“According to the forecast we could hit close to seventy this afternoon,” I said.
“Global warming or something else?” Maggie cocked her head to one side and eyed me. “I know you know.”
“A weak La Niña that developed in October,” I said, feeling a little like that kid back in elementary school who had liked to read the encyclopedia for fun—which was exactly the kind of kid I had actually been.
Maggie grinned, playing with the fringe of the multicolored scarf she’d wrapped twice around her neck. “You’re better than Google!”
I grinned back at her. “And I work even when there’s no Wi-Fi!”
“Am I the first one here?” She looked around the main floor of the library.
“Keith’s here,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the meeting room.
Just then Harry Taylor walked into the building. He looked around and when he saw us raised a hand to get my attention and headed over.
“Morning,” he said, nodding at both of us.
Harry was in his late fifties. There were deep lines carved around his green eyes from years of working in the sun, and the fringe of salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from under his Twins baseball cap was pretty much the only hair he had left. He was a quiet, thoughtful man, and very well-read, I knew.
“I was hoping I’d catch you before it got busy, Kathleen,” he said. “I’ve pretty much done all I can do on those shelves in the workshop. Next step is to get them put together here.”
Harry was building a shelving unit to fit on one wall of our upstairs workroom. I was hoping that would help us finally get the space organized.
“I can get everything moved out of the way this afternoon,” I said. “You can get started tomorrow if you want to.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “And I’ll be back this afternoon to fix the broken seat in the gazebo.”
“You’re putting shelves in the workroom?” Maggie asked.
I nodded. “On the end wall that’s common with my office. And not just shelves. Harry is making a cupboard we can lock with a drawer underneath. That whole wall will be storage.”
Maggie turned to Harry. “Could you do something like that for me at my studio? I need a better way to organize supplies.”
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, pulling a small notebook and a pencil out of the pocket of his green quilted vest.
Maggie looked at me. “Do I have time to talk to Harry?” she asked.
I nodded. “Go ahead.”
They started toward a nearby cluster of tables, Maggie’s hands moving through the air as she talked.
I set the pile of books by my elbow on a cart as Susan came from the computer area, where she’d just booted up all of our public-access computers for the day.
“I have about half of the books from the book drop sorted,” I told her. “It’s almost time for the meeting to get started, so I’m just going to run up to my office for a minute.”
“I’ll finish this,” she said, sliding into the chair behind the counter and reaching for the handle at the side to raise the seat.
Susan was tiny, barely five feet tall in her sock feet. She wore retro cat’s-eye glasses that made her look like anything but a stereotypical bespectacled librarian, and her dark curly hair was always pulled up in a topknot secured with anything from a pencil to a chopstick. This morning her hair seemed to be held in place with two white golf tees.
“And if you need me—,” I began.
“Don’t worry,” Susan said, pulling one of the rolling carts closer. “Abigail and I can handle things. If anyone gets out of line I can give them the Mom Look, and Mary taught Abigail some kind of one-legged takedown maneuver that kickboxers use.”
Mary—who looked like the sweet grandmother she was—was also the state kickboxing champion for her age. I didn’t want to think about what maneuver she’d taught to Abigail.
“Then I’ll just leave things in your capable hands . . . and feet,” I said, heading for the stairs.
Up in my office I grabbed a pen and a notebook. Then I stood for a moment by the wide window behind my desk and looked out over the water. For me, one of the most beautiful parts of Mayville Heights was the waterfront, with all the big elm and black walnut trees that lined the shore, and the Riverwalk trail that made its way from the old warehouses at the point, past the downtown shops and businesses, all the way out beyond the marina. I could see the barges and boats go by on the water just the way they had more than a hundred years ago.
As I headed back down the stairs Sandra Godfrey came into the building. Rebecca was with her. The latter was carrying a large, round metal cookie tin and I knew there would be something good inside.
“Are we late?” Sandra asked. Her sandy blond hair was parted in the middle and pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore jeans and a red cable-knit sweater with a navy quilted vest over the top. Even in flat sneakers she was several inches taller than my five foot six. Rebecca seemed very tiny beside her.
I shook my head. “You’re right on time.”
Rebecca handed me the cookie tin. “Mary’s cinnamon rolls,” she said. Her blue eyes twinkled. “She said the leftovers are for the staff.”
“That’s assuming there will be any leftovers,” I said with a smile.
• • •
It turned out to be a productive meeting. Everyone liked the idea of returning the photos to the people in them, or at least to their families. Sandra asked about leaving the box of pictures at the circulation desk and encouraging people to look through them when they came in. I explained that many of the photos were dry and brittle and wouldn’t stand up to a lot of handling. Keith suggested putting them on a large table and covering them with a piece of glass. I thought that idea had potential and he volunteered to price the glass for me. Rebecca and Sandra offered to stay behind and sort through the pictures again. Rebecca had spent her whole life in Mayville Heights and Sandra had been a mail carrier for years. Between the two of them they knew a lot of people in town and I was hopeful they would find some faces they recognized.
I walked Maggie to the front entrance. “You were quiet,” I said.
She ran a hand over her blond curls. “I like Keith’s idea to display the pictures,” she said. “But I think we need a way to get more people in here to look at them.”
“Any suggestions?” I asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know yet. Do you think I could come back and take a look though the photos some other time?”
I nodded. “Of course. Just let me know what works for you.”
She hugged me, promised she’d call about the photos and left.
I went back to the meeting room to tidy up. Rebecca and Sandra had taken the box of photos and moved to a table in the main part of the library. I tucked the chairs in against the table and opened the window blinds about halfway to let a little sun in. Abigail tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around she handed me a coffee mug.
“Oh, thank you,” I said. “You read my mind.” I took a long drink.
“Dishes are done,” she said, “and there are three cinnamon rolls left for our break.”
I wrapped both hands around my cup. “Thank you,” I said. The seniors’ quilting group was set up in our other meeting room and I could see Susan through the open door, checking someone out at the circulation desk. It was going to be a busy day.
• • •
The temperature was in the high sixties by lunchtime, so I decided to go for a walk. Marcus was out of town taking a course on crisis negotiation. He’d left a message on my voice mail and when I called him back I’d had to settle for doing the same.
I walked down along the Riverwalk as far as the hotel before turning back. I knew that a month from now the wind would be coming in off the water and pulling at the tree branches, so I was glad to take advantage of the out-of-season warmth while it was here.