THREE

Claire sat on her stool behind the check-in desk, the perfect vantage point to watch over her library. She’d come to think of it as hers. She’d been head librarian for nearly nineteen years, ever since Edna Adams died and left Claire the job through osmosis. Every book, every shelf, every event was Claire’s doing. The pride was felt as a tingling all the way to her toes every time she stepped in the building. It was like her child.

Children. She just hadn’t been blessed that way. Well, not in the traditional sense. The memory burst into her brain. Twenty-seven years, four months and seventeen days, so long ago. She swallowed a scalding mouthful of tea that burned her throat. But, she didn’t flinch. It was part of her due, her punishment.

To bury her misdeeds, Claire had thrown herself into her career. Not much of a career, but she had a measure of respectability around town. Dedication to her career couldn’t negate her shortcomings or erase the past, but for the most part it kept the memories hovering only in the back of her mind, at least during the day. Daytime she kept busy with her job, but also with gardening and a few clubs around town. She rarely left Sackets Harbor. As a matter of fact, since moving here, she’d never been far from this little town at the northern tip of Lake Ontario where winter winds wailed like lost children and summers teemed with tourists and sunshine. Where was there to go that she couldn’t go in books? There were thousands here at her disposal.

Nighttime was another story.

The heavy door whooshed open. Payton Winters entered wearing a teal colored spring jacket and matching beret.

“Good morning,” they said at the same time.

“I’m looking for some books on small business management.”

Claire slid off the stool. “They’re down this way.”

Payton didn’t follow. She spoke quietly. “I heard about Mamie losing out on the shop. Did Helen really just substitute Sean’s name?”

Claire nodded. “It’s not Helen’s fault. Sean told her Mamie’s deal fell through. Helen didn’t have any reason to disbelieve Sean.”

“Mamie must be a basket case.”

“Helen is too.” Claire stepped into the appropriate aisle. “The books are down here. Are you going to Wanderlust this afternoon?”

“Just what is Wanderlust anyway?”

Claire gave an elaborate eye roll. “A bunch of travel wannabes who share ideas and experiences. We talk about art and things like that. Whenever one of us takes a vacation, if we don’t return with a slew of photographs…” Now she gave a dramatic sigh. “Helen’s probably thinking the influx of new blood—yours, that is—might stimulate the group. We’re quite sick of each other’s stories.”

“I’ve never been much of a joiner.”

“They’re a nice group of people.”

“Does Sean go?”

Claire laughed. “No. Very few men.” She slipped a book off the shelf—Small Business for Dummies—and handed it to Payton. “I saw you talking to Aden Green at the yacht club meeting.”

Payton groaned. “Don’t you start too! Everyone’s trying to set us up. What country is he ambassador to? I can never remember.”

“Uzbekistan. Don’t you like him?”

“He seems very nice. Good looking.”

“Understatement! So why are you avoiding him?”

A shadow crossed Payton’s face. She busied herself thumbing the book’s pages.

“I wouldn’t have thought you were shy.”

Payton closed the book with a snap. “My husband only died two years ago.”

“It takes time.” Claire patted her arm in a motherly fashion. The front door opened and closed. “Well, I’ve got to get out there, someone just came in.”

Claire hurried to her desk. No reason to hurry really. People mostly wanted to browse, but she felt funny not greeting each person. It was like welcoming them into her home. Brighton James stood in the foyer. He was tall and distinguished, a businessman who spent much of his time in the City as a stockbroker. He had a book in one hand and dropped it through the slot under the front edge of the desk.

“Looking forward to the first meet?”

“It’s been a long winter. We took the boat out of storage yesterday.” He lowered his voice and glanced about. “Er, is there somewhere we can talk?”

Claire led him behind the desk and into her miniscule office, overcrowded with boxes of books. “Sorry for the mess. They’re for the upcoming book fair.” Claire waved him to a chair then leaned against the desk.

There was a long moment of silence where Brighton stared out the tiny window behind her, twisting the narrow silver band on his ring finger. “This is very awkward.”