Ms.Romance, charmed as would be any object of the scrub jays’ attention, simply stood still with a look of wonder on her face.
The scrub jay tilted its head this way and that, and then, upon observing the situation, must have decided it wasn’t getting pride of place and so decided to rectify the situation.With another flash of blue and silver, it took off into the air, banked sharply, and landed precisely on the top of the romance author’s head.
Her eyes widened with surprise and delight.
“Hold still!”Stevie said, carefully moving into a position to take better photos.
Ms.Romance raised her hands as if to say,I’m trying!—and before she could lower them, two more scrub jays shot out of the trees.One landed on each open hand.The romance author at last stood perfectly still, only flinching when the scrub jay on her head decided to give an exploratorythwackwith its beak.“Ow,” she said quietly.
For a moment the woman was a statue, and Corinthia could not help but think of a statue of a saint, covered in birds; how fortunate, how blessed this visitor was to be graced by the scrub jays.How magical.
“I’ve never seen so many land on a person at once,” Stevie said, finally lowering her camera.
As if some signal had been shared between the birds—They’ve got enough pictures, let’s go!—all three burst into flight and disappeared into the maze.
Corinthia felt absurdly pleased that her idle wish had been granted, and could not help but allow the unwarranted pride to last all the way back to the covered pavilion where the hike had begun.
Now that the short hike was over, Stevie handed out miniature bottles of water and brochures with more information about the Refuge, including classes, lectures, and the upcoming Wildlife Festival.
“Wait,” the romance author said, as they were all about to make their way back to the library.“Where’d that guy go?”
“What guy?”Stevie asked.
“The thriller author from the panel.”
It was quickly agreed among the group that Mr.Thriller, as Corinthia had to be carefulnotto call him out loud, had been with the group until approximately the halfway point of the hike.After that, no one could remember seeing him.
Stevie looked uncertain, but also not too concerned.“Maybe he turned back and didn’t tell anyone.”
“Probably,” Corinthia said.Trust Mr.Thriller to lose interest in the Refuge.
The whole party returned to the library.The authors returned to their tables.Corinthia and Stevie lingered by the thriller author’s table, which remained, for an increasingly distressing number of minutes, unmanned.
“Maybe he left?”Stevie said.
“And abandoned his seven-foot banner and three dozen copies of his books?”Corinthia replied.
“Maybe he went to the bathroom?”
Corinthia frowned.It was logical.Perhaps Stevie was right.People didn’t get lost in the Refuge, anyway.It was bounded on all four sides, like Castle Adventure.Eventually you’d run into a wall, turn around, and find your way out.“Yes,” she said.“That must be it.”
So Stevie left for the environmental museum, and Corinthia returned to the circulation desk until it was almost closing time and everyone was packing up to go.The authors filed out, hauling their carts and tote bags, until at last the library was as it had been before.
Except for Mr.Thriller’s table.The banner and books were untouched, and there was no sign of their owner.
Corinthia returned to the desk and picked up the phone.“Stevie,” she said, “his stuff is still here.”
“Did you see him come back?”
“No.”
“Maybe we should check the parking lot.”
It was a good idea, Corinthia thought.The authors and patrons would be gone.“Meet me outside,” she said, and when Stevie agreed, Corinthia hung up.As part of the closing procedure, she checked the bathrooms, which were empty.
She passed through the revolving door and her sense of unease increased.
The last remaining vehicle had a bumper sticker that saidWarning: Author with an Attitude.
