We hefted the platters of canapes and carried them into the main room. The assembled women descended like a pack of wolves.
By eight thirty, the desserts had been decimated, and the canapes thoroughly picked over; only the usual celery stalks, sliced red peppers, and carrot sticks remained. I was clearing dirty glasses, getting no help at all from Louise Jane, who was regaling a group of women with details of her family’s history on the Outer Banks.
“A taxi’s pulling up outside,” Ronald said to me, and I went to get the door as a woman walked up the path with firm, rapid steps. When she stepped into the light thrown by the lamp above the door, I could see that this must be the expected Helena Sanchez, previous director of the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library. She was of average height, but very thin, with small dark eyes and a face that was all sharp angles, deep shadows, and jutting bones. The skin on her face formed deep crevices, and her iron-gray hair was tied in a thick bun at the back of her head. She wore plain brown trousers, a red blouse with a white bow tied tightly at her neck, and no jewelry that I could see. A calf-length brown woolen cloak, far too hot for the warm night, was thrown over her shoulders.
“Good evening,” I said. “I’m Lucy Richardson, assistant director here, and you’re very welcome.”
She studied me, top to toe. Then she nodded and held out her hand. I took it in mine, surprised at its strength. “I’m Helena Sanchez. I believe I’m expected.”
“And so you are,” Bertie said behind me. “Please come in.”
I stepped out of the way, and the new arrival walked into the library.
“It’s a pleasure to have you here,” Bertie said.
“I’m sure it is,” Ms. Sanchez replied.
“You must have missed the Lighthouse Library,” I said.
“Not particularly.” She glanced around the room. A few of the women smiled at the newcomer, but most of them were occupied with their friends.
Charles leaped onto the bookshelf behind us. Ms. Sanchez stared at him. “A cat,” she sniffed, “roaming free in a library. Wouldn’t have been allowed in my day. Standards are slipping, Albertina. You need to guard against that.”
“Charles is a valued member of our library family,” Bertie said. “The children in particular get a great deal of pleasure out of him, and he’s an excellent therapy cat for some of the lonely elderly who come here in search of company.”
“Can’t abide cats myself. Thoroughly nasty creatures.”
Charles hissed.
Ms. Sanchez hissed back.
Charles jumped off the shelf and disappeared in the sea of legs.
Ruth McCray broke out of the pack and approached us, glass of wine in hand. “Helena. It’s been a long time.”
Ms. Sanchez blinked at her.
“Ruth McCray? We worked in Manteo together before you left to work at the Lighthouse Library.”
“Oh yes. I remember you. You’ve put on weight.”
Ruth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, it has been a few years. I think that’s allowed. I hope you’re enjoying your retirement. I can’t wait until it’s my turn.”
“I keep myself busy.” Ms. Sanchez pointedly didn’t ask Ruth anything about what she’d been doing all these years.
“Okay. Well, nice to see you.” Ruth wandered away, shaking her head.
Ms. Sanchez glanced around the room. “I recognize some of these women. Is that Lucinda Smith talking to the man in the yellow tie? What on earth has happened to her face?”
“She’s Lucinda Lorca again,” Bertie said. “After her divorce she went back to her maiden name.”
“Looks like she’s fishing for a new husband,” Ms. Sanchez said as Lucinda laughed at something Ronald said.
I threw Bertie a look. She returned it with a shrug.
One of the other women broke away from the pack and greeted Ms. Sanchez with a smile and outstretched hand. “Nice to see you, Helena.”
“Margaret Hurley.” Ms. Sanchez did not return the smile.
“You must know some of these women,” Margaret said. “Let me take you around.”
“I’d rather have a drink.” Ms. Sanchez headed for the bar. Margaret hesitated and then followed.
“She’s rather … blunt,” I said when Margaret and Helena Sanchez had melted into the crowd.
“So it would seem,” Bertie said. “I didn’t know her well. I didn’t work here when she was in charge. I was hired from outside. She interviewed me, but that was the extent of our contact. When I arrived to start work, no one said anything, but I got the feeling the staff were not entirely unhappy to see her go. I’m going to show her the display. Excuse me, Lucy.”
Bertie stepped away, but before she could reach Helena, another woman came up to her. “Great party, Bertie. I absolutely love your library. It was so nice of you to think of having our opening reception here.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Bertie said.
“I happen to have some pictures of my grandchildren in here somewhere. Would you like to see them? My son Kevin’s a pediatrician—did you know that?”
“I don’t believe I did.” Bertie politely bent over the woman’s phone to see the pictures.
I chuckled and looked around for something I should be doing. Three women were at the circulation desk chatting to Ronald, who seemed to be having a great time. Helena Sanchez pushed her way through them and managed to give Lucinda Lorca an elbow in the ribs.
Lucinda stepped out of the way. Whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips. Her eyes widened and her face tightened. She stared at the newcomer.
Ms. Sanchez gave her a glance, dismissed her, and said to Roland, “I’ll have a glass of white wine. If you have anything decent that is. I can’t stand Chardonnay.”
“We have a nice New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc,” he said.
“That will do.”
Lucinda gripped her glass and melted into the crowd.
Bertie finally finished admiring grandchild photos and caught up with Helena
