On Borrowed Time (18 page)

“We'll do our best,” Emma said. “It's international so it could get dicey.”

“I'm calling in some help from headquarters,” Trimble said. “We'll nail her. Don't you worry.”

Lindsey nodded. She felt better seeing the determined expressions on their faces.

The room began to empty as everyone else had been cleared to go home. Lindsey was just pushing through the front door when Emma called her name.

“Yeah,” Lindsey answered.

“Nice work on the micro card and stopping Antonia from escaping,” she said.

“Thanks,” Lindsey said. She was almost out the door when Emma added, “And when everything calms down, we'll be having a meeting with the mayor about the library director's exact job description.”

Lindsey wasn't sure if it was a threat or a promise, but she scurried outside, pretending she hadn't heard her.

“T
his is a first,” Beth said as she entered the room carrying a bowl of spinach dip in one arm and a plate of cubed bread in the other.

“What is?” Lindsey asked. “A crafterevening?”

The crafternooners had decided to bump their lunch meeting to a festive evening shindig. It was the first time the room had been used since Juan Veracruz had been murdered, and Lindsey figured it was the best way to dispel the awful memories.

The fire was roaring in the fireplace; soft holiday music played out of an iPod plugged into some speakers. They had read Frances Hodgson Burnett's
The Secret Garden
per Beth's request, and Lindsey was glad they had. It had been nice to read about springtime in Yorkshire when outside New England was in the frosty grip of winter.

“Well, yes, but it's also the first time I've made it to crafternoon, er, evening not in a story time costume,” Beth said.

Lindsey glanced at her friend in her professional blouse and skirt and cute pumps.

“You're right,” Lindsey said. “You look like a grown-up.”

Beth laughed. “See? First time for everything.”

“Hot meatballs! Hot meatballs!” Violet charged into the room with her Crock-Pot while Charlene arrived right behind her carrying thick paper plates and bowls and plastic dinnerware.

“Plug it in right here,” Lindsey said. She gestured to the buffet table they had already set up, which was sagging under two punch bowls, one for eggnog and one for a sherbet-lemon soda concoction of Nancy's, a cheese and cracker platter and a large veggie tray.

“Oh, this is a party!” Charlene cried. “I'm going to be as big as a house if I eat my share of all of this.”

“Fritters, get your clam fritters and crab salad,” Mary said as she entered carrying two large bags. “Oh, this is cozy. The weather is just beginning to turn out there, but they're not predicting much snow on the ground, just flurries.”

Lindsey glanced out the window at the town park and saw the falling snow illuminated in the streetlamp's golden light. It was beautiful.

“Okay, I couldn't make up my mind what sort of cookie to bring, so I brought a little of everything,” Nancy said. She had a large tray of cookies piled six deep, and she plopped it onto the edge of the table with a thump.

The ladies gathered around the table and finished arranging their dishes. When they were done, they all stepped back to admire it.

“It's lovely,” Violet said.

“Too pretty to eat,” Charlene agreed.

“Nah!” Beth said. “Let's dig in!”

With a chorus of agreement, they all began to fill their plates. Beth reached for cookies and Nancy gave her a look.

“Life is uncertain,” Beth said. “It is best to eat dessert first.”

They all chuckled, and when their plates were fully loaded, they turned to take their seats, except their seats were full of men.

“Ian Murphy!” Mary cried. “What are you doing here?”

Ian glanced up from the copy of
The Secret Garden
that he clutched in his big square hands.

“My friends and I are enjoying our crafterevening,” he said. His expression was bland as he added, “If you'll excuse me. Now, gentlemen, where were we?”

“I was sharing my information that the book's working title was
Mistress Mary
in reference to the nursery rhyme
Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary
,” Sully said.

He gave his sister a pointed look, and Mary stomped her foot and said, “Quit looking at me. I am not contrary . . . much.”

“Wasn't it published in serial form first?” Martin, Charlene's husband, asked.

“It was,” Robbie confirmed. “And given that Hodgson Burnett moved to America when she was sixteen, she did a bang-up job capturing the broad Yorkshire accents.”

“I find the character that I most enjoyed was Dickon,” Jack said. “I admired his adventuring spirit.”

“We do get to eat, too, right?” Charlie asked as he strode into the room with Heathcliff, who bounded at Lindsey as if he hadn't seen her in weeks instead of hours.

“What are you all doing here?” Nancy asked. “This is for crafternooners. You know, you read the book—”

“Done,” the men all said together.

“You do a craft,” Mary said.

Suddenly, tote bags stuffed with yarn and crochet hooks appeared. Robbie fished out some sort of lengthy rope he was working on.

“I've almost got the hang of it,” he said. His bright green eyes were sparkling with mirth.

“And food,” Charlene said. “You're supposed to bring food.”

“On it!” Martin jumped up and exited the room. He came back carrying five large pizza boxes.

“Well, it looks like they've covered it, ladies,” Beth said. “Shall we take a vote on it?”

“Seems only reasonable,” Lindsey said.

“All right, those is favor of letting the men stay—” Violet began but was interrupted by Mary, who added, “This time only.”

“Say ‘Aye,'” Violet said.

The women all glanced at one another and then at the men and then back. As one, they all said, “Aye.”

“Any nays?” Violet asked. When no one responded, she turned to the men and said, “Okay, but just this one time.”

From there the crafterevening turned into the most rockin' gathering the crafternooners had ever had. Beth helped Robbie with his crochet while he coached her for her upcoming audition in the next community theater production. Charlie and Heathcliff circled the buffet five or six times, snacking all the way. Martin and Jack talked about world economics, which no one else understood except Charlene, but they all smiled and nodded as if they did.

Ian and Mary debated putting a brick oven into their restaurant, thinking that as they got old, owning a pizza joint with a set menu might be easier to manage than a full-scale restaurant.

Violet and Nancy talked about the next self-defense class they were going to take. Someone had recommended they sign up for tai chi, but they had gotten it confused and signed up for tae kwon do instead, so instead of calm soothing meditation, they were learning to kick ass. Somehow, that seemed about right.

The party was half over when Lindsey realized she'd left the cheesecake she'd brought in the refrigerator in the staff break room. She excused herself from the party saying she'd be right back with cake.

She was halfway down the hall to the main library when Sully caught up to her.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

She stopped and turned to look at him. “It's cake. I think I've got it but thank you.”

Sully lifted a hand and smoothed back one of her long blond curls. The gesture was so familiar it made Lindsey's throat tight.

“I haven't had a chance to tell you that I'm glad you're all right,” he said. “The other night when Antonia and her crew grabbed you, I . . .”

As if he'd run out of steam or words, Sully stopped talking and looked at her as if he could never express how truly awful that moment had been.

“I know,” Lindsey said. “Even with a plan in place, it was scary on my end, too.”

They glanced at each other, and Lindsey knew that this was Sully trying to open himself up and let her in. She grinned. He was doing pretty well, too. She felt a bubble of hope float up inside her.

She looped her hand through his arm, and they walked down the hall together.

“Oh, hey, look here,” he said. He stopped walking and pointed up at a holly bough hanging in the doorway. “Is that—why, I do believe it is. Mistletoe.”

Lindsey raised one eyebrow and looked at him suspiciously. “Funny, I don't remember that being a part of the garland when I put it there.”

“Must be fate,” Sully said.

“Oh, no, I'll tell you what it is,” she said. “It's disgusting.”

Sully's eyes widened in surprise.

“Every year I field reference calls about what exactly mistletoe is,” Lindsey said. “It's nasty, that's what it is. It's a parasitic plant that chokes the life out of its host by taking its water and nutrients, oh, and if that isn't enough, guess how it moves around?”

“No idea,” Sully said drily.

“Bird feces,” Lindsey said and wrinkled her nose. “Mistletoe moves from host to host by having birds poop the seeds out after they've eaten the berries. Gross.”

Sully glanced from the plant overhead to Lindsey and smiled.

“Funny, you would think that would be more off-putting than it is,” he said.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her, and Lindsey forgot all about reference questions and cheesecake and kissed him back with every bit of longing she'd felt over the past few months. The bubble of hope inside her swelled to bursting.

When Sully leaned back, he looked at her with a heat that warmed her all the way down to her toes.

“I'd say it's shaping up to be a happy new year after all,” he said. Then he grinned.

“Yes, yes, it is,” she agreed and gave him a saucy wink.

Book talk, food and crafting—is there a better way to spend a lunch hour than this? The Briar Creek crafternooners think not. Lindsey and her friends always look forward to their time together even if the talk is sometimes more personal than just about the book they've read that week. Here are some ideas from the ladies to kick-start your own crafternoon to share a book, a craft and good food with good friends.

by Wilkie Collins

1. The Woman in White
   is considered one of the first true mystery novels ever written. Do you agree with this and why?
   
2. There are multiple mysteries entwined in this novel, such as switched identities, falsified records and secret societies. Which one is your favorite and why?
   
3. Because there are several mysteries, there are also a couple of amateur sleuths. Which do you believe is the better detective: Marian Halcombe, the heroine's half sister and companion, or Walter Hartright, the heroine's art teacher and love interest?
   
4. The author, Wilkie Collins, was a close personal friend of Charles Dickens. Do you see any similarities in their work, and if so, in what way?
   
5. Critics suggest that the theme of the novel is an examination of the unfair position of a married woman at the time. Do you agree with this, or do you see a different theme?