Pinned for Murder (15 page)

Tori paused her hands over the keyboard and looked up, the bright afternoon sun reflecting off the counter and temporarily blinding her for the umpteenth time. She could make out a shape—relatively slim, and an approximate height of about six foot two—but beyond that, she was at a loss as she waited for the door to close behind her latest patron.

Traffic had steadily increased throughout the day, with students working on last-minute school projects, youngsters selecting their latest round of storybooks, and parents ready to dispose of the previous week’s choices.

While there was a part of her that wished she had the day off to sew or catch up on her own reading, she couldn’t deny the fact that this was when she loved the library most. Sure, quiet mornings with barely more than a few toddlers and their moms were nice, but so were busy days that underscored the power of books.

“Excuse me. I keep getting an error message on my computer and I can’t figure out how to make it go away.”

Pulling her focus from the shadowed figure in the door, Tori scooted off the stool and made her way around the information desk. “Let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” A look of relief passed across the teenager’s face as he pointed toward the row of computers on the far side of the room. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was typing up my report for science and the next—wham!”

She walked around the computer bank and stopped beside the machine the boy indicated. Sure enough, a box had popped up in the bottom right corner, thwarting his progress.

“Do you think I’m gonna lose my report?” He rubbed a hand over his buzz cut, his voice growing more panicked with each passing word. “Mr. Bogan is gonna flunk me if I blow another one of his assign—whoa . . . you fixed it. . . .”

Slowly, she backed away from the computer, the corners of her mouth lifting upward in a smile. “We can’t have Mr. Bogan flunking you when you’ve been working so hard all day, now can we?”

A matching smile lit the teenager’s face. “No, we can’t.” Plunking himself into the chair, he grabbed hold of the mouse. “Thanks. You saved my life.”

“That’s what librarians are for.” She patted him on the shoulder, then gestured toward the screen. “You might want to hit Save now . . . just to make sure you don’t lose what you’ve written so far.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.”

Looping back around the computer bank, Tori headed toward the information desk, her stride quickening at the sight of a waiting patron. “I’m sorry, I was attending to a computer issue. How can I help—oh, Curtis . . . hi. I didn’t see you come in.”

Tipping his head forward, the man shrugged. “No worries. I can see it’s busy in here today.” He thrust a stack of books onto the counter and looked around, his gaze skimming its way around the room. “Looks like a nice library you’ve got here.”

“Thank you. We certainly try.”

When his visual inventory was complete, he gestured toward the books in front of him. “I read a lot when I’m on the road. Helps pass the time. But when I’m done, I don’t really have much room in my duffle bag for things I don’t need anymore.”

She pulled the books toward her, her hand running across the top one on the pile. “These are in great shape. Are you sure you even read them?”

A cloud passed across the man’s face. “I just said I read them, didn’t I?”

Caught off guard by his tone, she rushed to explain her statement. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply you were lying. It’s just that they”—she glanced down at the books—“look so good.”

His posture relaxed. “Oh. Well, they’re books. You read them once, you’re done. No reason to abuse them.”

“I agree. Though you’d be shocked to see the condition of some of the books we get.” One by one she went through the pile, her mind registering each and every title. “You have some great choices here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glanced up. “Did you enjoy them?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me, Tori. Please.” She ripped a sticky note from the pad beside her computer and wrote herself a note to check the titles with those in the system. “That was awfully nice of you to think of us for your books.”

His broad shoulders rose and fell once again. “I donate my books everywhere I go. My favorite aunt used to work at a library and I know how limited funds can be.”

“You’re right. And thank you.”

He leaned against the counter. “She used to take me to work with her sometimes when my mamma was too hung over to wake up in the mornings . . .” His voice trailed off momentarily only to return with the shake of his head. “I loved those days. I loved exploring all those books and visiting all those places the writers described in such vivid detail.”

Surprised by his willingness to say more than two words, she pulled her stool closer and sat down.

“I remember the steps . . . they had blue carpet. And there were three of them,” he said, as he motioned his hand upward.

“Steps?”

“For kids to sit on while they looked at books.” He glanced around the room, his brows furrowing.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked as she followed his gaze across shelves and over tables and chairs.

“Don’t you have books for kids? You know, picture books and stuff like that?”

She felt the smile before it crossed her face, the familiar pride over her greatest accomplishment to date surfacing with a vengeance. “We do.”

He bobbed his head left and then right. “Where?”

“Come with me.” Stepping off the stool, she motioned the man to follow as she led the way down the hall located off the back of the main room. “Like you, I remember spending hours upon hours in the library as a kid. Mine didn’t have steps, though. We had miniature rocking chairs.”

“What did you like to read?”

She looked over her shoulder as she continued walking, the memories his question evoked bringing a smile to her lips. “I could get lost in the pages of a Little House on the Prairie book by the time I was eight. Then, when I’d devoured all of those, I moved on to Nancy Drew. How about you?”

“I liked Hardy Boys novels myself. I got a kick out of trying to figure out the mystery before they did. I did okay most times.”

Nodding, she stopped just inside the door of the children’s room, her gaze fixed on his. “Did you ever pretend to be them?”

Shrugging as if embarrassed, Curtis glanced down at the floor, then back up at Tori. “Sometimes. But the story I liked to act out most was Robin Hood. I liked what he stood for even then.”

“Then I think you would have loved this even more than the blue-carpeted steps.” Tori took a step backward and motioned him inside. “I know I sure would have.”

Barely two feet into the room he stopped and simply stared.

“The murals on the wall are enlarged renditions of drawings some of our local schoolchildren did. They represent some of their favorite books,” she said as she worked her away around Curtis and into the middle of the room. Pointing to the back wall, she began naming some of the books that had prompted the illustrations. “That’s Cinderella’s castle . . . and Mr. McGregor’s Garden . . . and—”

“Nottingham Forest . . . and the log cabin from the Little House books . . .” His gaze ricocheted around the room. When he’d completed his fourth or fifth pass of each and every picture, he looked back at her, awe evident in his eyes. “Who did this?”

“The kids did. It’s their drawings.”

“I get that, but who put them on the wall?”

“I did. I used a projector. Once their drawing was on the wall, I simply traced and then painted.”

Nodding, he stepped further into the room, his hand grazing across a row of book spines. “The kids must love this.”

“They do.” And it was true. From the moment they’d opened the new children’s room, it had become a favorite destination among the children of Sweet Briar. Suddenly, those youngsters who had resisted reading were slowly but surely giving books a try, eager to learn about the tale that went with the various pictures. “But the highlight of the room is the dress-up trunk.”

“Dress-up trunk?”

Rather than explain, she simply beckoned him to follow once again, her feet traveling a favorite and well-worn path. When she reached the trunk she’d found at a local flea market, she bent over and lifted the lid. “Red Riding Hood, Laura Ingalls, Cinderella”—sifting her hand through the trunk, she pulled out a green hat affixed with a feather—“Robin Hood . . . you name it, they can be it.”

His hand brushed against hers as he reached for the hat. “Where did you get these?”

“We made them.”

He looked from the hat to Tori and back again, turning the green material over in his hand. “We?”

“The Sweet Briar Ladies Society Sewing Circle.” She dug around in the box once again until she found the vest that went along with the hat. Holding it against her chest, she made a silly face. “I was a real girly-girl when I was little so I’m not sure what kind of Robin Hood I would have been, but it probably would have looked great on you.”

“Are you part of this sewing circle, too?” he asked as he took hold of the vest and stared down at it as if it were made of gold.

“I am. It’s how I met Rose Winters and Leona’s sister, Margaret Louise.” She walked over to the stage area and sat down, her feet dangling over the edge of the wooden platform. “I’m not sure what I would do without them.”

Setting the Robin Hood costume on the platform beside Tori, Curtis ran his hand along the stage overhang. “Who made this?”

“A man from the town. He heard what I wanted to do in this room and he volunteered to help. Just like you’re doing with Milo and the collection booth.” She pointed to the wooden two-by-four that denoted the top of the stage. “One of these days I’m going to put some brackets up so we can hang a curtain. I think the kids would love that.”

He pulled his hand back. “This room was your idea?”

She nodded. “It was used as a storage room when I started working here. The moment I saw it, my mind started dreaming up ways to make it something special for the kids—something that would ignite their interest in reading. The only problem was what to do with the boxes of old books that were piled in nearly every corner. Once I started opening them it didn’t take long to realize we were wasting space. Some of the books were in good enough condition we could sell them in the spring at the library’s annual sale, but some were in terrible shape. I moved the good ones to the basement and pitched the bad ones. And, well, the space that was created was simply too hard to ignore.”

Retrieving the costume from the platform, he folded it carefully in his hands. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” she asked as she watched him place the hat and vest back into the trunk and close the lid.

“Didn’t ignore it.” He gestured to the pictures, the trunk, and the stage with his chin. “You’ve done something mighty special here.”

She followed his gaze, a familiar sense of pride rearing its head. “And you know what? It cost us less than two hundred dollars to get this room up and running.”

He snorted in disbelief.

“No, really, it did,” she said. “We already had the shelves and the books, the local hardware store donated the paint, I painted the pictures onto the wall myself, I found that trunk at a flea market for twenty-five bucks, my friends and I made the costumes to put in it, and Nina, my assistant, donated the bean bag chairs. All I needed to purchase was the lumber for the stage and a few additional seating options.

“Though now that we’re in here and using the room all the time I see some things I’d still like to do.”

“Like what?” he asked with true interest in his voice.

She gestured toward the stage once again. “I’d put up those brackets I just mentioned, I’d order the curtain Leona found for me on some site somewhere, and I’d get two or three . . . ideally four . . . reading chairs—kid-sized ones—and a table to go with them . . .”

“And you did all this because . . .” His words trailed off as he waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Because I love books. Because they were such a huge part of my childhood—such a huge and wonderful part.”

For several long moments he simply studied her as if he were trying to see past her eyes and into her soul. And for some reason, it didn’t bother her or make her uncomfortable. There was something about Curtis that made her feel as if he understood. Understood the drive, understood the passion, understood the desire to make a dream come true.

When he finally spoke, his voice was little more than a raspy whisper. “I wish I’d known you when I was a kid.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I think you would have gotten me in a way no one else did.”

Chapter 13

It never ceased to amaze Tori how fast life could change. One minute you could be down for the count, and the next you could be standing on a mountaintop basking in the sun. The problem was not always trusting that the mountaintop was out there.

The last few months in Chicago had been awful, the devastation over her broken engagement to Jeff making it hard to get out of bed every morning let alone find a reason to smile and laugh.

But now, living here in Sweet Briar, she was happy—completely, utterly happy. Sure, her ever-deepening relationship with Milo was a factor. He was loving, caring, genuine, honest, and romantic—a rare combination she recognized as nothing short of a gift. Yet it was more than just Milo. Her mountaintop was being bathed in sunlight from
multiple
directions, the majority of which were sitting right there in her living room.