Dead Over Heels by Charlaine Harris Read Free Book Online

of Jack Burns, that his judgment was impaired?”
    “Yes, he . . .” and then I had no excuse to loiter, though I dearly wanted to, because Trinity came out of the reception area and started to go to the doctor’s office with some files.
     
     
     
     
     
    I had more to think about than I could cram in my brain. I’d dropped Angel off at home, promising to take her prescription for maternity vitamins to the pharmacy on my way home from work. Angel clearly wanted some time to herself, and I could understand why. Telling your forty-seven-year-old vasectomied husband that he’s about to be a dad was not an enviable proposition. I wanted to talk the situation over with Martin, but of course I couldn’t tell him Angel was expecting until she told her own husband. So probably it was just as well I had to go to work.
    The Lawrenceton Public Library is a large two-story block with a low addition to the rear of the building for offices. This brand-new addition, achieved mostly by a bequest from an anonymous patron, a few other donations, and matching community improvement funds, is easily the nicest part of the library, and it’s a pity I get to spend so little time in it. It consists of a large employee break room with a row of bright lockers for personal possessions, a microwave, refrigerator, table and chairs, and a stove; Sam Clerrick’s office (with space outside for a secretary, though now he only has a volunteer part-time); and a “community interest” room, where various clubs can meet free of charge if they are careful to schedule it well ahead of time. And there’s a nice employee bathroom.
    The rest of the library, where I get to spend my working hours, is a plain old creaky public building, with indoor-outdoor carpeting that resembles woven dead grass with trampled-in mustard, the usual row upon row of gray metal shelves, a two-story entrance and nice staircase up to the second floor, which has a gallery running all the way around with various Dewey Decimal categories lining it, and lots of table-and-chair sets for kids doing homework or genealogists doing research. There’s an area set aside by clever use of shelving and extra bulletin boards, and it’s designated as the Children’s Room.
    Whatever its drawbacks, overall there is that wonderful smell of books, and the relaxing, intelligent feeling of being surrounded by generation after generation of thought.
    I’ve got libraries in my blood.
    Of course, there are a few things I have to put up with to work in this wonderful place, and one of them was bearing down on me. Lillian Schmidt, buttons bulging and girdle creaking, had her eyebrows up in that “Hah! I caught you!” look.
    “Late today, aren’t we?” Lillian fired as her opening shot.
    “Yes, I’m afraid so. I had to take a friend to the doctor.”
    “Wonder what would happen if all of us did that? Guess the library just wouldn’t open!”
    I took a deep breath.
    “I’m late enough as it is,” I said with a smile. “Excuse me, Lillian, but I can’t stand here and chat.” I pulled out the little key to my locker, used it, and stuck my purse inside, pocketing the key in my khaki slacks. I was due to tell a story in two minutes.
    The librarian I was replacing, at least temporarily, was the children’s librarian.
    Perhaps ten preschoolers were already seated in an expectant semicircle when I plopped down in the big chair in the middle.
    “Good morning!” I said with enough glee to raise a hot-air balloon.
    “Good morning,” the children chorused back politely. This was the First Church of God the Creator day-care group, with a couple of other loose kids thrown in, story-time regulars. The moms and the day-care providers sat in a little group over in one corner, their expression one of relief that someone else was shouldering the burden, at least for a few minutes.
    “This morning, I’m going to tell you about Alexander’s bad day,” I said, casting a covert glance at the book the