Checked out, p.2
Checked Out, page 2
You’re in a library in Connecticut and nobody is expecting a summary report on demographics from this assignment. She had been expecting her light brown skin to stand out in a sea of white, but Norcester — its library patrons, at least — bucked that expectation.
Trying to shut off the relentless information-gathering and sorting voice in her head, she watched a toddler in a puffy blue Transformer coat sitting under the next table where an anxious-looking blonde worked at a laptop. The little one babbled quietly while turning the pages of a board book, as if reading to the Elmo in their lap. Peri watched surreptitiously for a few minutes because it made her happy, so why not?
People-watching was easier but, given how well versed the librarian was in their content, Peri tried to put some useful phrases from the court rulings into her head. It was difficult to focus, but they were all refreshers. She knew that the library district was on firm ground refusing to volunteer information, but if she could coax a confirmation out of the librarian that what the Bureau wanted might exist, it would be a reason to try for a warrant. After the first encounter, she had little hope of getting even that much out of the library manager.
The sound of slightly raised voices drew her attention to the checkout desk. A customer — patron, she corrected herself — was going red-faced as a discussion with a young woman behind the desk grew intense.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor. If we let patrons throw out any book they thought was indecent, we’d have no books left. You have to pay for the book if you don’t return it.”
“It was filthy! Not the kind of thing that should be out where kids could get at it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor, but that isn’t your decision to make. If you have concerns about our collection you can appeal to the library district board. But please understand that our philosophy is that a good collection is one that has something to offend everyone.”
“My tax dollars don’t have to support that.” His voice carried well past the computers now.
Peri’s attention was drawn to Lisette Osborne, who now stood unobtrusively just inside her office door.
The young woman straightened slightly. “Would you like a comment card so you can make your case to the library manager?”
He snatched the square of paper from the young woman’s hand and muttered his way out of the building. Lisette left her doorway and joined the staff member at the desk, turning her away from curious eyes for a moment. Whatever she said drew a deep breath and shaky laugh, and all Peri caught was Lisette’s low voice saying, “You did great.”
She turned back to her office, but not before a quick glance toward the bank of computer stations caught Peri in the act of studying her. Her steps slowed as their eye contact continued, then she veered in Peri’s direction. The deep purple, extremely not-orthopedic boots were noiseless on the blue carpet.
You really should not be looking at her ankles. Peri made herself study the keyboard, then gave up any pretense that she was unaware of Ms. Osbourne’s approach.
“So, Agent Garritsen, we close in a half hour.” Her expression had humor in it, but there was also wariness.
“I’ll be back in the morning.”
“As you wish. We open at nine — or we will if the snow lets up soon, as predicted. I believe Sheriff Kakaria was at her nephew’s christening this afternoon and I’m grateful not to have to call her back to duty.”
Small towns, Peri thought. Everybody knows everybody, and there’s no such thing as privacy. Her bosses had called this an easy assignment — a favor for counterparts at the FBI. She had no doubt in her mind that if she got in Ms. Osbourne’s face, the villagers would pitchfork-and-torch her all the way to Canada. “Before I go, then. First, I wanted to give you my card.”
After a brief glance, the librarian pocketed it. “Second?”
“If I might ask a question without a warrant?”
“You can always ask.” Her eyes flashed with sudden humor.
“If you were new in town, where would you eat a quick dinner?”
“I’m pleased to help you with that question. Usually I’d say the Fox and Hound, but they’re closed from now through Hanukkah. They have local craft beers, and a good wine cellar. You probably passed the Thai takeout on the way in. Not exactly authentic Thai food, but they believe in vegetables and it’s quick. If you like simple fare, the diner just off the Village Green is all that and a milkshake.”
“Next to the motel?”
“That’s the one.”
Peri wasn’t particularly hungry, but she wasn’t going to repeat the wretched experience of taking a pain pill on an empty stomach. “Thank you, that’s very thorough.”
With a far too innocent lift to her eyebrows, the librarian asked, “Have I answered all your reference questions today?”
“My reference questions, yes.”
“Are you a stubborn woman, Agent Garritsen?”
Peri thought about it. “I think if you took a poll of acquaintances they would say yes. It’s a good trait for my job.”
“What a coincidence — mine too. Have a pleasant evening.”
Peri wished her the same.
She couldn’t help herself. She watched the purple boots walk away.
CHAPTER THREE
LISETTE SET THE LOCK for the library’s main door while Jules set the alarm. No one ever closed up the library by themselves, and she was always glad of Jules’s steady presence.
“Alarm is armed,” Jules reported. “Armed and fabulous.”
“I’d like to think so.” Lisette grimaced at the snowflakes melting on her glasses, which were already fogged up from the warm-library-to-freezing-night transition. It was coming down harder than expected with no sign of the break the weather service had predicted. “Good job again responding to Mr. Taylor. I know how hard it is to stick to policy when all the while you’re biting your tongue.”
“Seriously. Where does he get off thinking he gets to decide what other people can read?”
“The first time was Portnoy’s Complaint. I watched Mrs. O’Malley, this was way before your time — Watch your step!” The day had briefly been sunny but at sundown the temps had dropped hard as snow had begun to accumulate. Lisette was guessing it was about twenty-five degrees. “That’s probably glazed now.”
Jules went down the short ramp to the street with one hand firmly grasping the handrail, surveying the growing drifts with dismay. “The forecast didn’t say there’d be this much snow tonight. The drive home is going to be no fun.”
Lisette mopped off her glasses with a cleaning cloth. There were at least two of them in every winter coat. Finally able to see clearly, she assessed the low, gray sky. “They said maybe a foot accumulation, but this is going to be more like three or four feet. We might have delayed opening tomorrow, waiting for the plows to get through first.” She made a mental note to set an early alarm so she could assess when or even whether to open tomorrow. With Christmas two weeks off, there were plenty of staff who’d love to have a snow day for baking, wrapping gifts, packing for a trip, or grabbing some mental health Me Time to get through a stressful time of year.
For her, a snow day would mean she could catch up on paperwork in the bliss of her own warm cottage with no interruptions or Homeland Security to deal with.
“Dang it, now I have a wet sock,” Jules muttered. “I hate that.”
“Life in Connecticut, isn’t that the truth?” Lisette slid the last few inches of her descent down the ramp. “Anyway, I watched Mrs. O’Malley tell this angry man that he couldn’t throw away library books and expect not to pay for them. Years later I realized it was the very same Mr. Taylor complaining about a book to me. She was so calm and firm I think that was the day I decided I wanted to be a librarian too.”
I sure didn’t do it to fend off government inquiries about computer activity. She had hoped Ms. Homeland Security would leave, but she hadn’t, which meant Lisette had to call legal tomorrow. The dour Agent Garritsen wasn’t going to give up easily.
Jules waved a goodbye from a stalwart Subaru and Lisette did the same as she climbed into her Jeep. It started after a second crank. Maybe it was time to refresh the antifreeze. The sturdy wipers knocked off the accumulation of snow. There didn’t seem to be any ice and she was grateful for that small mercy.
As she slowly maneuvered the Jeep out of its parking space and around the parking lot, she admired neatly tended hedges and winter-fruit-studded hawthorn trees that framed her favorite place in the world. The greenery was draped with twinkling blue and white lights for the holidays that sparkled in the falling snow. The lights held back the winter and always lifted her mood.
The new garden that surrounded the Annex was taking root as box hedges transplanted last spring showed every sign of surviving their first winter. There would be masses of crocuses by the end of January. They truly were blessed in their groundskeeper and the local Green Space society that volunteered time for good conservation.
With Norcester’s only community room capable of seating more than a hundred people, and a books-and-tabletop-gaming space for teens, she was proud of the new space. The Annex blended seamlessly with the original Carnegie design and had been long overdue.
A century and more ago, the neoclassical Carnegie building had looked out of place in pictures taken on opening day. Nearby stores had been built by textile money, and they were the plain, stolid buildings New Englanders needed — and not one thing more. Norcester town commissioners had mingled the library grounds with those of the high school and a wilderness preserve.
A hundred years later, the library was a quaint, classic addition to the small-town Main Street appeal. Lisette was proud that it served as an anchor for the swirl of residents going about their lives. Right now, it was a swirl of falling snow.
Norcester didn’t get a lot of tourists until high summer. If there were any in town at the moment, Lisette hoped they were well inside. The snow on the hood of the Jeep had gotten deeper while she’d negotiated the drifts in the parking lot. The corner of Hawthorn and Maple, where City Hall sat on the north side of the Village Green, was deserted. The antique and artisan shops that formed their tiny shopping district were closed up tight. Lisette drove slowly past the signs that read, “Closed for the Season.”
Used to the jolt of the Jeep finding purchase on the snow-covered asphalt, she rolled at a steady pace and considered what was left of the evening. At this slow pace, it would be eight by the time she got home. Too late to do more than microwave something for dinner. She knew what her choices were and none of them were appealing.
She eyed the thick fall of large, fluffy snowflakes and weighed it against the gnaw of her stomach. If the library didn’t open tomorrow she’d be eating her microwave food anyway. She had time to stop for something fresh and substantial — and she could take something home for tomorrow. Might as well let someone else cook while it was feasible, and the tense drive home would be easier without an empty stomach.
If she was in luck, Spic-and-Span would still have cranberry-apple pie.
CHAPTER FOUR
PERI STUDIED THE STEAMING bowl of soup the server had just set on the counter in front of her. Brown broth, barley, and rustic chunks of carrot and celery, served in a plain white bowl with saltines on the side.
“Is there something wrong?” The wiry waitress gave her an inquiring look.
The look lingered on her scar, and Peri went back to studying her soup. The DHS-appointed trauma therapist she’d nicknamed Dr. Shrink had said Peri needed to fully accept that other people’s reactions were not her responsibility. Her colleagues assured her that as it healed it would look like a scar from dueling — romantic and dangerous. As a woman in a field dominated by men, she wouldn’t mind being seen as more dangerous. “The last time I had beef barley soup it was topped with basil foam and a fried sage leaf.”
“Did you care for all that?”
“Not really.”
“So your point is?”
“This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Good answer.” The waitress, middle-aged, tall, and aggressively blue-haired, topped off the cup of decaf with the aplomb of someone who did it 200 times a day. “You must be from some big city.”
“Guilty as charged. I’m sure this is delicious. I have to admit, simple is just what the doctor ordered.”
The words were truer than the waitress would ever know. The medicos and therapists had been completely against her return to any kind of duty. “It’s not your bones I’m worried about,” Dr. Shrink had said. She and the physicians’ assistants doing frequent post-surgical follow-ups might be happy if they knew Peri was enjoying simple fare in a particularly dull part of the world. Whatever limited nightlife might exist in these parts had been wiped out by the incoming snowstorm. There was nothing remotely interesting about the place.
The tiny knell she always felt when lying to herself sounded, and the image of Lisette Osbourne and her purple boots flitted across her mind. Not that she could do anything with the impulse — so what if the woman was attractive? There was a tiny relief, however, that the part of her that noticed such things had apparently not gone away permanently under the haze of pain and pills.
She was halfway down the warm, savory cup of beef and barley soup when she heard the waitress say from close by, “Lisette, honey, you want the ranch or the thousand island on your salad? The thousand island’s got a nice dew on it — the last of Bob’s sweet pickle relish.”
“Thousand island, then,” she answered. “Thanks, Jean.”
Peri turned her head slightly and saw that the librarian was seated at the counter just as she was. She was a few stools away, on the other side of a broad-shouldered, grizzle-faced man whose cap proclaimed, “Mr. Plow He Knows How.”
Lisette was immediately aware of Peri’s scrutiny. She nodded politely and raised her voice just slightly to say, “How is my recommendation working out?”
“Delicious so far.” She nodded at her cup. “Though I admit I walked by it twice. I thought Spic-and-Span was a laundromat.”
“It used to be.” She stirred her coffee. “Given the way the snow is coming down, you might regret staying in town. I’ll be surprised if we don’t have road closures tomorrow, at least throughout the morning.”
Mr. Plow grunted his agreement with the librarian’s prediction.
“Are you suggesting I need to get out of Dodge?”
“Not at all —”
The man in between them cleared his throat. “Should I move so you two can talk?”
The waitress paused with a dinner plate in her hand. “Seeing as how you know each other, why don’t you two move to that booth over there? Closer to the heat.” To Peri she added, “Your sandwich is up. I’ll bring it on over.”
The next thing Peri knew she was seated in the window booth across the table from the librarian. She looked as surprised as Peri felt.
“Isn’t this nice,” Lisette said weakly.
“Sure.” And borderline inappropriate.
“Please go ahead with your dinner. The tuna melt is best piping hot.”
Peri took Lisette at her word and picked up her sandwich. She hadn’t felt this hungry in a long time, and the smell of the pickle and cheese was making her dizzy.
“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for us to dine together,” Lisette went on as if she’d read Peri’s mind. “But explaining why it’s not isn’t…”
“Advisable,” she managed after swallowing the first delicious, sweet-savory-cheesy bite. The bread was toasted and crisp. All at once she was back in her grandmother’s Atlanta kitchen on Saturday mornings when they were allowed to sleep late, and lunch was exactly like this.
With an arch to her eyebrow Lisette said, “It probably violates a gag order somewhere.”
There was obviously to be no truce. The comfort she’d felt from the soup diminished. “I have a proposal. How about I’m a stranger in town and you’re a kindly local keeping me company for dinner?”
Her cheeks reddened and Peri was immediately sorry her words had found a mark.
Lisette’s tone was sharp as she said, “It’s hard to be kindly when I’m fearing spending another chunk of my life fighting off a warrantless search. It’s not why I became a librarian.”
She hadn’t joined law enforcement to harass librarians either, but she wasn’t going to tell the librarian that. “Why did you?”
“The concept of a free and accessible public library is older than the Constitution,” she said promptly. “It’s a cornerstone of democracy. Free to read, free to think. It is a right and a responsibility. Fostering that right is a public duty and service. Something I would think you understand.”
“Democracy requires safeguards.”
She smiled at the waitress as she dropped off a grilled cheese sandwich with a side salad. “Yes. One of those safeguards is a judge agreeing there’s good reason to violate someone’s privacy.”
“But a library record is public.”
“No it’s not.”
“It’s created in a public building paid for by public money.”
“By that reasoning, everyone’s tax returns would be public.” She smiled suddenly, catching Peri off guard. “I see that you did read some of the briefs. The Court disagreed with the arguments you’re making.”
“Sparring is good for the appetite.”
Lisette gave her attention to her salad. “I do like thousand island dressing. Otherwise known as the ‘special sauce’ of the fast-food world.”
Whatever Peri had meant to say she forgot as a screech of tires outside sent a jolt of adrenaline through her body. A few seconds staring out the window revealed a car cautiously righting itself on the snow-clogged street.
