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ChapterThree
After hurrying home at lunchtime to change into a clean peach-colored suit—one of her old standbys—Bee returned to the library.
So far, the crew appeared to be working like a well-oiled machine, setting up computers and TV monitors in the conference room, which would serve as their command center for the next two weeks, and consulting with her about where to install their cameras and other equipment.
She didn’t ask any of the crewmembers how they felt about capturing real evidence of a ghost. She didn’t want to know if they were as skeptical as Adam Powers.
From a distance, Adam didn’t look as if he were setting out to debunk all reports of paranormal activity. He talked with the crew, helped set things up, and appeared as dedicated to the task as everyone else.
Apparently, he was a good actor, too.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he came back into the library carrying a massive plastic box that probably held an expensive camera. Despite his messy appearance and penchant for sweet pastries, he appeared to have an abundance of energy and strength—easily hefting around the heavy monitors and jogging up and down the stairs. His biceps flexed and strained against the sleeves of his T-shirt.
Bee tore her gaze from him and hustled back to the circulation desk. Her heart was doing that knock-knock thing again, which was most annoying. Despite her visceral reaction to him, she’d never swooned over celebrity crushes or star football players in high school.
No. As a foster child, she’d swooned over other things entirely—the families who vacationed together and had holiday traditions, and the girls who redecorated their own bedrooms whenever they wanted. The houses embedded with lifelong memories of baby steps, birthday parties, playdates with friends, and the nurturing mothers who baked cookies and joined the PTO.
An ancient longing struck her right in the middle of the chest. She shook her head as if trying to dislodge it.
She was twenty-eight years old. She’d put herself through college, found a job she loved, and even had friends in Bliss Cove. She was no longer the desperately lonely, insecure, and scared little girl who felt as if the ground always shifted and pitched beneath her feet. She no longer had to be afraid that it might crack open and swallow her whole.
Even more, she’d learned how to fight for the important things, and she intended to succeed. Heart knocking or not.
She felt a furry movement across her legs and bent to stroke Puffalump. He blinked his green eyes at her and swished his tail.
“Good morning, Bee!” a bright female voice called across the main floor.
From his desk, Peter started humming the Wicked Witch theme fromThe Wizard of Oz.
Bee plastered a smile on her face. “Good morning, Marilyn. What brings you here?”
“Oh, I wanted to make sure your TV show people have all the permits they need.” Marilyn Lawford stopped on the other side of the desk.
A tall, elegant woman in her early fifties, she was always beautifully turned out in skirt suits of every style and color. Not a strand of her blond hair was out of place, and her fine-boned features were enhanced with just the right amount of makeup.
In addition to being a town council member, Marilyn owned a real estate company, ran a nonprofit organization to help low-income people find affordable housing, and had written a book about succeeding in business.
She was, in fact, a woman Bee would have admired greatly if she hadn’t been such a gargoyle about shutting down the library.
“Yes, they have all the necessary permits and authorizations,” she replied.
“Good.” Marilyn’s sharp gaze darted to the bustling crew. “I suppose Mayor Bowers was right in that the publicity will be good for the town even though the show is ridiculous. Still, I’m sure we’ll see an uptick in property values once people find out what a lovely coastline we have. Not to mention, this particular plot of land”—she tapped her satin Dolce & Gabbana pump on the floor—“will be especially desirable.”
Bee managed to keep her smile in place. “Yes, especially when they come to see the famous Gardenia House.”
Puffalump jumped gracefully onto the front counter, picking his way around the stacks of books waiting to be shelved. He batted a paperback with his paw, then started pacing back and forth.
Marilyn sniffed and eyed the cat with disdain.
“Bee, I appreciate your soft heart for old buildings and elderly…creatures,” she remarked. “But you must know in advance that no animals will be allowed in the new Bliss Cove Media and Technology Center.”
Bee tried not to grit her teeth. “That’s fine since Puffalump won’t need to move there.”
Marilyn pursed her lips. “The deal is almost done, you know. And it would be better for the town if we have a smooth transition over to the Media and Tech Center. I know you’re not exactly an IT expert, but you can provide input on…something.”
Bee sighed. “On the amount of RAM or gigabytes the new software needs? I saw the qualifications you’re putting out for new librarians…oh, wait. You’re not even planning to call them librarians, are you? They’reinformation services specialists. You might as well hire them right out of Stanford’s computer science department for all the IT knowledge you’re requiring. They’re the only ones who will be qualified.”
After seeing the job requirements involving multiple years’ experience working with “data processes, platforms, and information systems” and “computer programs for data analysis or mobile applications for data collection,” as well as knowledge of programming languages, networks, and different operating systems, Bee had no hope of being employed at the Media and Tech Center—not that she wanted to be.
