Due or Die (3 page)

Bill was tall and thin, with jet-black hair that Lindsey suspected was dyed, as he had to be well into his seventies. His most common expression was one of irritation. He always had one eyebrow raised higher than the other, and even when Lindsey said hello to him, she got the feeling he
felt interrupted by her good cheer. Not for nothing, but she certainly hoped Carrie was voted in as the new president, because working with Bill had become tiresome. She’d even put up with Carrie’s obnoxious husband if she had to.

Although, as she scanned the crowd, she realized that wasn’t going to be a problem. Carrie’s husband was not in attendance. She didn’t imagine he’d be a member of Friends given his feelings about books and all, but still, she would have thought he’d make an appearance to support his wife. Then again, he hadn’t really oozed supportive spouse when she’d met him.

As the meeting went through roll call, Lindsey turned in her seat and glanced out over the town park, which was empty. Then she tried to pick out some of the Thumb Islands in the bay, which were visible in the dark evening only as tiny lights on the water. Finally, she glanced at the town pier. The pier was long and wide and had two big pole lights, which kept it illuminated at night to deter vandals from harming or stealing the boats docked in the bay.

At the base of the pier was the Blue Anchor, Mary’s restaurant. It was the residents’ favorite watering hole, and judging by the light spilling out of its windows, the café was doing a bustling business even on this bitter January evening.

Lindsey caught some movement on the pier and her gaze took in a tall man, his lanky build discernible even under his thick peacoat. He wore a fisherman’s knit cap over his mahogany curls, but Lindsey knew it was him, Mike Sullivan, known to the locals and tourists as Captain Sully. She tried to ignore the burst of pleasure she felt at the sight of him and failed miserably.

Sully had become a good friend over the past few months. He shared her love of reading, and she found his quiet presence comforting and intriguing. She told herself she would have felt the same rush of happy if she’d spied Nancy or Violet walking on the pier. Yeah, right.

She watched Sully hunch against the frigid wind that blew in from the water. At the end of the pier, he turned and ducked into the Anchor, probably to see his sister, Mary, and grab some dinner. Lindsey had a sudden longing to be at the Anchor, too.

When she turned back to face the room, she noticed the tension in the lecture room was as thick as a spring fog and much more uncomfortable. Both Carrie and Bill would now address the group, each offering their vision of the future of the Friends of the Library.

Carrie had changed out of her hospital scrubs and looked very professional in a gray wool skirt and matching blazer over a pale pink blouse. She wore thick black stockings, to combat the cold, with a pair of stylish boots.

She looked every inch the efficient person that she was, and her presentation included a PowerPoint that outlined a well-thought-out proposal with realistic expectations to raise funds for the library.

Bill’s presentation was technology free and read like a grocery list of things he had accomplished while being president, some of which sounded more fictional than the books on the shelves in the library below.

Finally, they were ready to vote. Lindsey checked out the assembled group. There were about twenty members in attendance. The cold weather had kept most of the elderly Friends home, and much of Briar Creek’s summer population
was not in residence at the moment, making their turnout even fewer.

Mimi Seitler, the secretary, asked Carrie and Bill to wait in the hall while the members voted. Lindsey felt sure this was to keep any of the members from being intimidated into voting against their inclination.

Bill yanked the lapels of his blazer with a snap as he surveyed the room with his left eyebrow up in its usual arch. “I trust you’ll all make the right decision.”

Carrie said nothing. She merely gave a small smile and a wave and followed him out the door. When Bill looked to be lingering in the doorway, Mimi shut it in his face. Lindsey had no doubt about how she would be voting.

“Let’s get this over with,” Mimi said. She resumed her seat at the front of the room. “All those in favor of Bill Sint remaining president, raise your right hand.”

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.”

“O
h, 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 known to drop the heaviest book she could find beside an unsuspecting snoozer, giving the poor person a small heart attack.

As Lindsey got closer, she recognized the sleeper. It was her friend library board member Milton Duffy. His bald head shone under the overhead lights and his mouth was slightly agape, framed by his silver goatee.

Lindsey gently shook his arm. “Milton, psst, Milton.”

He jolted awake and leaned forward with his reading glasses in one hand and his favorite yoga magazine in the other.

He turned, and when his bright green eyes met hers, he grinned. “Lindsey, you’re just the person I was looking for. Just give me a moment.”

“Certainly.”

He rose from his seat and assumed the mountain pose. From here he went into a deep forward bend. Milton was a certified yogi and Lindsey had learned not to rush him when he was in a posture. She waited as he slowly rose to an upright position, vertebra by vertebra.

With a deep breath in and a sharp exhale, he gave her his full attention.

“So, how did the election for the Friends go?” he asked.

As always, Lindsey was surprised by how deeply in the loop Milton was about the library’s goings-on. She should be used to it by now. As the chairman of the library board, he generally knew what was happening even before Lindsey did.

“Carrie Rushton won,” Lindsey said. “I’m surprised you weren’t there, Milton; you’re a member of the Friends.”

“I felt it might be a conflict of interest, what with me being on the library board and all,” he said.

Lindsey just stared at him.

“Okay,” he relented. “Bill and I have a history and I didn’t
want to do anything that might jeopardize Carrie winning the election.”

Lindsey raised her eyebrows. What sort of history could Bill and Milton have? How could he just throw that out there and not tell her any more? She continued to stare at him, unblinking.

“Oh, fine,” he said.

Lindsey grinned. The unblinking stare, it worked every time.

“We both dated my Anna in high school, but she chose me and Bill has never gotten over it.”

Milton brushed an invisible piece of lint off his navy track suit. He didn’t meet Lindsey’s gaze and she got the feeling he was embarrassed.