I eyed Louise Jane suspiciously as the door closed behind Connor. “What’s up?”
She threw a quick glance at the historical exhibit before turning back to face me. “You know I said I’m happy to help here tomorrow night, at Bertie’s reunion.”
“Yes,” I said. “And we appreciate that. Is something wrong?”
She studied my face intently. I studied hers equally intently in return. Louise Jane and I had never exactly been friends. She’d resented me since the moment I first stepped foot in the library to take up the job of Assistant Library Director. Louise Jane had thought the job should be hers, not bothering with the minor fact of her being not at all qualified. As far as she was concerned, being a fierce lover of the library as well as a descendent of long lines of proud Bankers (as natives of the Outer Banks are called) and a storyteller of local renown, should be enough. But it wasn’t and I got the job. Louise Jane had made some feeble attempts to frighten me away from the library and back to Boston, but here I was a year later, comfortably settled into my position. She’d saved my life recently, and I was grateful. Extremely grateful. I’d thought we could be friends now. But I still wasn’t entirely sure I could trust her.
“Historical items are all well and good, but you need to be careful when dredging them up.”
I sighed. Louise Jane was not just a collector of legends and a storyteller. She was a ghost hunter. Although she’d never quite put it that way.
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” I said. “Look at the faces in those old photographs. Everyone’s smiling. If they’re not smiling, it’s because they’re so interested in what they’re being shown.”
“Appearances,” Louise Jane said, “can be deceiving.”
I didn’t have the time, nor the interest, to engage with Louise Jane tonight. Sometimes, pretending to go along with her is the only way to bring things to a conclusion. “You’ll be here in case anything untoward happens, right?”
“Yes. Yes, I will be.”
I switched off the computer. “Now, if we’re finished here, I have a date with the handsomest man in Nags Head, North Carolina.”
“And I have a date with a stack of reference books.”
I shouldn’t have asked, but I never learn. “What are you reading about?”
“The haunting of this library. As you know, between my grandmother, her mother, and me, there’s scarcely a story about the ghostly happenings in these parts that remains a secret. But in this case, ‘scarcely’ is the important word. Great-Gran said something the other night about a librarian who came to an unnatural end, and the story was hushed up.”
“Not that again. This building has only been a library for a couple of decades. No ghostly librarian haunts the shelves.”
“Your Yankee pragmatism does you credit, Lucy. Sometimes. You worry about what you can find of card catalogues, old photos, and manual typewriters. Let me worry about the spirit world.”
If Louise Jane had been wearing a cape, she would have swirled it about her shoulders and made a suitably dramatic exit. Instead, she hoisted her leather satchel over her shoulder and stalked out of the library. That is, she would have stalked had she not had to do a nimble little dance to avoid Charles, who’d slipped unnoticed between her feet.
I shook my head. Charles washed his whiskers.
Chapter Two
Friday evening I dressed in black slacks and a crisp black blouse with a stiff white collar, and twisted my hair into a knot on the top of my head. If I was pretending to be a waitress, I wanted to dress the part.
I posed for Charles, stretched out on my bed. “How do I look?”
He yawned.
I studied myself in the mirror. My mother’s a beautiful woman. I’ve occasionally been called “cute.” I’m cursed with a thick mane of out-of-control black curls and round cheeks (more cuteness) that turn red far too easily when I’m embarrassed. Unlike my cousin Josie, who gets her height from her father’s side of the family, I get mine from the Wyatt women, meaning not much of it. I like to think I have nice eyes, although I’d never tell anyone that. They’re large and round and a soft brown color with green flakes that, Connor tells me, dance when I laugh.
I smiled at the thought and decided I’d do.
“Bertie said you can come down and join the party,” I told Charles. “But behave yourself, or I’ll bring you back here.”
He jumped off the bed and ran to the door.
I have the world’s best commute. I live above the library in what I call my Lighthouse Aerie. My apartment is tiny, but perfect for me at this stage of my life, and I don’t mind living several miles outside of town. Taking the hundred steps up and down the twisting spiral iron staircase several times a day saves on gym membership.
Charles and I went downstairs to help with the setup for the party. We had an hour between the library closing at six and guests arriving at seven. Charlene and Ronald had brought a change of clothes with them, and they were clearing space in the main room for chairs and refreshment tables. Like me, my colleagues were dressed in black pants. Ronald’s shirt was black, and Charlene’s blouse white. Ronald had accented his outfit with a huge, yellow polka-dot bow tie. I arrived as my cousin Josie O’Malley came through the doors, laden with bakery boxes. Connor was right behind her, bearing a case of wine.
“I’ve more in the car,” Josie said. I took the first load from her and went into the staff break room while Ronald hurried to help Connor.
I took platters down from the shelf and began arranging the treats. Josie owns Josie’s Cozy Bakery, one of the most popular spots in Nags Head. She often provides desserts for library functions, but tonight she’d done canapes as well. I
