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She rounded the rear corner of the library and strode over to the heavy metal drawer built into the brick. Since all six books wouldn’t fit inside at once, she set the stack down on the brick pavers. She scooped up the top two books, opened the drawer and slid them in. No satisfying thunk from the other side of the wall. Shouldn’t there be a thunk?
She opened the drawer as far as it would go and peered inside. Nothing but black. She’d just have to trust the books had made it to safety.
She turned to grab the next two and almost choked herself. Her scarf pulled taut, yanking her backward. She’d gotten it caught in the drawer.
Oh, this is freaking unbelievable.
Her heels wobbled on the uneven bricks as she twisted around to face the chute. She tugged lightly on the length of silk, but it didn’t budge.
She swore again then remembered the LED light on her key chain. She reached into the front pocket of her capris and snagged her keys. She clicked on the light and aimed it into the drawer. One edge of her scarf had caught on the head of a screw. With her free hand, she reached for the fabric looped around her neck. Might as well pull the thing over her head so she didn’t choke herself for real.
A small shape swooped at her from the right and something leathery smacked against her cheek. Dear God, a freaking bat! She shrieked and dropped her keys. They rattled down the inside of the drawer and instinct made her dive after them. When her chest smacked into the edge of the drawer she jerked backward, hissing with pain.
She didn’t get far.
The other end of her scarf was caught.
She gulped down a half laugh, half sob and massaged the skin over her breasts. She’d have bruises in the morning. She’d also have a permanent hunchback if she didn’t get to stand up soon.
Bracing her hands on her knees, she stared down into the black maw of the library’s drop box. The stretch of her beloved silk scarf kept the drawer open. She gripped the edge of the metal to take the tension off the fabric, and realized she didn’t have enough slack to pull her head free.
She heaved a sigh. Time to play tug-of-war. Damn it, her one true piece of designer clothing and she was about to rip it to shreds.
“Fart!” she shouted, and a muffled version of her voice bounced back up at her. She wrapped a fist around each end of the scarf, drew in a breath and braced herself by spreading her legs and shifting her hips. She couldn’t help snorting. Praise be she didn’t have an audience, because she could only imagine what she looked like from behind.
“Evening.” A deep, amused voice sounded directly behind her. “You seem to be having some trouble.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#uee132a9d-4daf-5ee0-9b35-21166393ed89)
CLARISSA GASPED AND squeezed her eyes shut. Her nerves went lax and she lost her grip on the scarf. “You think?” she said, as casually as she could manage. Come any closer, buddy, and you’ll get a stiletto to the crotch.
The deep-voiced, shadow-lurking, could-possibly-be-a-killer stranger shifted closer. Goose bumps erupted across Clarissa’s skin. Shoes scraped across brick as he moved into her peripheral vision. He showed her his palms, in the universal I-come-in-peace gesture, but considering he was so tall she couldn’t maneuver her head back far enough to see his face, it did little to put her at ease.
The man was a freaking giant.
He bent forward and peered into the open drawer. White-blond hair gleamed in the halo of light cast by the nearest streetlamp and she caught a whiff of some spice—oregano?—before he shook his head and backed away. He made a humming sound and his palms rasped as he rubbed them together.
Thinking of her, or her predicament?
“Spaghetti or lasagna?” Clarissa blurted.
“What?”
“Quick, tell me what you had for dinner.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him scratch his chin. “A hell of a time to be thinking about food. I’m sorry to say, there aren’t any leftovers.”
“I’m not asking because I’m hungry. I’m trying to establish a bond between us so you won’t kill me.” She bit her lip. “Or worse.”
Silence. She couldn’t tell if he was grinning, or plotting nefarious deeds. If it was the deeds thing, she wished he’d get on with it because her feet were killing her.
“Spaghetti,” he said solemnly. “And I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said, and yanked. The scarf didn’t budge. She readjusted her grip and yanked again, this time adding a growl for good measure.
Not even the hint of a ripping sound.
Damn. She’d certainly got her money’s worth with this scarf.
“I could go inside and get a pair of scissors,” the stranger offered.
“Don’t you dare,” Clarissa cried. “If anyone’s going to ruin this scarf, it’ll be me. Anyway, I thought men always carried pocketknives.”
“I have a knife. I didn’t think letting you hear it snap open would be the smartest thing to do.”
He had a point. She braced a foot against the wall and wrapped the silk tighter around her hands.
The giant grunted. “That thing rips free and you’re going to land on your ass.”
She relaxed her grip and rested her forehead on top of the drawer. “I guess you’re getting quite the eyeful back there.”
“Well, yeah.”
She sighed, and lifted her hands. “I give. Your turn.”
He reached in and grabbed her scarf below the knot, and with a flick of his wrist she was free. The drawer clanged shut and Clarissa stumbled backward. A hand on her elbow steadied her then fell away.
She straightened her spine with a groan, palms pressed to the small of her back, chin lifted moonward. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He sounded preoccupied. She dropped her chin and caught him staring at her chest. When she sputtered, he lifted his gaze to hers, looking more confused than embarrassed.
“These outdoor lights aren’t as strong as they should be. Are those eyeballs painted on your scarf?”
“Nope.” She glanced down and patted what was left of her favorite accessory. “They’re boobs.”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Bet you really liven up the sheriff’s office.”
Her head jerked up. “You know where I work?”
“I am the librarian.”
“You say that like it’s synonymous with mind reader.” She blinked. “Wait. You are?”
“Cozy mysteries.”
“What?”
“Your favorite type of book.” He held out an arm, indicating she should head for the parking lot.
“Second favorite.” She stepped off the curb and started toward her car, then pivoted back toward the books she’d left stacked on the pavers. “I didn’t get them all in.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
They didn’t speak again until Clarissa stopped at the driver’s-side door of her Camry. She tipped her head. “We haven’t met before. I’d remember the crick in my neck.”
Even in the scant light cast by the streetlamps, she could see the red staining his cheeks. “I saw you at the diner once and asked about you.”
“So you know my name.”
“I do.” He thrust out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Clarissa Dodd.”
Clarissa disliked wimpy handshakes, and she liked to give as good as she got. She doubted, though, that her firm squeeze even registered to this guy whose hand was as big as his face.
“Nice to meet you, too...” She raised an eyebrow.
“Noble. Johnson.”
“How appropriate. Thank you again, Noble Johnson, for—” she pulled her hand free and flapped it over her shoulder at the scarf-eating death trap behind her “—that.”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Romance?”
“No, thank you.”
“I mean, is that your favorite genre?”
Oh. “It wouldn’t matter anyway, because after tonight, it’ll be books on escapism.”
“Escapology, you mean.” He jabbed a thumb at the building behind them. “We have a decent biography on Norman Murray Walters, if you’re interested.” When her cluelessness registered, his mouth drooped. “He was Australian. A contemporary of Houdini.”
“Oh,” she said, then added, “Damn it.”
“Don’t sweat it. You’d be surprised how many people don’t recognize that name.”
“No.” She jerked open the knot in what was left of her scarf and yanked the fabric free of her neck. “My keys fell in the drop box.”
He dug his own keys out of his pocket and held them up. “Good thing I can get into the building.”
“My hero.”
“No swooning necessary, but I wouldn’t say no if you invited me out for a drink.”
“If I say ‘thank you, but no,’ will you still get my keys?”
He made a pensive, humming sound. “If we’d been dating, you wouldn’t need to ask that.”
“Like one of those signs you see when you’re driving? ‘If you lived here, you’d already be home?’”
He beamed. “Exactly.”
“Noble?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m too busy to date, and I need to get home.” He hesitated then turned away with a shrug. “Wait,” she said.
He swung back around, too quickly to hide the eagerness on his face, and she fought a wince.
“I just wanted to...” She twirled her index finger.
He frowned. “What?”
“You walk away and you’re walking out of the light. You got a good, long look at my backside. It’s only fair you return the favor.”
A startled grin flashed. He turned and bent at the waist. Clarissa tipped her head and took her good, long look at a just-snug-enough pair of jeans.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Very nice,” she said.
He straightened. “That mean you’ll go out with me?”
“No.” Clarissa poked her tongue against her cheek. “But I will be renewing my library card.”
* * *
TUESDAY MORNING, AND JD was still out of commission. Lily had dropped in on him the afternoon before. He had no family in the area, but she’d done it more for herself than for him. One more minute spent behind her desk waiting for Fulton to return from his rendezvous with the mayor and she’d have started researching untraceable poisons.
And after Clarissa had spent most of the day hunting for the sunglasses Lily had tucked into JD’s mail slot, Lily figured the least she could do was hand-deliver them. Her deputy had been grateful to see her. Even more so the ginger ale she’d brought, and the broth and crackers she’d fixed while there. It was plain the poor guy wouldn’t be back to work for another day or two. He’d barely managed to sit up long enough to drink his broth.
Lily took the last bite of her banana just as the “gate” out front lifted and banged shut. When there was no subsequent click of high heels in the direction of Clarissa’s desk, she hastily chewed and swallowed and swung back to her computer. The last thing she needed was Fulton walking in to find her staring at her own doorway, as if she couldn’t wait for him to arrive.
Instead, it was Clarissa who appeared. Lily dipped her head and peered over her glasses at the lime-green canvas sneakers her dispatcher wore.
“A little early for those, isn’t it?”
With a groan, Clarissa sank into the guest chair. “My feet are killing me. I couldn’t even look at a pair of heels this morning without wanting to stab myself in the eye.”
Lily dropped her banana peel in the trash. “Want to talk about it?”
“I met our librarian last night.” Clarissa traced the yellow vertical stripes on her pencil skirt, which she’d paired with a short-sleeved sweater the color of a tangerine. With her lime-green tennis shoes, she looked like a citrus salad. “He asked me out.”
“Then he has better taste than I gave him credit for.”
The pleased surprise in Clarissa’s eyes made Lily glad she’d said that out loud. Then Clarissa frowned. “Why don’t you think he has good taste?”
“He likes bright colors as much as you do. Just not—” Lily floundered. “Not as coordinated.”
