Like a Charm (10 page)

I remembered the guy in the cap. I hadn't recognized him, but what if someone really wanted to hurt me? Still shaking, I sat on the couch. My mind whirled, emotions just on the edge, the tears threatening to spill over.

“
No!
” I said the word out loud. I wouldn't let myself fall off the edge of the precarious cliff on which I'd found myself.
It's probably some jerk's idea of a prank, a horrible, nasty, mean-spirited joke.

Taking deep breaths, I willed myself to calm down.

I thought about calling the police, but it seemed an overreaction. I didn't have any enemies, and I didn't feel like dealing with the police department right then. Besides, the letter and the guy following me probably weren't even connected. It was my overactive imagination hard at work. The letter writer had obviously mixed me up with someone else. There was no reason for anyone to be after me.

Think about something else.

It would be hours before Justin and Rob showed up. I looked up and saw the CNN logo on the television. Christiane Amanpour, one of the most respected journalists I know of, was giving a report about refugees.

My phone rang again, and I jumped.

“Geez. Chill,” I said out loud. I reached over to the coffee table and picked up the cell.

I didn't recognize the number but answered anyway. Any distraction was good right now.

“This is Kira.”

“Ms. Smythe?” an elderly sounding gentleman asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Mr. Pierce. I'm the executor of Mrs. Mabel Canard's will. I wondered if I might have a moment.”

I sat up. “Yes.”

“Mrs. Canard left specific instructions for me to speak with you about her will. She's left you something and asked that we chat face to face. Is there a chance you'll be in Sweet anytime soon?”

Mrs. Canard had left me something? I guessed it would probably be some books, something special she thought I might want. My eyes watered, and I had to clear my throat before speaking. “I'll be in town on Thursday, in time for the memorial service on Friday.”

He sighed. “That's wonderful. I thought I might have to make a trip to Atlanta and these bones aren't what they used to be. Would it be possible for you to meet me at the office at nine on Friday morning?”

“Certainly.”

“That is good news. My office is upstairs from where the old hardware store used to be. It's a women's clothing store now.”

Delilah's—it's where I'd picked up the jeans and sweatshirt I'd worn in Sweet. “Yes, I know where that is. I'll see you on Friday morning.”

After I'd been gone for so long Mrs. Canard still thought about me. It was beyond sweet. The tears rolled down my face in big fat drops, and I let them fall. Mrs. Canard was a wonderful woman and she deserved every tear I shed.

I didn't know what she'd left me, but I would treasure it for the rest of my life.

My curiosity was almost enough to take my mind off the horrid letter I'd opened earlier. Almost.

I
t was odd to come back to Sweet so soon after my last visit. I flew into Dallas early Thursday and made the three-hour drive west. I stopped by Lulu's to grab a quick lunch of roast, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

Then I visited Sam, who had given me orders to stop by his office when I arrived in town.

It was almost two and I wasn't sure he'd returned from lunch, but when I walked into the reception area he yelled, “Be with you in a minute.”

I heard some footsteps and he looked through the reception window and waved at me. “Hey, you. Come on back. Let's have a look at you.” I hugged him and then followed him to one of the exam rooms.

“I thought the office would be full.” I sat down on the table. He stuck a thermometer in my ear and then wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm.

“We're trying to take a half day off on Thursday afternoon. It gives me a little more time at the hospital and nursing home and for the hospice visits. This small-town doctor business is busier than I'd imagined.

“Hmmm. Temp's still ninety-nine point five. Have you been resting?”

I crossed my arms, as his office was slightly chilly. “Yes. I had several meetings but the rest of the time I laid around on the couch or in bed. I promise. I mean, it's down from the other day, so obviously I've been doing something right. And I don't feel as tired, though I could use a nap right now.”

He used the stethoscope to listen to my breathing and I stopped talking.

“Sounds much better. I want you to keep taking the antibiotics and antivirals.”

I nodded. “This all sounds vaguely familiar. I promise, I'm fine. I feel so much better than I did a few weeks ago.”

He smiled. “I know, but you're my friend and I get to worry if I want. Just take care of yourself. I'll see you at the service tomorrow. Do you want to catch some lunch after?”

“Sure. I don't know what kind of company I'll be.”

“You can sit and stare at the wall. I don't care. You know that.” Sam put my chart into a file cabinet and I followed him out to the reception area.

I shook my head. “Every time I think about it I get teary. At least I have some emotions. I was beginning to think I'd turned into a robot. What happened in Atlanta was weird. I couldn't get out of that place fast enough, and it's been my home for two years.”

“Let's get you through the next couple of days, and then I'd like you to talk to a friend of mine here in town. He's a good guy, and you'll like him.”

I didn't know about that. Unlike a lot of the women I know, I don't talk about my feelings much. Well, until I realized I didn't have any.

“We'll see. Can I go home now?”

He gave me a sad look. “Things are rough right now, but it's going to get better.”

I laughed, and sniffled a little. “You know, it's strange, but now that I'm here, I feel better. I'm sad, and I'm not looking forward to tomorrow at all, but I don't feel as restless.”

He squeezed me a little tighter. “Do you think that might have something to do with your date?”

“What? Oh, geez. I have a date on Saturday night.” I slapped a hand against my head. “I can't believe it's only two days away.”

Sam chuckled. “I told Caleb he'd better have you home by midnight, and if you looked too flushed or pale to bring you home immediately.”

“Thanks. But I have a dad. And he's just as big a worrywart as you.” I shoved a finger at his chest.

Sam laughed.

I left his office in a very good mood but a little scared at the same time. Here's the truth: I've had dates in the past two years. Well, two dates. One was with an accountant who was part of a merger team. Technically, it was more of a business meeting, but we did have a few drinks and talked about things other than the job.

The other one was with a guy…whose name I can't even remember. Justin fixed us up for New Year's. We arrived at the party and the guy's ex-girlfriend was wrapped around another man. He freaked out and confronted her, and I didn't see either of them the rest of the evening. Justin kissed me on the cheek at midnight to celebrate the New Year. Sad, but true.

I've been married to my job. Or, at least, I had been. It shocked me when I thought about what I'd done to my life in the last few years.

I wasn't going to let that happen again.

By the time I made it to Mom and Dad's it was almost four. I said hello to both of them and made sure I was staying in the same room.

My mom patted my back when she hugged me. “That's your room, Kira. It always has been. We never give it to guests. We have a full house, though, so there will be visitors around.”

“Not a problem.” I started to walk out. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey?” she said distractedly.

I pursed my lips together. “I'm really proud of what you and Dad have done here. I walked the vineyards the other day and—I'm just proud of you.”

My mom had been searching through some papers on her desk. She looked up, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “So your hippie parents aren't an embarrassment after all?”

I walked around so I could hug her again. “Oh, no, you still embarrass the hell out of me, and you eat crazy crap. But I love you and I'm proud of you.”

She laughed. “I'll take what I can get.” She leaned back and looked at my face. “You look a little pale. Go get some rest, and I'll have dinner ready for you when you get up.”

I paused on my way out the door.

She cleared her throat. “I had Dad pick you up some turkey, provolone, and even some eggs. But I refuse to have beef or pork in my kitchen. I'll make you a turkey sandwich. Sam called and said you need your protein and he thinks you might be allergic to soy. So no tofu for you.”

It was all I could do not to laugh. God bless Sam. I owed him big for this one.

“That'll be great, Mom.”

I dumped my bag in my room, but I was more restless than tired. I put on my yoga pants and shirt and did a few postures in my room. It felt good to relax the muscles and I stretched out onto the rug on the floor. As I moved through each pose I could feel the tension leave my body.

Afterward I showered and found the turkey sandwich my mom had left for me in the fridge. I could hear everyone in the conference room toward the back of the complex. My dad was giving a speech about herbs and their healing powers. I stood there listening for a long time. He was a good speaker, erudite and even funny.

I laughed softly as I made my way back to my room. For the first time since I left for college, it felt good to be home.

 

I
wasn't sure what to wear. The day of the memorial service I had to dress quickly in order to make my meeting at the lawyer's office. I couldn't choose between navy and black but decided to go with the black Carolina Herrera suit. It was appropriate without being stuffy or harsh.

An elderly woman who looked like someone's great-grandmother greeted me in the reception area of Mr. Pierce's office. Turned out she was Mrs. Pierce. She handed me a cup of tea and seated me in a small conference room. “He'll be right with you, dear,” she informed me.

A few minutes later Mr. Pierce came in. He was a small, wiry man, slightly stooped, with gray hair that tumbled onto his forehead. He shook my hand and then sat across the table from me.

“First, let me say how sorry I am about Mrs. Canard. She was a dear woman and one of the finest librarians I've ever known.” He opened a file folder.

“She left a good portion of her savings to her family, along with many of her antiques and belongings. But her most prized possession she left to you. She wanted you to read this before I explain everything.”

He pushed a sealed envelope toward me. I hadn't known what to expect. I thought maybe she'd given me a first edition book or one of her art collections.

The seal was a red wax stamp with a C. I opened the envelope and pulled out two sheets of typewritten paper. It was a letter.

The tears had puddled around my chin. Mr. Pierce handed me a tissue. I dabbed and tried to catch my breath between sobs.

“She left me the library?” I looked up at the kindly old man.

“Yes.” He pushed the file toward me. “Should you choose to accept her offer, the library and its contents become yours. There are some provisions. Only you can run the library. If you choose not to become the new librarian, the building and the contents will be sold at auction and the proceeds donated to charity.”

I pushed my hair behind my ear. “Wait. If I don't open the library, then the town must go without? That's crazy. She wouldn't want Sweet to be without a library.”

I thumbed through the papers.

“That is the way she has the will worded and she was very precise.”

Sitting back in my chair, I read the words. He was right, but it didn't make sense.

“She loved this town and the books. I—why would she do this?” It was a rhetorical question and Mr. Pierce didn't bother answering.

“I didn't notice any time limit. How long do I have to decide?”

He slid another file across the table. “You have one month. She wanted, if possible, for you to live the life of a librarian, and to understand the responsibilities the position holds. If after that month you choose not to stay with the job, then we'll proceed with the sale.”

I crossed my arms. It was too much to take in. I remembered the voices in my room, and the feeling that I was being watched the last few weeks.

Could it be real? The dead aren't so dead? What, and now all of a sudden I'm psychic?

When things got out of hand at the office, I shut down and focused on whatever was in front of me at the time. Hence my ice princess persona. But my mind was in this weird fog, as if there were thoughts just out of reach that would clear this craziness up. Nothing made sense anymore.

There was a knock on the door. “I'm sorry to interrupt, dear, but you're needed on the phone.”