When the hard metal connects with my palm, I curl my fingers around it. “Peggy Sue, would you be interested in some before and after photos of the bookmobile?”
Mayor Breckenbridge startles, shooting me a disquieted glance. He grumbles something under his breath, and I doubt the color staining his cheeks is from the temperatures that are rising with the sun.
“Oh!” Peggy Sue finally lowers her camera and looks at me directly. “That would be a nice—”
“Don’t you have a route to get on, my dear?” The mayor bumps me toward the driver’s door. “People are waiting for the books you’re going to bring them, isn’t that what you were saying?” He shoots Peggy Sue a sharp smile over his shoulder as he curls his fingers around my elbow.
I choke on my chuckle. Funny how he’s all of a sudden concerned about a schedule. Also, he does realize I can just email Peggy Sue any pictures I have, right?
Evangeline and Martha sidle up to him like living bookends, matching looks of concern etched on their faces.
Martha hands me my bag. “The tablet and scanner are in there and fully charged.”
I’ll need both to sign patrons up for library cards, check out books, and show people how to use our website to request books that I can stock Cletus with and bring them on my next trip. Not to mention, I can set up a hotspot so everyone can have access to free Wi-Fi wherever I’m parked. I’ll drive a routeonce a week, circling back to each destination once a month, so that I can also stay on top of my other duties at the library.
“Drive carefully,” Evangeline adds. “It rained fairly hard last night.”
Evangeline is always worried about rockslides after it rains. There are warning signs posted along the roads depicting large rocks falling on vehicles, and now she’s scared one will come loose of the mountainside and crush her car under limestone and granite. The chances of that happening are probably less than finding a rare gem in one of the bags of dirt they sell at the tourist-trap mines in Pigeon Forge.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her. I’ve been driving on these roads since before I even had a license, sitting on my daddy’s lap and singing along to George Strait. I’ve never once had any issue with falling debris. Right now, she should be more worried about my drowsiness.
Her lips are pressed firm, but she manages to tilt them up in a semblance of a reassured gesture. She eyes me, then Mayor Breckenbridge. Me, then the mayor again. Her shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath, then turns her back to me and faces the mayor.
“You had a mechanic look the van over before you donated it, right?” She pitches her voice low to keep what she’s saying from floating over to Peggy Sue. Probably in hopes that the mayor will be honest with her in case his answer would make him look bad in print.
He huffs and jerks his chin down and back, the extra skin around his jowls folding and layering over his thick neck. “Just what are you implying, young lady?”
“I’m not implying anything, Mayor. I just want to make sure Hayley is safe. That’s all.”
“Well, of course she is safe. Do you think I would do anything to put someone in my town in danger?”
Martha’s gaze meets mine, and she lifts her brow. Did henot see the condition Cletus was in when he first dropped the van off in the library’s parking lot?
“My apologies.” Evangeline turns and widens her eyes at me.
We’re all wondering the same thing. Is Mayor Breckenbridge really that clueless, or is he simply being careless? Seriously, Kitty Purry for queen of Little Creek next year. I’ll make her a tiny crown and scepter myself.
“I think we’ve got all we need, Peggy Sue. Thank you,” Mayor Breckenbridge calls out. He tips an imaginary hat to Martha, Evangeline, and me. “Good day, ladies.” With that, he turns on his booted heel and strides toward the municipal building one street over.
“Here, I checked this out for you.” Martha hands me a paperback by Lynn Austin, with a young blond woman on the cover, a faraway look in her eyes. She’s clutching a small stack of books to her chest, log cabins nestled in the woods.
I scan the title.WonderlandCreek.
“It’s about a packhorse librarian in Kentucky during the Great Depression. Thought you might enjoy it during any downtime you have on your route. You know, a whole look-at-the-women-who’ve-gone-before type of thing.”
I caress the cover with my thumb. “Thanks, Martha.” I clear my throat and put on a brave face. “All right. I’ve dillydallied enough. Time to hit the road.”
Evangeline and Martha take a step back so I can close the door. The key fits into the ignition, and the engine cranks up with enough coughs and sputters to put a chain smoker to shame. I take a cleansing breath, muting the ominous music starting to play in my mind and dubbing in some positive vibes instead. “You’re the bookmobile Little Engine That Could, Cletus. Let’s show them what you’ve got.”And that I’vegot nothing to worry about.
I put the van into gear and pull out of the parking lot. My first stop is Turkey Grove, a community that doesn’t even havea dot on a map. There’s only one access road that I know of, and it’s so narrow and riddled with potholes that cars need to turn sideways and suck in their guts in order to pass each other. I’m sincerely praying that I don’t meet up with any vehicles coming the opposite direction.
I’ve only been to Turkey Grove once, to hike to a nearby waterfall. All that I remember is a mechanic’s garage, a general store, a trailer park, a church, and miles and miles of uncorrupted nature. I saw laundry hanging on lines to dry and outhouses that were still in use. It was a bit like stepping back in time. Honestly, I won’t be surprised if today will be someone’s first time accessing the internet.
I’ve been driving about forty minutes, adrenaline from nerves kicking the sleepiness out of my system better than caffeine could have, when all of a sudden, Cletus’s clutch slips, creating a squeaky, grinding noise.
My pulse spikes as my stomach jumps into my throat. “Don’t give up on me now, Cletus. You can do this.” I grip the wheel so tight my knuckles turn white.
A burning stench fills my nostrils, singeing the inside of my nose. The dashboard lights up like Christmas, then blinks with the heartbeat of a college rage party.
