Reading Up a Storm (3 page)

When I woke, the first thing I did was grab my binoculars and pull back the draperies. The sun was a brilliant yellow ball hovering over the flat, watery horizon, and the sky was as blue and cloudless as it is in the tourist brochures. For a moment, I thought I must have dreamed the whole thing, inspired by my late-night reading of Stevenson's classic novel.

Then I saw it. A boat was on the beach, lying on its side like a tourist who'd fallen asleep in the sun and would soon wake to a serious sunburn. I adjusted the binoculars and saw that, rather than dozing in the sun, the boat was badly damaged with a hole in its side, and it had cast pieces of flotsam and jetsam across the sand. It was a motorboat, probably a twenty-footer, either a genuine antique or a carefully crafted replica, made of sleek golden wood.

Several cars were parked along the highway, and a small group of people milled around the wreck.

I picked up my phone and dialed Butch.

“Mornin', Lucy,” he said in his deep Outer Banks accent.

“Hi, Butch,” I said. “Are you working today?”

“Yeah. I just got in. I'm still in the station, reading last night's reports. It was a busy shift. Great party, by the way. What's up?”

“A boat's been wrecked off Coquina Beach. I saw it floundering last night after I'd come upstairs. I called to report it. Do you know if anyone was on it? Are they okay?”

“Give me a sec and I'll check,” he said.

Charles meowed and gave me a serious glare. The first thing I do in the mornings is feed him. He was not looking happy at having been overlooked today.

“Found it,” Butch said. “Coast guard got a call of a boat in distress. They arrived to find it coming apart in the surf. Two people had made it to shore, and the Guard called the police to pick them up and take them into town.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “I'm so glad. I was watching from my window, but couldn't be sure what was going on.”

“The owner's named William Williamson. How's that for a pretentious name?” Butch chuckled. “Address in Nags Head.”

“I'm surprised he's local,” I said. “He can't know much about the sea. What sort of idiot would go out on a night like that in a small boat? Or in any sort of boat, for that matter?”

“One with more money than brains. According to the report, the boat was almost new.” Butch snorted with laughter.

“What is it?”

“This is a police report, Lucy, so I shouldn't really be telling you. But Mr. Williamson gives his age as sixty-two. His companion of last night was a woman, aged thirty-two.”

“You've got a dirty mind,” I said. “She might be his daughter.”

“Might be, although the name is different. But I'd say as well as more money than brains, he might not be above a little showing off. Guess that didn't work out so well for him. Book club still on for tomorrow night?”

“Of course,” I said. “Have you read the book?”

“It was hard to get into at first, all the strange words and the accents. But once I got over that, I really liked it. Quite an adventure story.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

“Right. Um, how about we go out for a drink after the meeting?”

I hesitated. I like Butch. Butch likes me. He's smart and handsome, big and manly, masculine in a self-deprecating way (when not being a cop) that I find totally charming. But I don't know if I want it to go any farther than friendship and I don't want to start giving signals he might misinterpret. Then there was Connor, for whom I also have feelings, to complicate things.

As I said, Butch's smart: he caught my hesitation. “Maybe Josie and Grace would like to come too. And anyone else we might round up.”

“I'd like that,” I said.

“See you tomorrow.”

I hung up, realizing I'd said nothing to Butch, or to the 911 operator last night, about the mysterious lights
on the shore. I wasn't sure what I'd seen. It didn't matter now. Aside from the loss of the boat, all had turned out okay.

I got ready for work, after filling Charles's food bowl of course.

*   *   *

It was late September, and the tourist season was coming to an end. A few patrons browsed the shelves, but the library was quiet as people took advantage of one of the last beach- and pool-worthy days. All summer the place had been a madhouse. Bertie and the board had obtained a loan for a complete set of Jane Austen first editions for the summer months. Despite having temporarily lost two of the precious volumes, the exhibit had been successful beyond our wildest dreams. Austen-philes had come from as far away as Texas and Quebec to see it.

The books, and the accompanying notebook of Miss Austen's, had been carefully packed up and returned to their owner, and the library staff had breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Tuesday morning, I worked on the circulation desk. The library was back to normal. The banner had been taken down, the last of the crumbs swept up, the trash taken out. When we'd gathered before opening, we'd taken the time to congratulate ourselves on a successful surprise party, and Bertie had told us she'd been truly touched, not only that we'd gone to the trouble to have the party, but by the number of friends who'd come out on a bad night to celebrate with her.

Now she was in her office, completing the staff
performance reviews. Ronald was upstairs in the children's library, and Charlene's head was buried in a stack of old shipping logs someone had salvaged from his great-grandfather's estate.

The door swung open and a woman came in. She was a tiny little thing, fine boned, about five foot two, and not weighing much more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. She was almost invisible behind the stack of books in her arms. I jumped to my feet to give her a hand. Once the books were deposited on the returns cart, we exchanged a hug. Charles leaped onto the cart and asked for a scratch. Our visitor obliged.

“You missed a great party last night,” I said.

Stephanie grimaced. Her skin was pale, her arms dotted with freckles, her curly hair a flaming red, and her eyes a deep, expressive gray. “Couldn't be helped. That storm was something else.”

“It sure was. Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“Did your mom get through all those?” I asked, pointing to the books.

“She did. I swear she might have engineered that accident herself, just to be able to spend all the time she wants reading.” Tears filled my friend's eyes and I gave her another hug.

“Why are you crying? She's going to be okay, isn't she?”

“Her accident brought home to me that my mom's mortal. I don't think I'd ever accepted it before. Someday I'll lose her.”

“It'll be a long time before that happens.”

She grinned and wiped at her eyes. “You're right,
Lucy. I'm not usually the emotional sort. I guess it's all hit me at once.”

“I thought I heard your voice, Stephanie.” Bertie came into the room, carrying an empty coffee cup. She also gave the younger woman a big hug. “How's your mom today?”

“She's in good spirits this morning. The physiotherapist is at the house to take her through her exercises, so I took the chance to do some shopping and get more books.”

“And how are you doing, honey?”

“I'm fine,” Stephanie said. The bags beneath her wide gray eyes and the lines of strain around her mouth put the lie to her words. “I'm also enjoying the chance to catch up on my reading. Mom and I have always had totally different tastes. Nothing I love more than a good bodice-ripper. . . .”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Bertie and I chorused.

Stephanie laughed. “I finished the Susanna Kearsley over the weekend, and I couldn't find anything I fancied in the house, so I ended up reading that one.” She nodded to the book at the top of the returns cart.
Treasure Island
by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Bertie's eyes lit up. She pounced on Stephanie's words as quickly as Charles had moved when a little girl's long braid had come loose in preschool play group. “If you liked that one, you'll love
Kidnapped
. Lucy, do we have a copy around?”

We didn't, because they'd all been taken out by book club members. “I finished it,” I said. “Why don't I run up and get my copy for Steph.”

“Excellent,” Bertie said.

“I don't . . .” Stephanie began.

I dashed up the stairs. I hadn't finished the book last night, but I'd read it several times before. I remembered it well enough to lead the club's discussion.

I grabbed the book and ran back down, taking the steps two at a time. “Here you go.” I thrust the tattered paperback into Stephanie's hands.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I've an excellent idea!” Bertie exclaimed as if she'd thought of it at that very moment. “Lucy's book club just happens to be meeting tomorrow to discuss
Kidnapped
. Why don't you join them?”

“I can't leave . . .”

“Nonsense. You missed the party last night. You need to get out sometime. I'll sit with your mother. I'd love nothing more than a nice long chat without one of us having to rush off hither and yon. What time does the club meet, Lucy?”

As if she didn't know.
“Seven.”

“Perfect. I'll be at your house at quarter of. Lucy often goes out with Josie and some of the others after. Isn't that right, Lucy?”

“Right,” I lied. Butch's suggestion of a drink in town was not part of our normal routine.

“I won't expect you back until eleven or even later,” Bertie said.

Stephanie gave Bertie a soft smile. “Thanks. I'd better get off then. Looks like I have some reading to do.”

When the door had shut behind Stephanie, I turned to Bertie. “That's nice of you.”

“Stephanie keeps up a brave front, but it's never easy caring for an invalid. As much as I love Pat, she can't be easy to live with at the best of times. She might joke about enjoying her reading, but she's got to be desperately bored. Stephanie needs the break, I'm sure. All her life, it's been just the two of them. Stephanie and Pat.”

“Where's Stephanie's dad?”

“He's never been in the picture. Pat never talks about him. She must have been quite young when she had Stephanie. I suspect she had to drop out of school. She hasn't had things easy, what with not much money, no husband, and a child to raise on her own. She's estranged from her own family. I don't know the story there, but it might have something to do with Stephanie not having an obvious fatherly presence. It makes me so mad. Pat's had a difficult life, but she's always worked hard, never complained, and she raised a wonderful daughter. Now that Stephanie's got her law degree and has a good job, Pat should've finally been able to relax and get some enjoyment out of life, but then this accident had to happen to her. I can't think she has much, if anything, in the way of benefits from her job at the restaurant.”

Stephanie was a lawyer in Raleigh. The firm had given her a leave of absence to care for her mother, and I knew she was doing what work she could remotely, but she was probably taking a financial hit all the same. It would be hard enough for anyone, and she probably still had student loans to pay off.

I was glad Butch had suggested that a group of us go out after book club. It would do Stephanie some good.

*   *   *

“I loved it!” Stephanie exclaimed as she burst through the library doors shortly before seven o'clock the next evening. “Sold into slavery. Sword fights on a sailing ship. Dueling bagpipes. A dark, brooding Scottish hero on the run!” She looked great in a black T-shirt under a knitted shrug and skinny jeans tucked into knee-high black leather boots with killer heels.

I laughed. “
Kidnapped
is all that, for sure. A good, fun, rollicking adventure.”

I'd set out chairs in the third floor meeting room and laid out glasses, napkins, lemonade, and sweet tea. Josie always brought a box of “leftovers” from her bakery, so I made sure to leave some room on the table. Josie's Cozy Bakery was so popular that it never had much in the way of leftovers, so I suspected she did extra baking for us. I always insisted on paying for the treats over her protests.

Josie and her friend Grace arrived after Stephanie, and then the regulars began trooping in. CeeCee Watson, wife of the police detective, bounded up the stairs while Butch gave me a wink before asking Mrs. Fitzgerald, library board chair, if he could assist her. Mrs. Peterson came with two of her five daughters, who hadn't gotten out of the house fast enough after supper and were corralled into coming with her. Ronald had told me earlier that Louise Jane called to say she was going to Elizabeth City for the day and might not make it back in time. My hopes were high, but they were soon shattered when Louise Jane came walking through the door, smiling her barracuda smile at me. She made no
secret of the fact that she wanted a job at the library. My job. And to see me heading back to Boston lickety-split to boot.

“Good evening, Louise Jane,” I said in the excessively polite tone I'd learned while watching my mother greet unwelcome guests.

“Something wrong with your voice?” Louise Jane said. “You haven't been smoking again, have you, Lucy?”

“I've never smoked,” I said to her retreating back.

I waited at the door a few moments longer. I peered into the gathering dusk, waiting for one last club member. No headlights were coming down the long driveway, no rumbling car engine getting close. I told myself I wasn't at all disappointed, plastered a smile on my face, and went upstairs to talk about
Kidnapped
.

The disappointment I wasn't feeling didn't last for long. Everyone had helped themselves to drinks and Josie's baking—tonight she'd brought her hugely popular pecan tarts as well as a new treat of reverse-chocolate-chip cookies—and had found seats, when the bell at the front door rang. My heart sped up.