card?
Come on.
On impulse, she turned on the engine and drove to the town hall, which was attached to the tiny police department. Outside was a row of four pink cruisers, all parked neatly, looking like a line of bubble gum. And inside, behind the front counter, stood none other than… Nadine Khouri.
Who gave Rachel quite the smug look.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“I am here to pay a parking ticket,” Rachel said loudly. “Which I would pay with one thousand pennies if I had them.”
“It’s all cash money, honey. Whatever it takes.”
“Why do you charge three dollars for a ten-dollar parking ticket if I pay by credit card?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask the IT department.”
“Where is the IT department?”
“That’s Matt. He’s at the high school right now.”
“High school?”
“He gets out of class at 2:05 and is here around 2:20, but he has drama practice today, so he won’t be in until 4.”