Chapter 13
“Umm, excuse me?”
I turn away from the cart I’d been placing returned books on and face the grandfatherly gentleman on the other side of the welcome desk.
His faded, oversized dungarees are barely being held up by the suspenders slung across his shoulders, under what Grampie would call a dunlap belly (because it done lapped over his belt buckle).
“Can I help you with something?” I smile at him sweetly, praying under my breath that the clasp holding up the left side of his pants will keep its grip. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been mooned at the library, but that’s an experience I don’t particularly want to repeat.
“There are some strange noises coming from the book return receptacle outside. Sounds like maybe a critter has got himself stuck inside.” He hooks a thumb toward the exit door.
I shudder. Again, not the first time. “Thank you for letting me know.”
The man shuffles off, hiking his pants up as he goes.
I really don’t want to play Ace Ventura at the moment. Sometimes snakes or lizards crawl through the slot for books, looking for shelter or whatever reptiles look for . . . their cousin the bookworm, perhaps?
I snicker at my own joke, then remember I have to go evict the creepy crawly creature and a shiver runs down my spine. Maybe I can talk Hayley into doing it instead.
“Oh Hayley,” I singsong as I enter the breakroom. She’s scrolling on her phone with one hand, a fork raised to her mouth with the other. “How much do you love me?”
She eyes me warily as she swallows a bite of her lunch. “By the look on your face and the sound of your voice, not as much as you want me to. Why?”
“Something’s got itself stuck inside the return box again.”
She points at her food with her fork. “I’m on break.”
“Please.” I clasp my hands in front of me and beg. “Pretty, pretty please.”
“No dice. It’s your turn. Remember?”
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
We both hold out a fist in front of us and chant “rock, paper, scissors, shoot.” I keep my fist there in the hopes she throws scissors, but her hand comes down with her flat palm facing the ground.
“Paper covers rock. I win.” She takes another bite of her lunch, and I turn, grumbling.
“Oh, Evangeline?”
I look back at her. “Yeah?”
“Red touch black, safe for Jack. Red touch yellow, kill a fellow.”
My expression goes bland. “Yes, because I’m going to stand there long enough to figure out the color pattern on a potentially venomous snake. Why don’t we call animal control for these things again?”
“They take forever to get here. Just open the back and step aside. The animals usually leave on their own. Eventually.”
I never thought snake charmer would be a part of the job description when I’d decided to become a librarian, but here I am.
Walking as if someone is behind me with a gun pointed at my back, I approach the waist-high drop-off box against my will, pausing when I’m about ten feet away.
Huh. I don’t hear anything. Maybe the creature has already crawled out on its own somehow.
I take another tentative step forward, freezing when I hear it.
Chomping. Chittering. Scratching.
Scratching? Snakes can’t scratch. At least I no longer have to worry about figuring out if red touches black or yellow before I die, but—
Purrr.
I stop in my tracks. Purring? How in the world did a cat get itself stuck in the return receptacle? I imagine a tiny little furball helpless in the metal box.
All my anxiety leaches out of my tight muscles. “It’s okay, little guy,” I coo. “You poor thing. You must be so scared in there. Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out.” I continue my calming monologue as I slip the key in the lock and turn the mechanism. “There you are, you—”
Beady eyes stare at me, sharp teeth bared as the not-tiny-little-fluffy-kitten hisses menacingly. I stumble backward, my breath catching. “Well, this is a first.”
There, sitting on a pile of books, is a bandit-faced racoon with . . . I squint at what he has clutched between his little paws. “Just had to read a John Grisham novel, did you?” Although the title A Time to Kill is a little ominous.
“If you would kindly leave the book and be on your way, Mr. Raccoon, I’d be forever grateful.” I make a shooing motion with my hand.
The raccoon doesn’t budge. He stares me down as if taunting me to make him. Then he does something even worse. He lifts the book toward his open mouth.
“Don’t eat it!” I screech at him.
He hisses, then takes a bite.
We’ve had to replace books that dogs have chewed on, but this will be the first time I’ll be putting eaten by a raccoon in the description area in the library’s software while ordering a new copy.
I slowly take a step closer. I need to get the animal out of the box and away from the other books, lest he destroy them all. Maybe if I bang on the side the noise will scare him into running away. I keep my eye on him in case he decides on any other funny business.
Wait. My eyes narrow. The raccoon isn’t gnawing on the pages of A Time to Kill. He’s eating . . . Is that . . . bacon? “Seriously, people? Food is not an appropriate bookmark!”
I take out my phone and snap a picture of Mr. Raccoon eating his bacon brunch served on a platter of John Grisham.
I’ve read some pretty ridiculous signs before because of the general public’s lack of common sense—a tag on one of my shirts says Do not iron while wearing shirt—but I never thought I’d have to create one about what is and is not suitable bookmark material. Food, no. Always no.
I bang on the side of the metal receptacle, but the racoon doesn’t seem to care about the racket I’m making.
“This is not what I expected to see when I came out here.” Hayley laughs as she shoves a Cheeto in her mouth, watching me as if I’m the main attraction in a traveling vaudeville show.
I march over to her and snatch the bag of junk food out of her hand.
“Hey!” she protests.
I fish out a Cheeto and wave it in front of Mr. Raccoon. “Yum. See this? You want this.”
He perks up, his nose twitching as he smells the processed goodness in my hand.
“That’s right. Come and get it.” I set the Cheeto on the ground about three feet away. Mr. Raccoon inches forward. I set another one farther away. I am luring a wild animal out of a library book return box with a trail of Cheetos. Not sure if this should make it into my résumé or not.
Led by his stomach, Mr. Raccoon takes the bait. By the time he scampers off library property, the fur around his mouth is coated bright orange. Maybe I should contact the people at Frito-Lay. Fodder for their next Super Bowl commercial right here in Little Creek.
“You owe me a bag of Cheetos,” Hayley says when I press the empty snack bag back into her hands.
“Add it to my bill.”
She mimes writing something on an invisible piece of paper, and I roll my eyes with a chuckle. I go to walk past her toward the entrance, but she stops me with a hand to my arm.
“Hold on a sec. I came out here because I wanted to talk to you real quick.”
“About what?”
“About Tai asking you out and you turning him down.”
My head whips back in surprise. “He told you?”
“We’re very close.” She walks past me to the drop-off box and closes the back door, locking it with a twist of the key. When she turns, she studies me for a moment.
I lift my chin. Then lower it again because I realize how defensive the gesture is.
Hayley sighs. “Look, I don’t know why you’ve pulled a 1990s Joshua Harris, but you should give Tai a chance.”
“What in the world is a 1990s Joshua Harris?”
“You know, the guy who wrote the book I Kissed Dating Goodbye? Never mind. The point is, since you never talk about it, I’ve assumed some jerk broke your heart and you’re still not over it yet. But Tai is a good guy.”
I snort because I have to respond somehow and admitting the truth isn’t an option.
Hayley’s face pinches and starts to turn an alarming shade of red.
I hold up my hands, placating her before she gets too hot under the collar.
“Look, I’m sorry. Maybe he is a nice man.
I don’t know him very well so I can’t really say, except he did dog-ear almost all the pages of that book.
But the fact remains that I’m not looking for a romantic relationship right now. ”
Hayley wrestles with what I’m saying. I can see she wants to argue but ultimately she decides against it.
Instead, she shakes her head in disappointment.
“It’s your turn to take a lunch break.” She pivots, stopping when she reaches the door.
“Just so you know, he didn’t dog-ear the pages.
I did. The book was going to the Friends of the Library book sale anyway so I bought it.
The whole thing was just a joke, Evangeline.
” With that, she marches back into the library.
I turn to follow but pause when the sound of a V8 engine pulls into the nearest parking spot. My shoulders sag. This day keeps getting better and better.
Tai steps out of his car. “I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait? I have a lot of work to do.” It’s the truth. But so is the fact that I won’t be getting to that work until after I’ve taken my lunch break.
Tai thinks for a second, then nods. “Meet me at the gazebo at seven after you lock up.”
“Fine,” I say just to get him to leave. I can think of an excuse later as to why I wasn’t able to show up.
He opens his car door and turns back toward me. “Oh, and Angel? Please don’t stand me up. You may be putting me off now, but you won’t be able to avoid me forever.”