Chapter Twenty-Five
T HE NEXT MORNING, a man Chloe didn’t know came into the library.
He looked around the lobby at the rafters above, the medieval arched windows, the rows and rows of bookshelves, his thick eyebrows raised.
Chloe watched from the corner of her eye, recalling her own first time entering the library. Her reaction had been much the same.
‘Hello,’ she said warmly when the man had had his fill of staring around the lobby area. He looked at her, not smiling back. There was something about the firm, hard line of his mouth and the coldness in his eyes that made her uneasy.
‘Hi.’ He strode towards her. Chloe was aware of the desk between them, but his approach still made her nervous.
Perhaps noticing this, the man stopped, loitering in place and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
‘Um, can I ask you something? Were you at the fireworks display the other night?’
Chloe didn’t see the point in lying. ‘Um. Yes.’
‘And that was Harry Ashcroft you were with, right? At Thornbridge Hall?’
Chloe relaxed a little. Obviously, the man knew Harry. ‘Yes,’ she said, carefully now. ‘Sorry, who are you?’
‘I’m someone who knows him.’ The man fidgeted, looking sulky as he thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Look, it’s best you stay away from him, all right?’
‘What?’ she said in surprise. ‘From Harry? Why?’
‘He’s bad news,’ the man grumbled. ‘He’s trouble. Stay away from him if you know what’s good for you.’
Curiosity and a hint of indignation ran through her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just trust me.’
‘I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you.’ Chloe was becoming truly annoyed now, and she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Stop being cryptic. You came to my workplace for this?’
‘Yeah, I heard you talking about the library at the event. I’m not a stalker or anything,’ he added.
Chloe wished Mrs Cook or Eric would show up, but they were busy with other customers in the library. This man was making her feel more and more uncomfortable.
He must have seen it on her face, because the stranger headed towards the exit. ‘I’m leaving.’ When his hand was on the door, he said over his shoulder, ‘Just ask Harry whose fault it is that his wife died.’
The door closed with a dull thud behind him, leaving Chloe alone and confused.
‘What was that?’ she asked aloud. The library’s lights flashed brightly for a moment and a sigh that smelled like lavender washed over her.
Mrs Cook had been in a great mood ever since the event with the schoolchildren.
Hannah’s café was enjoying some more publicity too, according to her excited messages and photos of the little eatery being full to bursting.
We keep running out of cheesecake she texted Chloe.
This is amazing. We HAVE to do this again.
‘Maybe we should plan something for Christmas, now it’s coming up,’ said Mrs Cook happily, as she cleaned up the lobby desk.
Clementine had perked up and was back to his usual self, watching them from his spot on top of the shelf after eating from his feeder.
‘We could get some tinsel, gather some of the books with a Christmas theme, and have a reading. Ooh, I think there’s a local author living in Kendall, I should check.
Hannah could make mince pies. Could you ask her when you see her, Chloe? ’
Chloe responded with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, half thinking about what the strange man had said before leaving so abruptly that there hadn’t been time to process his words and ask more questions.
No doubt he knew Harry and held some kind of grudge against him.
What had he meant by whose fault it was?
Chloe hadn’t asked how Harry’s wife, Julie, had died. She had assumed, since she must have been young, that it had been an accident like Chloe’s parents. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight as fear curdled in her stomach.
‘Chloe, are you all right?’ Mrs Cook looked alarmed. ‘You don’t look well. Are you feeling poorly?’
‘I . . .’ Despair filled Chloe. When she had first met Harry, she hadn’t liked him.
Found him annoying and rude. What if he had used his charms to attract her and made her like him, but he wasn’t really a very nice person at all?
What if he was dangerous? She had gotten into his car, let him kiss her . . .
‘I am feeling a bit sick, yes,’ she said faintly.
Mrs Cook made a sympathetic noise. ‘You can take the rest of the day off, if you need to.’ She was so kind it made tears spring to Chloe’s eyes. She turned to quickly brush them away before the librarian could see.
The thought of going home and being alone with her thoughts was worse than staying and trying to keep herself busy.
Chloe knew what she needed right now: somebody to talk to.
Someone who didn’t know Harry and who wouldn’t judge her.
‘No, I think I’m okay, actually.’ She sniffled.
‘I’m going to go upstairs for a bit and, uh .
. .’ She couldn’t think of a task that would take her to the fiction archives.
‘You go, dear.’ Mrs Cook nodded knowingly. ‘Sometimes we do need some time alone in the fiction section, hmm?’ Her warm green eyes turned towards the ceiling. ‘Give her a couple of choices, won’t you?’
Something rippled in the library. Like a confirmation.
‘Thanks,’ said Chloe, grateful. ‘I won’t be long. And if you need me . . .’
‘I’ll call you.’ Mrs Cook was already sitting at the computer. ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for, Chloe.’
Chloe hurried to the spiral staircase in the next room that led up to the fiction section.
Clementine followed her, his bell jangling.
Nobody was here now, almost as if the library had ensured the place would be empty for this moment.
Chloe strode past Clementine’s corner, and the cat jumped onto his bed, watching as Chloe wandered the shelves.
Mrs Cook’s request had been heard in the library.
Many of the books glowed, golden rectangles among the romance, fantasy, and even mystery sections.
Curious, she picked up a large hardback in the latter section, giving a small smile.
Ah, yes. A genius detective from London should be able to help.
She needed objective advice and logic right now.
She read out the first line from the book, picturing firmly in her mind the character she needed. Then felt the familiar breath of magic wash over her and a new presence nearby.
‘Oh.’ A shuffle. ‘Oh dear.’
There he was. ‘Sir?’ she asked, stepping into the next aisle.
He was taller than she had expected, his thin physique making him look even more so. A deerstalker cap sat atop a head of dark hair. Alert eyes fixed on her over a hawk-like nose.
‘Hello, detective,’ she said politely. She still held the book in her hands. She tucked it beneath her arm. ‘I was wondering if you could help me with something.’
‘Well, I suppose I’m not doing much else at the moment.’ He straightened, fixing her with an analysing look. ‘How can I help?’
They went to sit on the armchairs by the window.
Well, Chloe sat, while the London detective examined the curtains and floors with a thoughtful look.
Chloe didn’t see the point in meandering around the subject.
She told him all about Harry, her growing feelings for him, Julie, and what the strange man had said to her this morning.
‘So the question is, how do I approach this to get the truth?’ she asked the detective. ‘Do I risk it, or should I stop talking to him?’ Despite the fears the stranger’s words had inspired in her, the thought of cutting Harry off made her chest squeeze with misery.
‘If you ask him yourself, he could lie,’ observed the detective. ‘Hmm. Maybe you need to catch him off guard. Don’t ask him any specific questions. Did the man say who he was? Perhaps he is the one lying.’
Chloe knew all this, but somehow it was nice to hear it come from someone else’s mouth.
‘I suppose he could be a competitor, but it seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to spoil a new relationship.’ A relationship Harry didn’t want people to know about.
Was there a reason for that, other than him not being ready for people to know he was moving on from his late wife?
‘Well, one thing is for certain. You must ask him. Gauge his reaction and hear his explanation.’ The detective rummaged in his jacket pocket, then his face fell in dismay. ‘I don’t have my pipe with me.’
‘Sorry about that. Smoking isn’t allowed in this library.’ Chloe rose to her feet. ‘It’s all right. I’m sending you back now. Thank you for your help.’
‘Another important case solved,’ the detective said drily. He tipped his hat as she smiled at him, flipping to the back of the book.
The detective had said what Chloe needed to hear.
She wasn’t going to be a cliché like in a bad romance novel, avoiding the topic and breaking her own heart by simply not talking to Harry and asking him his side of the story outright.
Miscommunication tropes were so out. Chloe whipped out her phone to text him, and then hesitated.
Would asking Harry outright be a good idea, or would he lie? She should at least ask him in person so she could see the look on his face, work out whether he was lying. So instead of asking him over text, she asked, Can we talk?
It took a while for him to text her back, and Chloe was taking care of the accounting sheets when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Sounds ominous. What about?
‘Your wife’ wasn’t something Chloe wanted to write in a text, so instead she wrote Nothing bad, but can you meet me tonight? My shift ends at 6.
I’ll wait for you outside. Car or no car?
No car.
Chloe was antsy for the rest of her shift. She apologised to Mrs Cook and asked her to double-check the sheet. The last thing she needed was to make a mistake because she was stressing over a man.
The first man she had had feelings for in years.
That was what made all this so much worse.
She wasn’t ready to be hurt again. Harry was one of the few good things about Wellbridge.
If something bad happened between them, she wasn’t sure she could face continuing living in Wellbridge.
She didn’t need more pain for her slowly healing heart.
Which was why she should just ask him what that strange man had meant. It would bother her no end if she didn’t.
Clementine crouched beside a shelf, keeping himself as close to the floorboards as he could. There was something in here. A creature, running around on tiny paws in a place where it should not have been.
Mrs Cook was in the lobby, doing some last-minute tasks before she closed the library. Animals almost never made it into the library, but there was something here. And Clementine meant to catch it.
Little feet scurried past the children’s section.
Clementine moved in silence, careful not to let his bell jangle.
Excitement ran across his fur. He was hardly ever able to hunt, but surely Mrs Cook wouldn’t mind if he caught something inside the library?
He had never seen another non-human in here before.
Not one from outside. It smelt different.
He could hear a tiny heartbeat, the fast breathing of an animal much smaller than himself.
There! It was a little mouse. Its nose twitched, its ears moving this way and that as it looked around with black, beady eyes. Clementine examined the mouse with interest. He had never seen an animal wearing clothes before.
No matter. Clementine jumped after the mouse, meaning to pin it to the floor like he had with the frog.
But the mouse scurried off just in time, its tail swishing as it took refuge beneath a nearby bookcase.
Clementine howled his annoyance, crouching to swipe at the little mouse underneath the shelf.
There was only a tiny gap between it and the carpet, far too small for Clementine to even fit his paw through.
The mouse was wiping his face with a handkerchief, a tiny one barely bigger than one of Clementine’s claws. ‘That was a close one,’ the mouse remarked. ‘Nice try, kitty, but you have to be faster than that to catch me.’
Clementine stood straight. Had he been a human, he might have gasped. The mouse was speaking the human language. And using a handkerchief. He was like a little boy in a mouse’s body.
‘Clem?’ called Mrs Cook, coming in from the lobby and looking around for him. ‘What is it? What are you meowing at?’
Clementine didn’t take his eyes off the little creature, but the mouse didn’t seem to want to move, knowing that if it – he? – ran off, Clementine would follow. The cat meowed for her attention, and he waited until Mrs Cook was crouching beside him, her line of sight following his.
‘Oh, thank goodness. A person,’ said the mouse. ‘Please tell your cat I mean no harm. I think I came here by mistake.’
Mrs Cook’s eyebrows rose and her mouth opened in a little O. Then she shook her head and smiled, saying, ‘My goodness, you gave me a fright.’ She picked up Clementine with her gentle hands. ‘Out you come, little one. Clementine won’t hurt you, I promise.’
Clementine huffed, reluctantly withdrawing his claws. The mouse wore a white hat and a red jumper, and he cautiously crawled out from beneath the shelf and dusted himself off. He took off his hat. ‘It sure is nice to meet you, ma’am.’
‘Oh, you too,’ said Mrs Cook fondly, petting Clementine.
The librarian seemed to have taken charge of the situation.
The cat lay in Mrs Cook’s arms and let the elderly woman take them to the children’s section, all the while talking with the mouse about cities and families and all kinds of things Clementine didn’t care to understand.
He hadn’t been allowed to catch the mouse, though truly, he was already getting quite bored of the little creature.
Clementine wriggled out of Mrs Cook’s arms and hopped onto a bookcase, sulking as he watched her pluck a glowing book from a nearby shelf. ‘This should send you back home to your parents,’ she promised.
‘Thanks,’ said the mouse, sounding grateful.
After flipping to the back, Mrs Cook read out a passage. The mouse took off his hat and bowed to her before vanishing.
‘Clemmy, aren’t you such a good boy.’ Mrs Cook petted Clementine, stroking his face and around his ears until his bad mood evaporated and he mewed his approval. ‘You didn’t try to hurt him, did you?’ She drew back, looking around the library. ‘But that’s so strange. Who brought him out?’
Clementine hadn’t seen anybody here during his patrol. He lay his head on his paws, tail slowly swishing as he watched Mrs Cook fold her arms, frowning with her eyes closed as though she was thinking deeply about something.
‘Hmm. Well, never mind.’ She gave Clementine one last pet and kissed his head. ‘I have to be getting home. See you tomorrow, Clem.’