Excerpts

1 Lindsey Norris pushed a cart full of food toward the back room of the Briar Creek Public Library. It was her turn to provide the eats for the library's weekly crafternoon meeting. She had established the crafternoon club just after becoming Briar Creek's director a few years ago. It was one of many programs she had implemented, hoping to make the library a gathering place for the community. This particular group was small but enthusiastic, and the women who belonged to it had become some of Lindsey's dearest friends in the small Connecticut shore town. The group met every Thursday at lunch, and they discussed the chosen book of the week while sharing food and making a craft. This week's book was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and Lindsey was thrilled. She'd been trying to get the crafternooners to read Austen for months and they'd finally agreed. As she navigated the narrow hallway, she was forced to swerve to the right as an enormous hamburger waddled toward her. Lindsey squinted. Yes, the head poking out of the top of the sesame seed bun was none other than her children's librarian, Beth Barker. The costume thing was nothing new for Beth, as she was known for dressing up as everything from a teapot to a bat for her story times. She was a firm believer in going the extra mile to engage her young audience, which made her reading programs a packed house. None of this was a surprise to Lindsey as she had been Beth's roommate during their information studies graduate school years, and even then, Beth had approached her children's literature courses with the same over-the-top enthusiasm. The burger outfit, though, that was a new one. "All right, you've got me stumped," Lindsey said. "I know the books that go with a duck costume, a dinosaur and even a rocket, but a hamburger? What are you reading at story time today that goes with this?" Beth grinned at her and adjusted the lettuce leaf beneath her top bun. "Well, my favorite is Burger Boy but there's also Bun, Onion, Burger . Both books get kids thinking about lunch and food, and eating responsibly. Then for the young entrepreneurs in the crowd, there's Hamburger Heaven , which is all about making a small business into a success." "Impressive. Picture books always pack a punch of information," Lindsey said. She glanced at her cart. Today's menu to celebrate spring was loaded with egg salad finger sandwiches, cheddar-broccoli tartlets, pesto stuffed cherry tomatoes, and lemon cheesecake squares. "Now I'm wishing I'd just ordered a sack of burgers." Beth slowly backed away with her hands up as if to ward off an attack. "Don't get any big ideas. I'm made of felt, I tell you," she said. She hugged the pillow-like layers that made up her burger costume to her already large pregnant belly. Then she caught her reflection in the office window behind Lindsey. "Uh-oh, it's like the baby knows I'm dressed as a burger, because I'm suddenly starving-like, I'm going to have a mental episode if someone doesn't put a burger in my hand right now." "Can't help you with that," Lindsey said. She gestured to the cart. "All I have are finger sandwiches and tartlets." "How very Austen of you," Beth said. She leaned in close to examine the cart, and gingerly took one of the egg salad triangles. "Turns out the baby isn't that particular. This is just for taste-testing purposes, natch." Lindsey laughed. "Of course." "Ermagawd, so good," Beth said. She devoured it in two bites, and a look of sublime bliss crossed her face. Lindsey took a napkin and put another sandwich and a tartlet in it. Then she handed it to Beth and said, "To tide you over during story time." "You're a goddess, have I told you that lately?" Beth asked. "Yes, when I approved your summer reading program budget last month," Lindsey said. "But for the record, it never gets old." Beth grinned. The distinct sound of a toddler giggling emanated from the main library, drawing her attention, and she said, "I hear my crowd arriving. Gotta bounce. See you at crafternoon." "Break a burger--or would that be a bun?" Lindsey called after her. Beth stuck an arm out of her costume and bent it as if to make a muscle while cradling her food in her other hand. Lindsey watched as Beth waddled across the library to the story time room. Her burger bun swung like a pendulum as she tipped from side to side while walking. Beth's baby was due in two months, which was a scheduling challenge for her as she juggled being the children's librarian while also acting as the campaign manager for Ms. Cole, the head of circulation at the library, who was running for mayor of Briar Creek and the Thumb Islands. It was no small task to make over the image of the woman formerly known to the library staff as "the lemon" (for her puckered disposition and old-school ways) into a viable candidate for mayor, but Beth was giving it her all. Lindsey wheeled into the crafternoon room to find Paula Turner, a library clerk, already seated at the main table. She was a crafter to her core and was setting up the day's project supplies. Not being crafty by nature-a major understatement-Lindsey glanced with mixed emotions at the table, namely one part curiosity and one part dread. "Happy crafternoon," Paula greeted her. "Since it's your week to host, and I know you don't love crafting, I picked a super easy Austen-inspired craft. Ribbon bookmarks." Lindsey glanced at the piles of materials in front of Paula. Velvet and lace ribbons of every conceivable color, ribbon clamps and loads of charms in silver and brass and some beads and crystals, too. She saw an old-fashioned key, a jade bead, an open book, a teardrop crystal and an antique portrait of Jane Austen in a frame no bigger than a quarter. She immediately felt her spine relax. Lindsey picked up a length of lavender velvet and ran it through her fingers. This seemed like something even she could do. She grinned at Paula. "You might make a crafter out of me yet." "That's the goal," Paula said. Her thick braid was currently dyed a fabulous shade of turquoise, and the sleeve of tattoos that ran up her arm was colorful and book inspired. There was no doubt that she gave the library all of its coolness. "Lindsey!" A breathless Ann Marie Martin appeared in the doorway. "We've got a situation!" Lindsey glanced at Paula and gestured to the food. "Do you mind?" "Not at all," she said. "I'll keep watch." "Thank you," Lindsey said. She hurried to the door and fell in step beside Ann Marie, her library assistant, as she led the way back to the main library. "What's the situation?" "Mayor Hensen is here," Ann Marie said. "He and Ms. Cole are having an impromptu debate right in the middle of the library." "Oh, no," Lindsey said. They were six months out from the local election, and things were heating up. The town of Briar Creek had no term limits, so the incumbent, Mayor Hensen, was planning to run for his third term. So far, he had refused to debate Ms. Cole publicly and could most often be found at the country club, schmoozing with his cronies. He seemed to feel that Ms. Cole was no threat to his campaign, and therefore couldn't be bothered to treat her as a real opponent. Lindsey suspected he was in for a bit of a surprise given that the turnout for the upcoming election looked to be higher than usual, and much of the town's younger generation was actively engaged and looking for a different sort of leadership. Sadly, since Mayor Hensen was technically her boss, Lindsey had to remain completely neutral whenever she was on duty at the library, even though privately she was one hundred percent Team Cole. "I'd deal with it myself but one of our computer terminals is missing a cable, and we have an eager line of patrons waiting for a session, plus I think dealing with the mayor is above my pay grade." "Fair point." Lindsey glanced at Ann Marie. "Wait. We're missing a cable?" "Yup, it's the weirdest thing. It's like someone just ripped it right out of the back of the computer. I'm trying to scrounge up another one, but they're back in storage and I didn't want to leave the current situation unsupervised." "Good call." Lindsey kicked into high gear as she hurried into the main room. In Briar Creek, the library wasn't known so much for its quiet as it was for being the heartbeat of the community. When she'd taken the job, the library was run by an older gentleman, Mr. Tupper, and he considered the library a place for quiet introspection and research, which was lovely but not really meeting the needs of residents. Given how the world was changing, Lindsey knew that the library's survival depended upon the value the community placed on the library itself. Books were Lindsey's favorite part of the library, for sure, but it was the children's programs, the adult programs, the free Wi-Fi, internet terminals and the sense of community that the place offered that kept the public coming back again and again. Story time was underway, and the private study rooms and the computer terminals were all in use, minus the one that had a dark screen and an out of order sign taped to its monitor because of its missing cable. Lindsey made a mental note to check back with Ann Marie after crafternoon on its status. Honestly, why would someone take a cable? It boggled. There were several people in the reference section, doing research, and the new books and DVDs had their usual crowd of people jockeying for the latest releases. Overall, it was a very average day in the library, except in the main room. Every single person in the main room of the library was standing still with their attention on the circulation department as they stared at the two people facing off over the service desk. Mayor Hensen with his thick head of hair and abnormally white teeth on one side and Ms. Cole on the other in her usual monochromatic outfit, today's being black, with her silver hair swept back from her face in a becoming bob. Beth had been working on Ms. Cole's look with mixed results, but today she was on point as her black slacks paired well with her black top, even though it was admittedly rather severe. "Ms. Cole, how long have you been with the library now?" Mayor Hensen asked. His voice was conversational enough, but Lindsey could hear a faintly disdainful edge to it. "I've been with the library through six mayors," she said. Ms. Cole leaned back on her heels and stared at him over her reading glasses as if to say, Your point ? "Wow, that's like . . ." His voice trailed off while he did the mental math. Lindsey half expected him to count it out on his fingers. "Over forty years," she said. "Would you like to borrow my calculator to do the exact math?" Mayor Henson frowned at her. It was clear he didn't like her tone. A giggle from a patron in the new book area did not help the situation. "That's not necessary," he said. He smiled, although it looked forced, and gestured wide to encompass the entire building. "A forty-year career is impressive. Clearly, you're very good at your job. And after all these years , you're the institutional memory of the place. Why, you're the face of the library. In fact, I don't think folks would recognize the building without you to greet them when they come in." Lindsey didn't think she was imagining the ageism Hensen was throwing out there for anyone who was listening. One glance at Ms. Cole, and Lindsey knew she'd heard it, too. As Ms. Cole studied the mayor, one eyebrow ticked up on her forehead, signaling her annoyance. Uh-oh. "Hello, Mayor Hensen," Lindsey said as she joined Ms. Cole behind the desk, hoping to ward off a full-blown confrontation. "What brings you by today?" "I'm the mayor," he said. His tone was slightly annoyed, as if he couldn't believe he had to remind her of his position. "Not for long," Ms. Cole muttered. The mayor's head snapped in her direction. "What was that?" "Not-" Ms. Cole began, but Lindsey cut her off. "Not for nothing." Lindsey smiled-well, she showed her teeth at any rate. "Not for nothing, you're the mayor. Now, is there something in particular that I can help you with?" Hensen eyed her suspiciously and then puffed up his chest as if inflating with his own self-importance. "I'm not here to use the library. I'm simply representing my constituents by exercising my duty as a public servant to check on all of my departments." Ms. Cole opened her mouth to speak, and Lindsey stepped on her foot, not too hard, just enough to get her attention. "Well, it's always a pleasure to see you," Lindsey said. She came around the desk and strode up to Hensen's side, subtly encouraging him to start walking in the direction of the exit. "Have I shown you the latest display by our young entrepreneurs group? It's fabulous." Hensen sent one last glare at Ms. Cole and fell into step beside Lindsey. They paused in front of a glass display case, where Lindsey pointed out each exhibit, hoping the information overload would push the mayor into a speedy departure. They were halfway through the case when he interrupted her. "What's she playing at?" he asked. "I'm sorry?" "She's too old to be a mayor," he said. "The position requires someone with vim and vigor, stamina, and he should be-" '"He'?" Lindsey interrupted. Mayor Hensen waved his hand at her. "Don't get all Helen Reddy on me. You know what I mean." "I believe you mean the position should be filled by a man," she said. "No, no," he protested, not very convincingly. "Although, come to think of it, Briar Creek has never had a female mayor." "Then we're overdue for one," Lindsey said. She glanced at him. He didn't get her pun. Was there anything more tiresome than having to explain clever wordplay when a listener didn't get it? Because it was simply unacceptable to let it go unacknowledged. She sighed. "Overdue. Because we're in a library, get it?" "Ha ha," Mayor Hensen said. He sounded like a cat choking on a sock. The feigned amusement disappeared from his face in an instant. He stared at Lindsey with a sudden intensity that made her jump. "You want her to win, don't you?" "Uh . . . I . . . ," Lindsey stammered. His question was inappropriate at best and put her in a terrible position at worst. She wasn't going to lie. Ms. Cole would make a much better mayor than Hensen, and not just because she would be a strong ally for the library, but because she loved Briar Creek, she cared about the residents, she was extremely well organized, and she had the rare ability to get people to do what they were supposed to do without having them kick up a fuss. Hensen lacked all of those skills. It was no contest as to which of them would be a more effective mayor. But Lindsey couldn't say that out loud, nor did she want to lie just to appease Hensen's ego. Thankfully, he didn't give her a chance. "You want to have a woman on the inside," he said. He reared back, looking as if she'd slapped him. "I see how it is. You want to be close to the seat of power. You think she'll give you your dream budget. What will it include? Unlimited book orders? Training for all of your staff? New equipment? More employees? Longer hours of service?" He sounded outraged at the mere idea of the library getting any of these things. Lindsey blinked. All of that was on her wish list and were items she'd been lobbying for since she'd arrived. "May I just say that unless you're actually trying to drum up votes for your challenger, accusing the library director of preferring Ms. Cole as a candidate for mayor because the library will get a bigger and better budget, whilst you're standing in the middle of said library, is not your best play, Hensen," a voice with a distinctive British accent spoke from behind a nearby bookcase. Lindsey craned her neck and saw Robbie Vine, Briar Creek resident and famous British actor, leaning negligently against the shelf. "You stay out of this," Mayor Hensen snapped. The library had gone quiet as patrons were, again, watching the drama unfold. "You're not even a citizen and can't vote." Robbie pushed off the bookcase and rose to his full height. "Lucky for you, mate, because I wouldn't be voting for you." Excerpted from Killer Research by Jenn McKinlay All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.