Read It and Weep (A Library Lover's Mystery) Page 4

  “I didn’t want to offend your smart sensibilities by telling you I found you attractive,” he said. “Although, I do—very much.”

  Lindsey felt her face heat up. Good grief! If Sully was emotionally standoffish, than Robbie was his complete and polar opposite. Was there no middle ground? She wasn’t sure she was capable of dealing with either of them.

  “Is that the only reason you’re here?” she asked. She was hoping he needed a book, some reader’s advisory or had a reference question she could manage that would put her back into her comfort zone.

  “No, I did have one other errand,” he said. He raised his voice, not in a shout, but in a stage voice that resonated into every corner of the library. “I wanted to let you know that Violet has posted the cast list.”

  There was a squeal from the children’s area as Beth and Heather clutched each other’s hands and jumped up and down.

  “This is it!” Beth cried. “Let’s go find out if we’re in.”

  “But we can’t leave,” Heather protested.

  “Lindsey, we’re taking our break!” Beth shouted across the room. She and Heather bolted for the door before Lindsey even had a chance to nod her approval.

  “Wait for me,” Perry said. Then he glanced at Lindsey and added, “I’d better go for moral support—you know, if Heather doesn’t get in, she might need consoling.”

  He, too, dashed out the automatic sliding doors before Lindsey could say a word. She glanced over to where Milton and Ms. Cole had been standing. He was whispering to her, but she was shaking her head.

  Lindsey had no doubt that he was encouraging her to go and check the list, but Lindsey knew that, short of a fire, Ms. Cole would never leave the library during her shift, and even then it would be under duress.

  “Go, Ms. Cole,” she said.

  The lemon looked at her and then opened her mouth to speak. Lindsey had no doubt that it would be to tell her that Lindsey’s predecessor, Mr. Tupper, never let staff run out of the building in mid-shift. Lindsey decided to cut her off.

  “I said, go. This is not negotiable,” Lindsey ordered, and nodded her head in the direction of the door.

  Ms. Cole gave her a brisk nod and hurried out of the building with Milton beside her.

  Lindsey glanced around at her small library. It was practically empty, as many of the patrons had bolted out the door in the wake of Robbie’s announcement.

  “Well, you certainly know how to clear a room,” she said. “I’ll give you that.”

  Robbie gave her an alarmed look and asked, “Do you think this bodes ill for my career?”

  He looked so genuinely concerned that Lindsey put her hand on his arm and said, “No, I was just joking.”

  He glanced down at her hand on his arm and back up. Then he grinned.

  “Oh, you are a trickster,” she said and took her hand away.

  “Of course, I am,” he agreed. “I’m Puck.”

  He assumed a dramatic pose and then bowed.

  “And I’m your understudy,” a voice said from behind Lindsey. She turned to see her other library page, Dylan Peet, standing behind her looking at Robbie with awestruck wonder.

  “Dylan, you’re in the show?” Lindsey asked. “That’s wonderful.”

  “I’m playing First Faerie,” he said. “Ms. La Rue said that I’m to study the part of Puck, too, in case Mr. Vine is unable to perform.”

  Robbie looked his understudy up and down with one eyebrow raised. They were nearly the same height; Robbie had an inch or two on the youth. They had the same fair coloring and green eyes, but where Robbie’s hair was a reddish-blond, Dylan’s was more of a deep auburn.

  Robbie walked slowly around the young man as if examining him from every angle. Lindsey suspected he was doing it to test the boy’s nerves. Finally, Robbie stopped in front of Dylan.

  “I think you’ll do nicely,” Robbie said. He held out his hand and they shook. “We can run lines together, if you like.”

  “It would be an honor, sir,” Dylan said, looking like he might faint.

  “Dylan, why don’t you get a drink of water?” Lindsey suggested. “Then I’m going to need you to start the shelving, as we’re running behind.”

  “On it,” Dylan said with a grin that rivaled Robbie’s in charm.

  As he went into the back room, Lindsey turned back to Robbie. “Don’t corrupt him.”

  “Me?” Robbie clapped a hand to his chest as if he were mortally wounded.

  “Yes, you,” Lindsey said. “I know your type.”

  “Oh, really?” he asked. “And what type is that?”

  He resumed his position against the counter and looked as if he was planning to stay awhile. Much as Lindsey enjoyed bantering with him, she really needed to get back to work. She had a weekly report to write, and there was a presentation she had to pull together for the library board.

  “We did it!” Beth yelled as she danced back into the library.

  “Shh!” Lindsey and Robbie said together. Then they ruined it by looking at one another and laughing.

  “Peasebottom at your service,” Beth said.

  “Mustardseed reporting for duty,” Heather announced.

  “Congratulations,” Lindsey said.

  “Come on, I’ve got outfit ideas,” Beth said, and she grabbed Heather by the hand and dragged her into the children’s section.

  Perry came in after them, looking dejected.

  “So, no comforting hugs to give?” Robbie asked him.

  Perry shook his head. “Sad girls are clingy; happy girls just grab you, squeeze the breath out of you and then run off. Oh, and I’m in the play, too. I’m Moth, one of the faerie servants. What sort of name is that?”

  “Chin up,” Robbie said. “You and your lady friend are two of the faeries; you can run lines together.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  Robbie nodded and Perry looked infinitely cheered. Then his face darkened. “Wait. Am I going to have to wear tights?”

  Both Lindsey and Robbie laughed at his horrified expression.

  “You’ll manage it,” Robbie said. “Some girls find them very attractive.”

  Perry didn’t look like he believed him.

  “Dylan could use your help in back,” Lindsey said.

  “Fine,” Perry said, and he marched glumly past them.

  The doors opened again and Ms. Cole entered. She looked utterly composed; Lindsey couldn’t tell if they were about to have a lemon breakdown or not.

  Ms. Cole walked passed Lindsey and Robbie and assumed her usual post at the circulation desk. She slipped her reading glasses onto her nose and began checking in the stack of books that had been abandoned by Ann Marie. Lindsey glanced at Robbie, and he shrugged.

  “Do you have anything you want to share, Ms. Cole?” Lindsey asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you need some time to compose yourself?” Lindsey persisted.

  Given the severity of Ms. Cole’s demeanor, Lindsey was afraid the woman hadn’t gotten the part and would be even more difficult to work with than usual. The thought made her shudder.

  “Why on earth would I need that?” Ms. Cole snapped.

  Lindsey blinked and then turned to Robbie, hoping he could offer some comforting words of encouragement. But no, the big wuss was backing up toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I have a . . . thing,” he said.

  “For an actor, you are a terrible liar.”

  Robbie shrugged and continued to slide toward the door. Lindsey glared at him and he made his right hand into the shape of a phone with middle fingers folded and his thumb and pinky out.

  “I’ll call you,” he whispered.

  “Chicken!” she hissed after him.

  “Bock, bock,” he clucked as he
walked away with his knees bent, flapping his arms as he left the building.

  Lindsey squashed her laugh. She needed to think about her staff. Poor Ms. Cole. Not getting the part had to be a crushing blow for the woman, who as far as Lindsey could tell, had virtually no life outside of her job at the library.

  “Listen, Ms. Cole,” Lindsey said as she came around the counter to stand beside her. “You are an exemplary employee when it comes to never taking a moment for yourself, which is why if you’re feeling a little emotional, I completely understand if you want to take some time to regroup.”

  Ms. Cole turned from the stack of books she was checking in to face Lindsey. She carefully removed her glasses and let them hang on the chain from her neck while she met her boss’s concerned gaze.

  “I’m going to need some time off,” she said.

  “Of course, anything you need,” Lindsey said.

  “I’ll need the week that the play is running,” Ms. Cole said. “I will simply be too exhausted playing Titania to come into work that week.”

  “Ah!” Lindsey gasped. “You got it? You got the part?”

  Ms. Cole bowed her head in acknowledgment.

  “That’s wonderful,” Lindsey cried. Anyone else she would have hugged, but Ms. Cole was not a hugger, so Lindsey held up her hand, and said, “High five.”

  Ms. Cole frowned at her.

  “That’s when you slap your hand with mine,” Lindsey said.

  “Why?” Ms. Cole asked.

  “It’s a theater thing,” Lindsey lied. “It means, ‘Yay you.’”

  “Oh.” Ms. Cole patted her hand against Lindsey’s.

  It was quite possibly the single most awkward exchange of high fives in the history of the high five. Lindsey wasn’t sure what to do with her hand afterward, so she crossed her arms over her chest in what she hoped looked like a casual pose.

  “I’ll just go make a note of your vacation days.”

  “Do.” Ms. Cole turned back to her stack of books, and Lindsey made a mental note never to attempt a high five with the lemon again.

  6

  Lindsey had to admit there was a certain tangible energy in the theater. She didn’t know if it was Robbie or Violet or the cast and crew combined that made the auditorium crackle with electricity, but there was no denying the fact that there was a buzz in the air.

  She had Beth, Dylan, Perry and Heather lined up in front of her while she and Nancy took their measurements. Lindsey wasn’t much use with a needle, but she could accessorize the heck out of any outfit.

  “Nothing too girly,” Perry was saying.

  “You’re wearing tights,” Nancy said as she measured him around the waist. “And if you give me a hard time, I’ll make them hot pink.”

  Perry blanched, and the others laughed.

  “It could be worse,” Lindsey said. “If you’d been cast as Nick Bottom, you’d have to wear a donkey’s head.”

  “That’d be okay with me,” Dylan said. “He has a really cool part.”

  Nancy frowned at him and put her hand on his forehead. Then she made a tsking noise.

  “What?” Dylan asked.

  “You’ve got it bad,” she said.

  “Is he getting sick?” Heather asked as she stepped away from him.

  “No, he’s just got the bug,” Nancy said. “The acting bug.”

  Dylan grinned at her. “I do, don’t I?”

  She nodded.

  “I can’t help it,” he said. “When I step on that stage, I just feel alive.”

  Lindsey studied the handsome teen’s face. He looked as if someone had plugged him in.

  “Faeries!” Violet called from the stage. “Front and center!”

  The four of them hurried down the aisle, and Nancy looked at Lindsey and said, “About that donkey head . . .”

  “Yeah?” Lindsey asked.

  “You have any idea on how we’re going to pull that one off?”

  “Papier-mâché?” Lindsey suggested.

  Nancy slapped her on the back, which pitched Lindsey forward a few feet.

  “Thanks so much for volunteering to be in charge of it,” Nancy said. “You might ask Ian if he has any of the supplies you’ll need to make it.”

  Before Lindsey could rally a protest, Nancy was striding off in the direction of Milton and Ms. Cole.

  “Oberon and Titania, I need your measurements!”

  Lindsey glanced at Mary, who was sitting in the back row with a sketch pad, doodling ideas for character costumes.

  Mary looked at her and raised both of her hands as if she was a scale.

  “Measure Ms. Cole,” she said, and lowered her right hand. “Or make a papier-mâché donkey head.” Then she lowered her left hand.

  Lindsey frowned and turned and went in search of Ian. Surely making a donkey head could not be that difficult. The back of the theater opened up into a large loading dock.

  It was here that she found Ian and his set crew sawing wood and banging together a wooden shell that she assumed was going to be the two-level set with stairs and a cave from Nancy’s sketch.

  Lindsey saw Sully hammering the steps into place and quickly looked away. She hadn’t spoken to him since the awkward evening outside the theater when he had found her talking to Robbie. She had avoided him ever since. Not because she felt guilty, she assured herself, but because she didn’t want to see any concern in his eyes—which was unwarranted, but would make her feel guilty nonetheless.

  She wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to worry about her and Robbie, but given that Sully had offered her nothing but friendship, it seemed presumptive on her part to say anything. Amiable breakups were not nearly as easy to navigate as hostile ones. Sometimes it was just easier to hate your ex, but she didn’t hate Sully. Far from it.

  “Lindsey! Hello, earth to Lindsey.”

  She turned her head to find Ian standing beside her. Oh, no, how long had he been there? Had she really been staring at Sully like a lovesick twelve-year-old?

  “The set is really coming along,” she said, hoping he’d think she’d been scrutinizing their progress.

  “Yeah, I have a solid crew,” Ian said. “Especially that fine young man working on the steps there.”

  He had a twinkle in his eye when he pointed to Sully, which Lindsey chose to ignore.

  “So, what do you know about papier-mâché?”

  “For the set?”

  “No, for a donkey’s head.”

  “Hey, now, I know you’re sore at Sully and all—” he began but Lindsey interrupted with a laugh.

  “No, it’s for the character Nick Bottom. You know, the one that Puck sees in the forest and gives the head of a donkey,” she said. Then she grinned. “If it was for Sully, I wouldn’t be making the front end, if you get my drift.”

  Ian busted up with a laugh of his own and Lindsey joined in. At least she could joke about it. When Sully appeared on her other side, Ian took one look at his friend and laughed harder. Lindsey, on the other hand, felt bad and abruptly grew serious.

  “You okay, Ian?” Sully asked.

  Ian nodded, and visibly tried to pull himself together. “Could you show Lindsey the supply closet?” A snort escaped as he added, “She has to work on an ass.”

  Sully frowned and looked at Lindsey.

  “I need to make a papier-mâché donkey head,” she said.

  “Ah.” Sully nodded. He sent his friend one more concerned look and said, “Follow me.”

  The supply closet was tucked into a corner backstage. Sully opened the door and yanked on a string hanging from the ceiling. A single lightbulb lit the enormous walk-in closet and Lindsey’s eyes went wide at all of the stuff crammed onto the shelves.

  Half-empty paint cans, drop cloths, miscellaneous props, ladders, rolls of chicken wire and bags of plaster
filled the space, with no rhyme or reason. The closet was just begging to be sorted, and Lindsey’s inner librarian clamored to be let loose.

  “Whatever you need, should be in here—somewhere,” Sully’s voice trailed off doubtfully.

  “Thank you.” They were standing side by side in the tiny room, which seemed to shrink the more aware Lindsey became of Sully. She would have taken a step away from him, but there was no place to go.

  “So, uh, holler if you need anything,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving finger trails in the thick, mahogany curls. He looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

  He left the room and headed back toward the loading dock. Lindsey stood in the doorway and watched him go, feeling forlorn.

  “So, it’s the boat captain,” a voice said from behind her.

  She turned to see Robbie standing behind her, watching Sully walk away. He took a long drink out of the water bottle in his hand.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. She turned back to the closet, feeling the heat of embarrassment warm her face.

  “You have a thing for the boat captain,” Robbie said. He followed her into the closet. “That’s why you’re so resistant to my charm.”

  Lindsey said nothing, but began to dig through the shelves for supplies. This did not deter Robbie, who kept talking as if their conversation was still going.

  “I can’t say that I blame you,” he said. “He really is a handsome lunk, but he doesn’t say very much, does he?”

  “He doesn’t have to,” Lindsey said. She could have kicked herself. Now it sounded like she was agreeing with him.

  “Oy, so I’m right!” Robbie said. “Still, he doesn’t have my accent or my celebrity aura . . .”

  “Or your wife,” Lindsey added. She found a small roll of chicken wire and put it aside.

  “Kitty?” he asked. “We haven’t been husband and wife, except on paper, for years.”

  “Which would explain why your girlfriend is here, too,” Lindsey said.

  “You’ve been researching me,” Robbie said. He grinned at her as if pleased. “That means you’re interested.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Lindsey said. “It means you have a lot of fans in town who want to know about you, and as the librarian, I get to do their research for them.”