Booked for Trouble (24 page)

“Speech,” Ronald shouted.

“Speech, speech,” the crowd chorused. A blushing Bertie was pushed to the front of the room. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears and her voice broke as she began to speak.

“Thank you, friends, so much for coming. You have no
idea how much this means to me. And thank you most of all to the world's best staff, Ronald, Charlene, and Lucy, for this.”

Everyone cheered. Ronald took a deep bow.

Charles, who hadn't quite forgiven me for spoiling his fun earlier, leapt up onto the shelf beside Bertie. She laughed. “And thank you, Charles. That storm's building, and fast. I hate to say it, but let's dig into this cake so we can get all of you safely home.”

When she'd finished to many cheers, Josie pulled out a knife and began cutting the cake. Bertie got the first piece, and everyone cheered again. I placed slices onto plates and a beaming Bertie handed them around.

While we did that, Butch exchanged a word with Ronald and Charlene, and they nodded. Ronald put the caps back on the wine bottles, and Charlene began collecting crumpled napkins and dirty paper plates. Connor spoke quietly to Bertie.

Soon, all that remained of the gorgeous cake was the bottom layer. Gradually the library began to empty as everyone gave Josie their compliments and said their good-nights. Ronald, Charlene, and I finished tidying up with the help of Aunt Ellen and Josie.

Every time the door opened, rain streamed in and the wind caused the pages of magazines on the rack to shudder. Charles kept himself far away from the door, and I was glad I didn't have to venture out into the wild night. I live here, in the lighthouse, in a delightful, cozy little apartment on the fourth floor. My lighthouse aerie.

Josie packed the last of the cake into small boxes, distributed them among the stragglers, and then she and Aunt Ellen gave me kisses and said good night. Ronald
and Charlene, clutching their cake boxes while unfurling umbrellas, escorted Bertie to her car.

At the end of the night, only Butch and Connor remained.

The men eyed each other.

I looked from one to the other.
Oh dear.

“Good night, Mr. Mayor,” Butch said.

“Night, Officer Greenblatt,” Connor said.

Neither of them made a move.

“Guess it's time to be going,” Connor said.

“Yup,” Butch said. “Nice party, Lucy.”

Charles sat on the shelf, his head moving from one man to the other as if he were at a tennis match.

“Do you want—?”

“Can I see you—?”

“Good night, gentlemen,” I said.

They looked at me. Then they looked at each other. Charles watched them both.

“I'll follow you, Connor,” Butch said. “Make sure you get to town safely in that little car of yours. Can't have the mayor going off the road in the dark.”

“No need to do that,” Connor said. “I've been driving these roads as long as you have.”

I crossed the room and opened the door. I peered outside. The night was a wet black void. “Neither of you will get to town if you don't leave now. If anything, that wind is picking up.”

“Once I've seen Connor off, I can come back and . . . uh . . . make sure you stay safe here, if you'd like, Lucy,” Butch said.

“I don't think that's a particularly good idea,” Connor said. “Suppose there's an emergency and you get called to come into work.”

“Out. Both of you,” I said.

They moved at the same time, squeezing through the doorway, apologizing all over themselves, calling good night to me.

I shut the door behind them and gave the lock a satisfying twist.

Charles jumped off the shelf and headed toward the stairs.

Excellent idea,
I thought.

I followed him upstairs with a warm, contented glow.

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