She shook her head. “That seems like a perfectly valid reason to me.”
I headed down the hill, thinking that since the lunch rush was over, I should be able to make a left turn onto Main Street. The streets that ran from one end of town to the other all followed the curve of the shoreline so it was almost a straight line back to the library.
The brick building sat on the midpoint of a curve of shoreline, protected from the water by a rock wall. It had a stained glass window that dominated one end and a copper-roofed cupola complete with the original wrought-iron weather vane.
The Mayville Heights Free Public Library was a Carnegie library that had been built in 1912 with money donated by philanthropist Andrew Carnegie. It had been restored and updated to celebrate the library’s centenary. I’d come to town to supervise the renovations and taken the head librarian job permanently when they were finished.
Abigail Pierce was at the circulation desk when we got inside, rimless reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she went through a list of book requests. Along with working at the library, Abigail had a second career as a children’s book author.
“Any messages?” I asked.
She shook her head. “None.” Then she eyed Ruby’s hair. “I like that color,” she said.
Ruby smiled. “Any time you’d like to try it, let me know.”
“Seriously?” Abigail said.
“Absolutely.” Ruby wiggled her eyebrows. “I think a green or navy streak in the front would look good on you.”
Abigail smiled back at her. “I may just take you up on that.”
“Is Susan upstairs?” I asked.
Abigail shook her head. “She’s over in nonfiction shelving books.”
“I just need to talk to her for a minute and I’ll be back to relieve you.”
“Take your time,” she said. “I’m just going to sit here and try to imagine myself with the Incredible Hulk’s hair.”
“Better his hair than his skin,” I said.
Ruby and I found Susan in the 590s sitting on the floor, rearranging a shelf of books, a shrimp cocktail fork and what looked to be a paper-wrapped straw stuck in her updo. I wondered where the straw had come from. It hadn’t been poked in her hair when I’d left the library to head for Riverarts.
She smiled at me over her black cat’s eye glasses. “Hey, Kathleen,” she said. “This shelf let go again. I think it was the clips so I got some new ones from the workroom.”
“Thanks,” I said.
It had to be a mistake, I thought. I couldn’t come up with any rational explanation for Susan stealing a couple of scarves and some placemats from the co-op store. It was just too out of character.
Susan reached up and pulled the straw out of her hair. “Weirdest bookmark yet.”
“Where did you find it?” I asked.
“In a book about hyenas,” she said, indicating the stack of books beside her on the floor.
“Someone used a straw for a bookmark?” Ruby said. “Seriously?”
“That doesn’t even make my top ten list of strangest things I’ve seen people use to mark their place in a book,” I said with a grin.
Ruby tipped her head to one side and regarded me with a skeptical look. “No, no, no. You can’t say that and then not give me the details.”
I laughed. “Okay. There’s the usual stuff—napkins, squares of toilet paper, ribbons, paper clips, et cetera. I guess the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen used as a bookmark was a snakeskin.”
“You’re making that up,” Ruby said.
I shook my head. “I swear I’m not.”
“She isn’t,” Susan said, waving the straw for emphasis. “I remember the snakeskin. It was between the pages of a book on vegetarian cooking.”
Ruby laughed. “Okay, now I know you’re messing with me.”
I put my hand over my heart. “I’m not. Librarian’s honor.”
Susan got to her feet and poked the straw back in her hair. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Susan, were you at the co-op store on Tuesday?” I tried to keep my tone light and nonaccusatory.
She nodded. “Uh-huh. That was the day those two buses of tourists stopped in town for lunch.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “I walked a bunch of them over to the store, and then since I had a bit of time before I had to be back here, I stayed to look around for a few minutes.”
“What did you look at?” Ruby asked.
Susan reached over and straightened a couple of books on the shelf closest to her. “What’s going on?” she said.
“Do you remember what you were looking at?” I said. “It’s important.” From the corner of my eye I saw Ruby looking at me, but I kept my focus on Susan.
She looked puzzled, two frown lines pulling her eyebrows together. “Sure, I remember. I was checking out those scarves that Ella made, the multicolor knitted ones that look like they were done on some kind of loom. They’re beautiful.”
She stopped and the color rose in her cheeks. “Wait a second. Did you think I was trying to steal one of them?” She looked at Ruby, eyes wide, a mix of surprise and embarrassment on her face. Before Ruby could answer, Susan had turned to me. “That’s it, isn’t it, Kathleen? I was in the store three or four times in less than a week looking at those scarves.”
“Why?” I said.
Susan didn’t answer. She’d already turned back to Ruby again. “Ruby, I’m sorry,” she said, twisting the hem of her lime green cardigan in her fingers. “I didn’t think how it would look to someone else. I swear I didn’t take anything.”
“Why were you so interested in those scarves?” I asked gently. “You’re not really a scarf person. Why did you keep going back to look at them?”
“Kathleen, do you remember when Abigail tried to teach me to crochet?” she said.
Ruby’s eyes narrowed, and I gave an almost imperceptible head shake, hoping she’d take that as a cue to stay quiet.
“I remember,” I said.
Susan had tried to teach herself how to crochet, and when her efforts had quickly gone downhill, Abigail had stepped in to teach her. That hadn’t worked so well, either. Everything Susan had tried to make had ended in a tangled ball of yarn, a lot of frustration and a few words that weren’t usually in a librarian’s vocabulary.
Susan shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m trying to learn to knit,” she offered, her cheeks turning pink.
“Oh,” I said. “Ummm, how’s it going?”
She rolled her eyes. “How do you think it’s going, Kathleen? I was a disaster with one crochet needle. It’s twice as bad trying to knit with two.”
“Crochet hook,” Ruby said.
We both looked at her.
“You crochet with a hook, not needles.”
“See?” Susan exclaimed, holding out both hands. “I don’t even know what the stuff is called.”
“So why do you want to learn to knit?” I said.
She gave me a wry smile. “For Eric. Did you know he makes my breakfast every morning?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t.” Eric Cullen, who owned and ran Eric’s Place, was a great cook and an all-round good human being. His breakfast sandwiches were one of my favorite ways to start the day.
“He makes all our bread and granola and salad dressing.”
“You think he’d adopt me?” Ruby asked.
Susan laughed. “I want to make something special for him. Something with my own two hands.” She looked at me. “You’re right that I’m not a scarf person but Eric is. I wanted to knit one for him but the truth is I suck at knitting. I kept going back to look at Ella’s scarves because I was trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. But that’s all.” She shook her head. “And for the record, I still don’t know.”
“I can teach you,” Ruby said.
Susan sighed. “I appreciate the offer but I can’t do it. It doesn’t matter if it’s crocheting or knitting. Whatever I start ends up in a mess.” She inclined her head in the direction of the checkout desk. “Just ask Abigail.”