“These old buildings,” Miles said as he put his tool kit down and joined me. “Some have windows that have never been updated.” He pointed to the thick rope that slid the window up and down. “See? You just need to give it an extra nudge.” Miles shoved the window hard, and with a protesting groan, it went up.
“Ah-ha.” I nodded, glancing up at him. “Thanks.”
Miles offered a small, somewhat shy smile. “I’ll try not to make too much noise.”
“Don’t worry about it. The library isn’t open to the public right now.” The dust still hung heavy in the air, and I coughed.
Miles put a hand on my upper back and turned me firmly toward the doorway. “You don’t want to stay in here.”
“Is there anything I can get you?” I asked while exiting.
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
No small talk, got it.
I turned and offered Miles one last look. He stood patiently in the middle of the room, waiting for me to leave. “Well—uh, if you need me, I’m around.”
MY STOMACHgrowled and interrupted my destruction of the upstairs storeroom. I checked my watch and realized it was past one in the afternoon. I’d been upstairs for hours and was hungry as hell. Leaving my mess—I mean, the sorted piles—I went downstairs. The door to the side room was closed. I could hear Miles hammering away through the heavy wooden barrier.
I sat down at the checkout desk and found a folder with a handful of take-out menus stored inside. I sifted through them, my options mostly limited to pizza or Chinese, both of which I really didn’t want. I needed to keep working after this, not take a food-induced coma nap. I was hemming and hawing over ordering a cheap sandwich from some place called Eatery when there was a knock at the front door. Before I could stand, it was opened, and a handsome man in a suit with an open coat walked in.
“You must be Christopher Hughes,” he said with a wide grin and booming voice.
“Ah, yes, that’s right.” I stood and moved to shake the stranger’s hand.
“Sam Bloom. I’m on the Board of Selectmen.”
“Oh! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, perking up.
“I see that Logan is already working you like a horse.”
“It’s not so bad.” I laughed. “I’m enjoying it so far, and I’ve already got repairs underway.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam looked briefly toward the closed door. “So! If you have some time to spare, Christopher, I’d like to speak with you in private.” He flashed me another smile, and I had to admit, I wasn’t usually attracted to silver foxes, but Sam was smokin’. “Let’s get some lunch—what do you say?”
I was pretty committed to that five-dollar sandwich, plus I wanted to keep working, but at the same time, I didn’t want to upset the Board, who were essentially my new bosses. I hadn’t gotten much further than “Er—well—” before Miles stepped out of the side room.
As soon as he and Sam made eye contact with each other, I swear the temperature in the building dropped tofrigid. Miles pulled the bandana tied around his mouth down to his neck and wiped his dirty hands on his work jeans. Sam cleared his throat and straightened his posture.
“I see you’re still working for peanuts, Miles,” Sam said.
Miles didn’t seem particularly agitated by the comment. “You set the budget,” he replied calmly. He shut the door and walked to the stairs. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, his voice partially drowned out by the creaking steps.
I had turned to watch Miles before Sam put a hand on my arm. I glanced at him and Sam politely smiled.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Everyone knows one another’s business around here.” I wasn’t entirely sure what he was implying, but I didn’t get a chance to inquire, as Sam continued speaking. “Let me be frank, Christopher. This building won’t survive.”
“But Mr. Fields said—”
“It doesn’t matter what Logan told you,” Sam replied. “The state isn’t going to pay for this place to remain open, and we cannot assume we’ll receive enough grants every year to not need the state.”
“But how can a communitynothave a library?” I asked, and maybe I sounded naïve, but that was like a town not having firefighters or police. In my humble opinion, at least.
Sam smiled again, but this time it didn’t feel entirely trustworthy. It was difficult to explain, but you know that gut instinct that tells you whether or not to trust a person? Almost like a fight-or-flight response? It was kicking in and saying something wasn’t right about Mr. Bloom.
