Chapter Five
T he afternoon was quiet. I waited for the books to resume their chatter, but they were mute. I slid a novel from a shelf in Popular Releases, willing it to communicate some of the Louisiana swamp and thunderstorms of its setting, but it was lifeless between my palms.
Sighing, I returned the book to its shelf. I was on my way to my office when I saw one of the construction workers from the Empress hesitating at the entrance to the atrium.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“This is a library? I know the sign outside says it is, but I’ve never seen a library like this.”
Now I recognized the man—he was the construction worker I’d seen arguing with his boss at Darla’s Café. Why wasn’t he at work?
“Yes, it’s a library. Crazy, isn’t it? Looking for something to read?” If I remembered right, he slept in his van. He probably wanted somewhere to hang out with proper upholstery. Or maybe he’d heard about our claw foot bathtub.
“Do you have some kind of program for visitors?” he asked.
“We have cards for temporary residents. You’re working on the Empress, right? Come in to Circulation, and I’ll set you up.”
Head craning to take in moldings, paintings, and books, he followed me to the mansion’s former drawing room.
“Have a seat.” I turned to the computer monitor. “What’s your name?”
“Cliff Montgomery.” He slid his driver’s license across the desk.
I stopped typing. “Like the actor?” Dylan, our intern obsessed with Hollywood’s golden age, would love this.
“Uh-huh.”
Up close, Cliff had his namesake’s craggy brows and sharp jaw, but that’s where the resemblance ended.
This Cliff was a dirty blond, and his eyes were small enough that they almost disappeared when he smiled.
In contrast, his mouth was broad and expressive.
He wore work clothes—bright orange T-shirt, canvas pants, boots—but they were clean, not caked with drywall dust as I’d have expected.
Maybe he’d changed before he came up here.
“I have to apologize,” he said.
“For what?”
“I saw you at the café. You overheard my discussion with Tyrone.” His shook his head. “That should have never happened.”
For a moment I considered pretending I hadn’t heard, but he was being honest, so I was, too. “Don’t worry about it. We all have disagreements with our bosses from time to time. How are things going at the Empress?”
He scooted his chair forward. “It’s just a personality thing. Nothing more. He’s so flashy, and I’m more down-to-earth. Know what I mean?”
Again, I stopped typing and looked at him. He really wanted to set me straight. “I can see how you might be different people.”
“Exactly,” he said, clearly pleased I agreed. “I’m a simple man. He’s not. We don’t understand each other, that’s all.”
Why was he telling me this? “I see.”
“If I can add a warning, he’s a player. I’m only saying so because you remind me of my sister, Mindy. You’re an attractive lady—”
“Thank you.”
“—and I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to make time with you. Watch out.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
I could have told him I had a boyfriend, but I couldn’t honestly say that anymore.
Sam and I hadn’t officially broken up, but what else is it when someone refuses to respond to your texts and calls?
“Noted.” I walked to the printer to pick up his temporary card and handed it to him. “Now, what would you like to read?”
“There’s something else.” He sat straight. “I’d be careful about believing what he says.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has some odd ideas, that’s all. Take whatever he says with a grain of salt. He’s been involved in shady activities.”
Curious. “What kinds of activities?”
He looked around, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Let’s put it this way: he has a record.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Have you worked with him long?”
My question seemed to fluster Cliff. Finally, he met my eyes. “Long enough.” He tucked the card into his wallet. “Now, what do you recommend?”
Normally the books would have flooded my head with titles. I would have known if he favored thrillers, preferred history, or even had a secret yen for romance novels. But this morning, they were silent.
Cliff must have seen the disappointment on my face. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Not at all. Tell me what you usually read.”
“What do you have in the line of true crime?”
Compared with my strange episodes with Wanda and Cliff, the rest of the day had been uneventful.
Mr. Loveheart had dropped another novel in the river, where he’d been fishing.
The library’s trustees had told me long ago to expect regular losses from his fishing expeditions, but that his annual gift to the book buying fund more than made up for it.
Mrs. Garlington’s student had not shown up for organ lessons, so Mrs. Garlington had treated the library’s patrons to a few spritely renditions of songs from the musical Cats .
Word had already made the rounds about my Puss in Boots discussion with Wanda.
The evening—another without Sam—loomed ahead of me. I planned to put it to use. There was still one avenue open to finding Ian, and that was the stranger at the retreat center. Maybe her arrival had somehow scared him off.
My excuse to visit was that the retreat center housed a satellite library for visitors.
I filled a tote bag with thrillers, mysteries, romance, science fiction, and fantasy, and I was pleased to hear their curious blend of squealing tires, dragon’s roars, and lovers’ sighs.
My magic was edging back after the afternoon’s lull.
Rodney wound around my ankles, letting his silky tail brush my calf.
“You’d better stay here, baby. Just in case you scare Wanda. ”
I took the trail along the river to the retreat center.
The sun was low enough that it filtered through the fir trees, but night wouldn’t fall for hours yet.
To my left stood forest, and to my right sloped the embankment to the cottonwood trees along the drowsy Kirby River.
Beyond the river spread the few blocks of Wilfred proper.
I stood for a moment to take in the view.
Cars filled the parking lot at Darla’s, and the tidy rows of trailers at the Magnolia Rolling Estates lay at an angle like bones along a fish’s spine.
Each person in each car and each home had their own dramas to navigate.
Some times they were joyous—another Tohler baby, for instance— and sometimes less happy. Life was full of drama.
I emerged from the woods into the clearing with the retreat center. A decade-old Kia was parked in the lot. Likely the stranger’s. I put on my most confident smile and strolled up the stone patio to the door.
And stopped cold. Faint Spanish-inflected guitar music came from inside, and Wanda, oblivious to me or anything else, whirled a large fringed shawl around her.
The silk wafted and whipped through the air while her feet tapped skillfully on the wooden floor.
She was . . . flamenco dancing. And she was really good.
I was riveted. Wanda, with her stocky frame, denim work pants, and self-administered haircut, was far from an elegant Spanish beauty, but I couldn’t wrench my eyes from her.
Duke, her brother, was an accomplished dancer, too.
He foxtrotted like a combination of Fred Astaire and Tweedledee.
Maybe their parents had run a dance studio.
Through the window, Wanda waved her shawl at a nonexistent dance partner and snapped back her head, and I felt a twinge of sympathy. The partner who wasn’t there was clearly all too real in her eyes.
Wanda’s dancing slowed, and she dropped her arms. She’d seen me. She picked up her phone from a chair and cut the music.
I stepped inside. “You’re an amazing dancer. I thought Duke was good, but you? Wow.”
She nodded at the compliment. Only a faint sheen of moisture on her brow and neck showed her exertion at all. “Can I help you?”
I lifted the tote. “I’m here to refresh the library upstairs. Is the visitor in—the woman staying here a few days?”
“Don’t know. I don’t think so.” She looped the shawl over her shoulder. “How was children’s reading hour?”
“It went well.” I’d heard kids laughing from Old Man Thurston’s office while their caregivers drank coffee in the kitchen. “You can sit in on the next one, if you’d like. I bet Mona could use your help.”
“That would be great. I’ve been thinking it over, and I’d like to focus my volunteer work on the children’s collection, if that’s all right with you.” She affected that stiff smile again.
“Of course,” I said.
“Terrific. Let me know if you need anything upstairs.” She walked away, her heels clicking on the floorboards.
The retreat center’s library filled two waist-high shelves on the upstairs landing.
As soon as I plunked my tote bag in an armchair, the books on the shelves greeted me and said hello to the other books in the bag.
Something I hadn’t known until I came into my magic was how social books are.
They like to be with readers, but second best was other books.
Once I understood that, I knew why shelves full of books looked so much more content than a shelf with only a few novels and dusty knickknacks.
Wanda was downstairs, out of earshot. I knelt next to the shelves, hoping my magic wouldn’t fail me. Despite the wavers this afternoon, it felt steadier now. “Books, has the visitor come to you?”
Yes, yes , they said in their harmony of voices.
“What did she choose?” Maybe something in her reading choices would tell me about her.
A few spines popped an inch from the others.
I pulled out the novel nearest me, a paranormal cozy, Witch Hunt , by Cate Conte.
Interesting. Practical Magi c by Alice Hoffman showed itself next.
I sat back. A gap in the novels meant she must have taken another one to her room.
Which one? Witches by Roald Dahl, came the whisper in my head.
Interesting. Witches fascinated the visitor. This was another possible link to Ian, who sold books about the paranormal.
“What is this about?” I said aloud.
“Did you say something?” came a woman’s voice from behind me.
I whirled toward her, my heart skipping a beat. “No, nothing. Just muttering.”
The woman closed her eyes, her chest rising with her breath. “They smell like vanilla, don’t they? So calming. The books, that is.”
I had to look twice. On the face of it, the stranger and I shared only a few similarities.
We were both about the same age and build.
But instead of a mass of red curls, she had straight chestnut brown hair braided and looped around her head.
Her eyes were mossy green, not blue, like mine, and freckles dusted her face, while my freckles had vanished with childhood.
My style was practical librarian. While also practical, her style looked artfully gathered from vintage clothing stores, giving her the vibe of Grace Kelly on a budget.
Yet there was something familiar about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I stood. “I’m Josie Way, Wilfred’s librarian. I was just swapping out a few of the books. This is a sort of satellite library for visitors.”
“Lise Bloom.” Judging from her stare, she seemed fascinated by me, too. She broke her gaze with a glance toward the bookshelves. “Sorry I’m being rude. It’s just that I feel like I’ve met you. Have you spent time in Astoria? That’s where I live.”
Astoria was a small town a few hours away, where the Columbia River met the Pacific Ocean.
Sam and I had spent a weekend there once, walking the hills among the Victorian houses and strolling the waterfront eating fish and chips.
We’d stayed at a hotel with a turntable and vinyl records, and Sam surprised me by knowing the lyrics to a Barry White album.
Sam was no Wanda, but I could have danced with him all night.
I didn’t know if I had the heart to visit Astoria again. Not without him.
“A couple of days. That’s it,” I said. She might not live on the East Coast where Ian was from, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a recent transplant. I wanted to ask her straight out why she was here in Wilfred, but it would seem too abrupt. Instead, I said, “Are you enjoying your time here?”
“Sure,” she said, but didn’t seem to pay attention to my response. Instead, she studied me.
What did she want? Perhaps she knew Ian was dating someone and wondered if I was his girlfriend. Or maybe I was totally wrong, and she was here to make etchings of lichen or write haikus.
“You must know people in town,” I said, fairly certain she didn’t—unless she knew Ian, that is.
“No.”
“People have stayed here between retreats to meditate,” I said. “Or hike.”
“That sounds nice.”
To heck with subtlety. I couldn’t wait any longer. “What brings you to Wilfred, anyway?”
She examined me again. “Truthfully? I don’t know.”