The Book Waitress Series Volume One (2 page)

Chapter Two

“I’m doing my best, Nancy. You know we’ve been down a person, so cut me a little slack.”

“So who’s going to pay for all the books we can’t find because they’re lost on the shelves or stolen due to your lazing off? Let me get my calculator ready and I’ll give you an idea of how much money your lackadaisical attitude is costing us.”

“Excuse me.” Two heads swiveled to face Camille, one with a look of surprise and annoyance, the other with relief. She’d been standing in the office doorway having gone unnoticed for a few minutes and decided she’d heard enough. It was time to play professional. “I’m Camille Dutton, your interim librarian. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Please interrupt. I’m about to get an ulcer. My name’s Susan and this is Nancy. And I, for one, am very glad you’re here.” Susan smiled with a look of relief.

“Thank you,” she said, offering a smile of her own. “I’ll do my best to get up to speed. You know, ulcers are caused by diet and stress.”

“Yes, well….” Nancy flashed a dismissive glance. “Why don’t we begin with your duties? I’ve scheduled you for the periodicals department. It’s a rather robust area with a lot of traffic. But I was told it
is
your area of expertise. Follow me and I’ll give you the rest of the list. Susan, mind the front and circulation.”

As they walked to the stairs and headed down one level, Nancy spouted her litany of daily chores and scheduled maintenance to be done after closing. “Here, take this paper so you can memorize it.” She shoved the list into Camille’s gut and waved her hand around like a game show model. “This is the Periodical Department. Your responsibility. You need to know this place better than you know yourself as soon as possible. It’s set up similarly to the branch you’re from. Some periodicals must be signed for and are housed behind the circulation desk. The patron fills out a slip of paper, gives it to you, and you go get the requested periodical. When they return it, you put it away. When new ones come in, enter them into the system catalog, put the call numbers on the spines and shelve them accordingly. I’ve got my own work to catch up on, so if you have any questions, try to figure it out on your own or ask Susan.”

With that, she turned and stalked back up the stairs, leaving Camille standing by the circulation counter, stunned by her supervisor’s abrasive manner. It couldn’t have been something personal. She’d done nothing to warrant her rudeness. People. They were so complicated. She guessed that’s why although she couldn’t stand them, she loved to study their nature.
I could write another master’s thesis on Nancy alone.

Checking her watch, she supposed she’d be there well after closing. That gave her a few hours to acclimate to her surroundings and introduce herself to the books. Taking a good look around, she had to admit the place had loads of charm. Wooden book stacks lined the perimeter of the space and flanked heavy oak tables with green leather-bottomed chairs set in the center. Stained glass skylights washed the floors with a kaleidoscope of jeweled colors. The overall appearance spoke of age and history. If these walls could talk, oh what they might say!

She walked around the currently empty area, up and down the aisles, caressing the spines of the books as she went past. The walls may not be able to talk, but the books certainly do. History lived here. People’s research, opinions, and all manner of science were immortalized within the covers of the journals found here.

A series of loud cracks and slamming sounds pierced the silence. She squealed, jumped, and turned to look around. No one stood before her, but a slew of books were lying in a messy heap on the floor, some opened, some closed. Looking right and left, peering through the stacks and between the books, she still didn’t see who could have tossed them to the floor. And when she’d walked past a few moments ago, she knew how securely they were in place on the shelf.

“That’s very odd. How the heck did this happen?” Scratching her head, she walked over to the offending books, and as she picked up the first, noticed the title
The Devil’s Handbook
.

She bent down and picked up another. Same title, different volume. This one had been splayed open to a particular page. Spells. There were spells and recipes written for different evil purposes. She plunked herself down on the floor as curiosity compelled her to flit through the pages to see more. In all her five years as a librarian, she’d never seen a periodical whose sole purpose was to teach how to worship Satan. She glanced over at the other books lying askew on the floor, and they, too, were part of the collection.

A soft bell rung in the distance. Scrambling to her feet, she quickly closed the book and replaced all thirteen volumes back on the shelf. The bell rang again.

“Coming! I’ll be right with you!” Camille straightened her outfit and swept stray strands of curls away from her face as she dashed over to her circulation desk. Waiting at the high counter stood a tall, blonde-haired man in loose-fitting jeans and a plaid shirt. He slapped slips of paper against his palm, and shifted a beat up backpack slung over one shoulder.

He turned and their eyes locked as she scurried around the desk and pasted on a professional smile. Thank goodness she’d been rushing about. It masked the true reason for her breathlessness—his heart-stopping, blue-green eyes. “How can I help you, today, sir?”

“I’d like to check these out, please, but I don’t know where to find them.” He flashed a pearly white grin. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

“Sure.” Looking at his order slips, she noticed they were all for newspapers. They were kept in a different place from the journals. She looked on the floor plan taped to the desk and located their home. “Follow me, please.”

She joined him around the front of the circulation desk and walked to the far end of the room. Archived newspapers were in a small room off the main area. His slips listed local and national newspapers for June of the last six years.

“I’m usually self-sufficient in a library, but I’m new to the island and this place is quite different from the ones I’ve been to. So thanks for helping me.”

“No problem. I’m new here, too, actually. Just arrived about an hour ago, in fact.”

“And you’re on the job already? Wow. That’s what I call dedication.”

“Here we are, sir.” She opened the door and ushered him inside. “Newspapers are organized by name, alphabetically, then by year, month, and day. They cannot be signed out, and I believe they must remain in this room.”

“Please, call me Derek. You’ll be seeing me here a lot from now on doing research, so it’s only right.”

“Okay, Derek. Please keep all food and drink out of the vicinity of the reference materials.”

“Yes, ma’am or…?” He stood there, waiting. For what, she didn’t know.

“Or what?”

“Or maybe you could tell me your name so I don’t offend you by using that old lady term again.”

“Ah, well, uh, my name is Camille. It just so happens the term ma’am, originally used in the 1660’s, is really a sign of respect when addressing a lady who is married. So it makes sense not to use that term for me since I’m not married. If you need anything further, I’ll be at the circulation desk. Good luck with your research.” She stepped toward the door.

“I learn something new every day, Camille. Thank you. It’s important work I’m doing here, you know.”

“I’m sure it is. I’m just gonna head out now. New ’round here. Gotta learn the ropes.” She backed out of the room and closed the door, hurrying back to her desk where she touched her hands to her cheeks. A full-on flush had erupted on her face and neck. She could tell just by looking at her reflection in her computer screen.

Oh, my gosh!
Why did he have to talk to her so much? And why did he have to look so darn cute? His pants and shirt didn’t need to be form-fitting for her to guess how toned he was underneath. His hair, short and smoothed back, just begged to be mussed with. And then, there were his eyes. Crystal, blue-green pools had locked onto hers earlier. Now, she wanted to drown in those mystical orbs. His pale complexion and lithe body reminded her of fae kings from faerie books she’d read a long time ago. She would love to be his queen, no questions asked.

Shaking herself free from her entanglement with fantasy land, she picked up some materials that needed to be shelved and tried her best not to succumb to the distraction known as Derek. He was just being nice. He couldn’t help being adorable. And he certainly wasn’t making a play for her. Men didn’t do that with her. They didn’t do anything except exploit her awkwardness.

Best to stay away and do your job, Cammy. Nothing good will come of encouraging a friendship with this man.

***

It’s important work I’m doing here? Really, dude? That’s what you say to the most beautiful librarian you’ve ever seen? Smooth, Derek. Way to sound like an arrogant ass.
He
was
doing important work, but when it came to talking to women, his tongue always seemed to tie up in knots and he wound up saying something stupid, like he did just now. He could blame his Hippie foster parents for not cultivating his social skills, but he loved them too much. Nope, this was all on him. Her honey-blonde curls had escaped their twist and knocked him for a loop as she ran to her desk. And his brain had turned to mush when their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Never before had he seen a color so intense and intriguing as her golden amber. To top things off, she slayed him when she walked over to the newspaper room. Her hourglass figure swished seductively side to side as though her hips were accentuating a silent internal rhythm.

Rather than dwelling on his social ineptitude any longer, he decided to do what he came here for—research the mysterious disappearance of a child from the island. He was convinced there was a link between the current vanishing and others that had been reported in years past. All he needed was proof and some good leads and he could blow this case wide open. Starting with the local paper, he planned to prove that there could be an extremist satanic cult at work here.

The last child vanished a few weeks ago. Police on the island told him the leads had gone cold, just like it had for all the other children who’d gone missing. When he asked if the FBI had been called in, they clammed up and abruptly ended the interview. Suspicious behavior like that put him on the alert. He may not know how to maneuver in the world of women, but being an investigative reporter, he knew all about asking the tough questions and getting answers. An award sitting on his mantle at home proved that. He put the Shelter Island police department on his list of people of interest, but knew he would have to tread carefully around them and anyone else that he might suspect of being involved. Too many questions would make people skittish and run. Or even worse, they’d turn on him.

Getting comfortable in his chair, he began the tedious task of sifting through endless newspaper articles, beginning with the very first disappearance thirty-six years ago. Somewhere within these pages, the answer waited to be found. He readied himself for a very long session.

***

A light rapping sound stirred Derek from his intense scrutiny of the Shelter Island News for June 6, 1982. He looked through the glass window cutout in the door and bade Camille to come in.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be a bother, but the library closes in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, you’re no bother at all.” He looked at his watch. “Wow, time flies sometimes. Doesn’t it?” He scrubbed his face with his hands.

“Yes, it does. If you’re not finished with these newspapers and plan on coming back tomorrow, you can leave them with me. Just write your name and phone number on a slip of paper and I’ll store them in my office.”

“Well, aren’t you great? Not too many librarians have been as nice and accommodating as you. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that offer.” She gave him an odd look and her cheeks turned fiery red. “I mean, you know, your offer of keeping the newspapers for me. Not that you were offering anything else. Because you clearly aren’t. I mean we just met and you have to have my name and number in case I don’t show up, which I will come back, you know. Oh God,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to the table, “just shoot me now. Put me out of my misery.”

“Um, I’m gonna head back to my desk now. Ten minutes. Closing. The library. Yeah.” He heard her heels scuffling across the floor. She’d left the door open.

“Man, get your act together!” He admonished himself. “They may not let you back in here tomorrow considering how moronic you’re behaving. Holy hell. It’s a girl. A girl! Get a grip!”

He replaced newspapers he’d gone through already and organized ones he wanted saved into a neat pile, putting his business card on top. With backpack hoisted onto his shoulder, he carried the bundle to the circulation desk. On his way over, he knew he had to make amends for his idiocy. “Here you go. These are the newspapers I’d like saved for tomorrow. That’s if you’ll let me back in this place. I’m so sorry for the way I behaved back there.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She waved him off and laughed lightly. “Usually I’m the one with the awkward comments to go along with the blush. So, I should thank you for taking the load off me this time.”

“I’ll see you here tomorrow, then?”

“I suppose you will.”

“Okay, well then, good night, Camille.”