With Cruel Intent (2 page)

compartment of the Boeing 727. She’d

sold everything she could, given a bunch

to friends and neighbors, including the

ashtray that Tony had brought back from

Jamaica on one of his ‘business trips’ that

Blanche now knew to be ‘give me the

business’ trips. Everything else had gone

to charity or the local dumpster. She had

saved the ashtray to give Holly as a

special going away memento. It was round

at the base like most ordinary ashtrays but

had a rather large phallus, carved out of

local Jamaican wood, that rose from the

tray’s rim and defied gravity as it

balanced on the table in front of them.

When he had brought the odd gift home

she thought perhaps he had purchased it to

titillate her, but as she looked at it now,

the undeniable truth struck her as

somewhat funny.

Holly had been speechless when

she saw the item. “I don’t know what to...

Well, I really think it’s uh... Is it really

possible that they ever get that big?” she

finally said.

They shared a laugh and hug

knowing that they wouldn’t get a chance to

see each other until Christmas, if even

then. The years following the split with

Tony, Holly had been a great source of

comfort and solace. They went to the gym

together, often ate lunch at the plaza near

Holly’s craft store where she sold local

home made items and antiques. Blanche

really didn’t know how she would make it

without her lifelong confidant but was

assured that they would only be as far

apart as a phone call. Her family on the

other hand needed some space from her or

perhaps she needed the space from them.

It was growing increasingly apparent that

they didn’t approve of her lifestyle, and

were disappointed that she didn’t have a

husband, four children, a mortgage and a

Dodge Caravan. That was not Blanche,

never was, never would be. Something in

the air told her she was meant for

something different, something more,

something unusual. She didn’t begrudge

her friends and women who chose the path

of a family and the whole 'settling down

routine', but the books of her youth kept

her searching for something that, most

likely, was completely unattainable.

The farewells at the airport had

been awkward but sincere. Tears had

flowed freely as she kissed her nieces and

nephews goodbye, hugged her mom and

dad, and held Holly longer than she should

have. “Yes, maybe life does start at 33,”

she thought to herself, as she left the teary

crew and made her way through security

and onto the plane.

CHAPTER ONE

The stairs to the old library were

well worn by the soles of book lovers the

years over, and it gladdened Blanche's

heart to know that she was perhaps among

kindred spirits. The top of each step was

freshly painted with a yellow stripe in an

attempt to keep the senior citizens on their

toes and not their knees and elbows. More

than once the county had doled out legal

fees resulting from errant footfalls. The

librarian carefully maneuvered the stairs

and paused, her hand on the large handle

below the sign reading 'Quietly Enter and

Enjoy the World of Books', followed by

another sign that read 'Valdosta Public

Library - Donations Welcome'. The hinges

creaked ever so slightly as she pulled the

door open and got her first look at her new

home away from home.

Initially it didn't appear to Blanche

to be very busy but under closer

inspection she could see individuals

scurrying about behind the scenes, taking

books out of bins, sorting and getting them

ready to go back on the shelves. She was

surprised to see so many actively working

considering the financial crunch they were

under. The library itself was a warm and

inviting space filled with row after row of

shelving units interspersed with tables,

computer monitors and comfy armchairs

for those wanting to stay awhile. Rich

wood accents highlighted the walls and

angles giving the library a homey feel that

culminated with a large reception desk in

the centre of the first floor. Near the desk

and stretching to the second floor was the

most amazing cantilever staircase. Inlaid

hardwood steps, beautiful iron work and

an elegant hand carved wood grip, drew

Blanche's eyes to the open area above,

topped with a domed cathedral style

ceiling that she had noted from the moment

she'd gotten off the bus, complete with a

Georgia flag waving in the noon breeze.

At the desk stood a woman in her

late fifties, hair in a graying bun, dress to

the floor and wrists, with a nametag

hugging her chest. Blanche moved close

enough to make out the name, Ester

Anderson - Director. She fit every

stereotype and unsaid expectation Blanche

had ever run into over her years of service

in a library setting. Mrs. Anderson

appeared to be all business as she moved

from the desk counter to the computer and

back again. Logging information, moving

books from one pile to another and

answering the phone while still working

the papers and items in front of her,

occasionally looking up to cast a

sideways glance at the youth in the corner

making paper airplanes and sending them

into space. Blanche stood patiently

waiting for Ester to have a lull so she

could introduce herself.

“What can I do for you?” the head

librarian said, without even lifting her

eyes from the countertop.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m the

new librarian, Blanche Delaney from

Arizona.”

It was as if the older woman had

just been injected with adrenalin, “Well,

let’s see, welcome, welcome, but we

didn’t expect to see you until, um let’s see,

tomorrow August 6th,” she replied, as she

moved papers about on the desk looking to

find something of importance.

Blanche, in an attempt to be

tactful, replied in a hushed tone, “I believe

today is the 6th?”

“Oh my heavens, is that right, are

you sure? Do you mean to tell me that I’ve

spent the entire morning stamping items

with the wrong date?” and with that she

grabbed the date stamp from the desk,

flipped it over and read, “August 5, oh no,

that just won’t do. Now I’ll have to spend

the remainder of the day correcting the

errors of the morning, but that’s neither

here nor there for you." She straightened

herself up, took in a full breath of air and

repeated these obviously rehearsed lines,

"We are so pleased to have you join us

here at the Valdosta Public Library and

we look forward to getting to know you

and helping you settle into our little

community.” She extended her hand and

took Blanche’s in a firm grip and shook it

a time or two before releasing it and going

back to the desktop in search of the

illusive document she needed. “Oh here it

is, I knew it was here somewhere. It says

here that you are single and will be

working full time with responsibility for

the library only. I guess that leaves the

museum to me but I’m sure I’ll need your

help there on occasion as well,” more

speaking to herself than Blanche. “Were

you planning on working today or do you

need some time to get your things taken

care of?”

Blanche was nodding yes to her

question even before she had finished, “I

had anticipated working today. I’ve been

in town a couple of days already and got

my things,” ‘which aren’t many,’ she

thought to herself, “stowed and I’m ready

to go.”

“Alrighty, that sounds good. Let’s

get you started with a tour of the library

and I can answer some questions as we go

along.” She turned and motioned to a

young man working in the room behind a

glass window. As he approached the front

desk she said, “Can you watch the desk

for a few minutes? I need to show our new

librarian, Ms. Delaney our facility.”

“Sure

Mrs.

Anderson,

no

problem,” he replied, with a smile on his

face, taking in the shapely librarian as she

turned and headed off down a row of

books with Ester.

The tour was brief but informative.

The library had been of service to the

community for many years and Mrs.

Anderson had been the director for more

years than she cared to divulge. The

working hours would be typical, starting

at 8:30 a.m. and closing one half hour

beyond the posted closing time. This

would allow time to straighten things up in

preparation for the next day. The library,

however, was open two nights a week

until 10:00 p.m. and Blanche would be

expected to work those shifts on a regular

basis, as she was the newest member of

the staff.

“Mrs. Anderson, you indicated in

our correspondence that funding was a

concern, yet I see so many young people

working in the back room today,” she

inquired.

“Oh them, they belong to a work

study group from the high school. They

come in a couple times a week to help sort

books and get them back on the shelf for

us. Without them we’d be in real trouble.

There are only four of us that are actually

paid to be here. That’d be you, me,

(pointing

at

herself),

Marcus

the

custodian, I’ll introduce you to him later

today, and Seymour. He’s a college

student that helps out in the evenings when

we need him. I guess that’s about it,” she

said, with a shrug of her lace-covered

shoulders. “I think today you should spend

some time getting to know the layout of the

library, what we have available and

familiarize yourself with our computer

system. I believe you said you had used

something similar in your last position.”

Blanche began to say yes, but was

cut off and sent on her way with a flick of

Ester’s hand and calling over her

shoulder, “Let me know if you have any

questions. I’ll be re-stamping all the

books that came in this morning.” The next

couple of hours just flew by as she

inspected the rows of books and

wandered the library from top to bottom.

She noted that a steady stream of patrons

had come and gone with some older

people settled into the cozy chairs either

reading the paper or sleeping, in some

cases. At 3:00 p.m. she excused herself

and informed Ester that she'd be back in

half an hour after she'd finished her lunch.

As she exited the building and

descended the yellow highlighted steps

she could hear children laughing and

playing, she followed the direction of the

noise. Turning the corner on Wilson Drive

she could see a group of small children

running and playing in and near a fountain.

Water sprayed from the white, marble

fountain that graced the center of the

vibrant little park, arching high into the air

coming back to earth in a torrent of

splashes at the base. Trusting parents sat

idly by talking in small clusters as the

children welcomed the cool water on their

heads and tanned bodies.

“Just the place for lunch,” she

thought. Sitting on the edge of a nearby

fountain, Blanche opened the brown paper

bag she had hidden away in her purse and

pulled out the peanut butter and jelly

sandwich

that

her

landlady,

Mrs.

Carmichael, had made for her that

morning, insisting that the homemade jam

would be the best she had ever tasted. The

spray from the fountain felt good as it

acted to nullify some of the humidity.

Blanche sat and enjoyed the beauty of the