No one moved. Not even a finger fluttered in an upward direction.
“All those in favor of Carrie Rushton becoming our new president, raise your right hand.”
All of the hands went up. It was Carrie by a landslide. Not a big surprise.
Mimi opened the door and ushered the two candidates back inside. Carrie looked nervous. Bill looked smug. Oh, dear, Lindsey had a feeling this was not going to go well.
“After all of the votes have been counted, it has been decided by the Friends that Carrie shall be our new president.”
Carrie looked surprised and pleased, while Bill opened his mouth and shut his mouth. His left eyebrow arched so high it could practically scratch an itch at his hairline.
“Thank you, all,” Carrie said. “I promise to do my very best.”
Bill glowered at her and then the group.
“I will not concede!” he said. “I demand a recount.”
CHAPTER 3
BRIAR CREEK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
“Oh, no,” Mimi said. “You really don’t want to do that.”
“Yes, I do!” Bill insisted. “In fact, I demand it.”
Mimi sighed. She gave Bill an exasperated look like she didn’t think he had the sense to look both ways before he crossed the street. “Fine. There is no need to do a recount. It was unanimous. Everyone voted for Carrie.”
Bill gasped as if she’d slapped him. “That can’t be.”
His gaze scoured the room, but everyone avoided eye contact.
“Is this true? Doug?” Bill glowered at an older gentleman sitting in the back row. “Look at me, Doug.”
Doug Dowd, wearing a pressed shirt with a string tie, twisted his gloves in his hands and glanced quickly up and over the top of Bill’s head.
It was enough. Bill turned to frown at another older and chunkier man in the third row. “Warren?”
Warren was braver than Doug. He raised his hands in a placating gesture and said, “Now don’t go taking it all personal, Bill.”
“I can assure you, Warren,” Bill snapped. “It is personal.”
Lindsey would have felt sorry for him if he weren’t such a pompous windbag.
“Well, I suppose there’s nothing more to be said.” He stomped over to his chair and gathered his overcoat and briefcase.
He had trouble tying his scarf around his neck as his hands were shaking. The entire room watched him go; no one offered to help him. Now Lindsey did feel bad for him.
She rose from her window seat and gestured to Mimi that she was going to check on him. Mimi gave her a nod of thanks.
Bill must have been moving at a small run, because Lindsey didn’t catch him until he was just stepping out the front door into the cold.
“Mr. Sint, Bill!” she called.
He spun around quickly as if he had been expecting someone to call him back. He looked disappointed to find that it was Lindsey.
“What?” he snapped. “Are you here to gloat about your victory?”
“Excuse me?” she asked. The blast of cold air made her long to step back into the toasty library, but she didn’t want to offend him any more than she already had.
“Library directors don’t attend Friends’ meetings,” he said. “Unless, they’re presenting some information. But not you, oh, no, you were there to witness me getting voted out of office. What did I ever do to you?”
“I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. “But I had nothing to do with how the vote went.”
“Of course you did,” he argued. “Everyone wants to impress our new, little library director. Did you tell them all how to vote and then decide to show up to make sure they did?”
“No!”
“Ha!” He scoffed. “Well, now you’ve got what you wanted. Little Carrie Rushton will run around and do your bidding with no ambitions for the group other than to fund your ridiculous children’s programs. I hope you’re happy.”
Lindsey wanted to tell him that the more he opened his mouth, the more she was delighted with the outcome of the election. But it didn’t seem like the most diplomatic way to assuage the ruffled emotions of the former president.
“Your service over the years has been much appreciated,” Lindsey said. “We would welcome your advice and input in any capacity you care to share it.”
“Get stuffed!” Bill snapped, and he tossed his scarf around his throat and strode off into the night.
As she watched him stomp toward the parking lot, she saw Marjorie Bilson come hurrying up the walk. She was a tiny thing, petite and skinny and full of nervous energy. She reminded Lindsey of a sparrow, hopping about with sharp eyes, a sharp beak and plain brown feathers. She too was a member of the Friends, which Lindsey found odd since Marjorie was not much of a reader.
Marjorie stopped next to Bill and put her hand on his arm. Lindsey had noticed that the tiny woman looked at Bill with a certain amount of worship in her brown eyes. Lindsey couldn’t see why, but who was she to judge.
Bill shrugged her off and said some terse words that were muffled by his scarf. Marjorie emitted a shriek of horror, which even from thirty feet away, Lindsey heard quite clearly. Then she clapped a mittened hand over her mouth and followed Bill out to the parking lot.
This couldn’t be good. Marjorie was probably the only person who would have voted for Bill, and obviously, she had missed the vote. Lindsey wondered if Bill would demand a new election based upon that alone.
She stepped back into the warm library with a sigh. She could feel a pair of eyes watching her and she turned to find the indomitable Ms. Cole, who ran their circulation desk, watching her.
“Mr. Tupper never had any problems with Bill as the president of the Friends of the Library,” she said. She gave Lindsey a look of disapproval over the upper edge of her reading glasses.
Lindsey sighed. Mr. Tupper, the former director of the Briar Creek Public Library, had been perfect in Ms. Cole’s estimation. In the nine months Lindsey had been here, Ms. Cole had never missed an opportunity to make a comment that found Lindsey wanting in comparison to the hallowed Mr. Tupper.
Always a monochromatic dresser, Ms. Cole was usually in shades of gray or beige. Today, she had thrown caution to the wind and she was in varying shades of purple, from her opaque violet stockings and grape lollipop wool skirt to her bulky lavender sweater. Instead of softening her mannish features, however, the pastel colors seemed to wash out the skin tone on her portly person, leaving her looking a bit jaundiced.
“Mr. Tupper was an extraordinary man,” Lindsey said. She had discovered that if she praised Mr. Tupper right away, it saved her from having to listen to even more of Ms. Cole’s critique of her performance in comparison to her predecessor.
With a curt nod, Ms. Cole glanced back at her computer and the stack of books she was checking in. She was clearly pleased that Lindsey had come to revere the legend that was Mr. Tupper.
The circulation desk was quiet, as was the rest of the library. Lindsey glanced around the room, soaking up the homey atmosphere. The children’s area had been picked up, and Beth sat at her desk in the middle of it, cutting out snowflakes for her story time craft the next day.
Jessica was manning the reference desk on the adult side of the library. Two high school students were quizzing her about a list of books they needed for their required reading. They appeared to be asking for the CliffsNotes version, which Jessica was providing but also discouraging.
Two people were on the bank of Internet computers at the end of the room, and one patron had fallen asleep in the cushy chair by the magazines.
Lindsey made her way over there. She wanted to wake the poor guy before Ms. Cole saw him. She had been
