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“We’re a small outpost station. If we need time off, we have to bring in guys from Jackson to cover our shifts. It’s just not a good time.”
“Oh, well now, I understand that. I’m sure you’ve mentioned it before. But maybe you could ask? Just in case? I know Dad and your brother and sister would love to see you.”
I hated breaking her heart, and from the crack in her voice, I knew I was, but it was easier for me to stay away from my adoptive family. The only thing going back to Texas had ever done for me was break my heart. I couldn’t step foot in the state without thoughts of the parents I’d lost rambling around in my head. And I never let myself think about them or of how I’d had to figure out how to fight this world on my own.
Mama K chattered on about my little brother, Aaron. He was set to marry his high school sweetheart in the spring, and my sister, Krista, had earned herself a big promotion at her job, and Mama K and Eugene wanted to celebrate. My adopted siblings were both years younger than me, and we’d never been close. Going down to visit now would only be uncomfortable for them. Besides, I was better off alone. Always had been, and it wasn’t about to change now at almost half a century old.
I didn’t mean to, but I zoned out on Mama K, looking at the built-in bookshelves Max had suggested I fill. The longer I looked at the empty space, the more I knew I needed something to put in it. Suddenly, my life felt empty without books to fill it.
Maybe a trip to the library before my shift could fix that, and it gave me something to do so I didn’t have to lie to Mama K about needing to get off the phone.
* * *
What kind of books does a nearly fifty-year-old man read? What was a subject I wanted or needed to know more about?
The library in Wisper, Wyoming was small and set up in an old house in the middle of town. I doubted it had the resources most libraries did, and I was betting a lot of the books were old and out of date, but they’d be good enough for me. What was so wrong with old shit anyway?
I had no clue what I’d want to read, but before I spent a fortune on a bunch of books I wasn’t sure I’d like, I figured it’d be better to check some out, take them home, and see if I could get into reading as a way to pass time. A way to relax. Alone time was something I figured I had a lot of in my future.
If I found something I liked, I could ask the librarian to order more.
I walked the aisles, thumbing through the books on the shelves. The covers gave an indication if they might be my kind of thing or not. Avoiding anything cartoony or too… pink, I picked one out: A Mountain Man’s Guide to Home Décor. The title was ridiculous, but the picture on the front showed a living room in a log cabin that had been decorated in a style I didn’t hate. I checked the year of publishing. Eh, well, it was fifteen years old, so maybe not the most up-to-date, but I just needed an idea about the direction to go in since I’d never really furnished a living room on my own before. Maybe seeing what others had done would spark some ideas.
Or maybe I could ask the librarian if there was a newer version or a better book.
Where was the librarian? I hadn’t met the new guy yet. After Adalaide Fraser, the woman who’d been here since I was probably in diapers back in Texas, suffered a mild heart attack and decided to retire, the county had hired a new librarian—Sam somebody, probably some young kid fresh out of school. Maybe his work ethic leaned to the lazy side, and that was why he hadn’t come out to greet me. The front door needed to be planed. It stuck in the frame, so you had to give it a good push to open it. There was no way he hadn’t heard me come in.
A black-and-white picture of a Panzer tank caught my eye on the front of a book facing out from the bookshelf. Hm. A book about World War II strategies: The Blitzkrieg Attack: Yay or Nay? I pulled it from the shelf to read the description on the back. Could be interesting.
As I flipped the old, dust-covered book in my hand, noticing the rip in the shiny paper jacket, I heard a humming. Not a humming sound, but a person humming a song. It was a female voice for sure. Kind of a pretty sound, but I heard a bass thumping quietly. It sounded like a rap song was coming from the ceiling.
“Hello?”
No reply.
“Hello? Who’s there? Sheriff’s Department.” I’d learned my lesson about not announcing myself as law enforcement when I’d nearly sent Mr. Brooks to the hospital with a stroke when I walked up behind him to offer to help him jump his truck. It was something to do with the gun on my hip.
Walking to the end of the aisle I was standing in, books in hand, I scanned the next aisle, but I found no one. Slowly, I made my way along the end of the aisles, and the humming became louder.
Finally, in the very last aisle against the back wall, a young woman balanced on a spindly wooden ladder, trying to fit a book on the highest shelf. She was listening to her music through earbuds, so she must not have heard me. The ladder’s legs were uneven, and it teetered, but she used her thighs, adjusting her stance to counteract gravity. The feet of the ladder evened out, settling on the floor beneath her, and the satisfied tilt to her lips had me looking harder at the side of her face.
Her long skirt was blue, and so was her hair. It had been pulled into a bun on the top of her head and secured with a—was that a pencil stuck in there?
I cleared my throat.
Nothing.
“’Scuse me.”
Still nothing.
Did this woman not have peripheral vision? Or was she ignoring me? Or was she just that lost in her song and the books? Kids these days.
I raised my voice. “’Scuse me, ma’am. You know it ain’t safe for you—”
Her head whipped in my direction. “Shit!”
The ladder wobbled again, tilting to one side, and she lost her balance and tipped to the other while it hovered in the air for a second. She reached through the slats, trying to find some control. Her hand connected with the bookshelf, but the ladder had other plans as it leaned the opposite way she had intended, and books rained down around her. Dropping the ones in my hand to the floor, I took three steps forward and caught her like a sack of potatoes when she fell.
