The Lawman. Martha ShieldsЧитать онлайн книгу.
to look over her shoulder at the building across the street that housed the city offices, including the sheriff’s department and the mayor’s office.
You are in control.
She snorted softly as she pushed aside a book cart that one of the volunteers had left sitting in the aisle between the circulation desk and the administrative offices behind it. “Control? What a joke.”
She slapped the light switch on the wall just inside the main office and stared at Harriet’s office. There was a large, ancient desk that took up most of the space. Edwardian, Harriet had once told Molly. But pretty much ruined for its antique value when some owner along the way had added the “custom” sidepiece to use as a typewriter return. Harriet had purchased it secondhand for a song. It was big and it was ugly. And without Harriet behind it, it looked sad. It was also still piled with work that Harriet had never had a chance to attend to.
Several boxes of old-looking, dusty books were stacked on the floor against the wall. And a small stack of hardcover books sat on the sidepiece of her desk right next to the typewriter that looked to be as old as Molly was. The library did possess a computer system. There was a terminal at the circulation desk, one in the reference section and one in Molly’s office that also tied into an international interlibrary system. But Harriet had flatly refused to have one in her office despite the convenience it offered.
“I loathe the things. Making people smarter on one hand and dumber than dirt on the other.”
Molly smiled sadly, easily imagining Harriet’s brusque tones. “You saved my life once already, Harriet,” she whispered to the empty office. “Tell me what to do now.”
Only silence greeted her.
Sighing again, Molly went to the smaller office next door and tucked away her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk. She flipped open her calendar, glancing over the activities scheduled for the day. Her attention was barely on it, though. Not when she half expected Holt Tanner to come striding through the library doors at any moment.
When he hadn’t done so by closing time that evening, Molly’s tension had reached new heights.
“Could we have a little quiet here?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, and the group of teenagers sitting around one of the study tables looked up at her in shock. D. J. Reingard stopped tapping his oversize pencil against the table and frowned a little. “Sorry, Ms. Brewster. We’re just finishing the plans for the fund-raisers.”
Molly knew that. She pressed her fingertips to the cool wooden table, silently cursing her bad mood on Holt Tanner. “I’m sorry, D.J. You guys are fine. I guess the heat is getting to me.”
D.J. looked at her even more oddly, as it was cool as a spring evening inside the new library facility. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that the newest deputy his father, the sheriff of Rumor, had hired was driving her right around the bend. “So, what did you all decide on? A rummage sale or a bake sale?”
The group of teens was conducting a summer project to help raise funds to reestablish a bookmobile program that would help serve the children and families in some of the more remote ranching areas around Rumor. Molly was all for the program and, with Harriet’s blessing, had been working with this particular group of honor students for the better part of the year. So far they’d raised thousands of dollars through a Halloween carnival, holiday crafts and baked goods, Christmas wreaths and a half dozen other, smaller projects.
“Both,” Becky Reed answered with a grin. She was a petite redhead with a spray of freckles across her nose and a crush for D.J. the size of Montana. D.J., however, seemed to only have eyes for one of the other girls in the group—a statuesque sixteen-going-on-thirty blonde named Tiffany.
“We want to do it in two weeks,” D.J. said, pulling his brilliant blue gaze from Tiffany to focus on Molly. “We can still use the parking lot here at the library, right?”
Molly nodded. “Are you sure you’ll be able to gather up enough donations in that short amount of time, though? School will be starting right after that, too.”
The kids—ten in all—around the table nodded. D.J. grinned, and Molly could easily see why Becky was smitten. He was seventeen, smart, athletic, blond and about as good-looking as a male could be.
Rob had been blond and blue-eyed, too. As handsome as a movie star, and as cold as the dark side of the moon.
She pushed aside the unwelcome thought. Ever since Harriet’s death, Molly’s memories of Rob had been stirred up. Nightmares in which Rob was the killer and Molly the victim, sleepless nights, near panic attacks. She was almost as much a wreck as she had been when she’d first escaped to Rumor.
She realized the kids were all chattering, and forced herself to focus.
“My mom has been nagging us to clean out the attic and the garage,” D.J. was saying. “There’s enough junk there to supply five rummage sales.” He rolled his eyes and grinned. “It’s a win-win situation. Mom gets off our case about the stuff, and we get a few more bucks for the bookmobile project.”
“I’ll bet we can get Libby Adler to donate some brownies or cookies or something, too.”
“Jessup,” Becky corrected the other girl who’d spoken. “She and Marcus Jessup got married during the Crazy Moon Festival, remember? In a double-wedding ceremony with Nick Sullivan and Callie Griffin.”
“Nick Sullivan is a hunk.” Tiffany spoke up for the first time. “But that Mr. Jessup is totally creepy if you ask me. I bet Libby Adler married him just ’cause of his oodles of money. It definitely wasn’t for his looks. Those scars on his face? Totally scary.”
Becky’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot believe even you are so stupid, Tiffany. I swear, you may be on the honor roll, but you don’t have the sense God gave a stump.”
Tiffany looked bored, but Becky wasn’t done. And frankly, Molly could hardly blame her. Tiffany was a constant trial with her snooty ways.
“Mr. Jessup’s first family died in a fire,” Becky was saying scathingly. “That’s how he got those minor scars. When he was trying to save them.”
Tiffany smirked. “Shows what you know, Becky Reed. I heard he was suspected of killing his first wife.”
Molly had heard enough. “Tiffany—”
“That’s enough,” D.J. cut in. “Mr. Jessup has donated a lot to this town. My dad says he provided the new computer system at the sheriff’s department and didn’t even want anyone to know about it. And it’s true what Bec said about him trying to save ’em.”
Tiffany’s bright blue eyes suddenly flooded with tears and she looked imploringly at D.J. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and wrapped her long fingers around his arm. “You’re right, of course, D.J.”
Most of the kids around the table looked uncomfortable. Molly caught Becky rolling her eyes the moment before she shoved back from the table. “Are we done here?” the girl asked tartly.
Whether the rest of the group figured they were or not, Molly stepped in and made sure of it as she reminded them of their next meeting and told them where they could begin storing items collected for the sale.
Then, with a cacophony of chair legs scraping against the hard floor, the group left en masse, a hoard of basically good kids dressed in everything from blue jeans to bikini tops and shorts dragging purses, backpacks, skateboards and computerized games along with them.
“I’d heard you were working with a group of kids from the high school.”
Molly whirled at the deep voice that came from behind her. “Don’t sneak up behind me.” Her voice was sharp. Shaking.
“Came right through the main doors, Molly.”
Holt walked over to the long, rectangular table and picked up one of the chairs that had been left haphazardly scattered and placed it back at the table. She watched him, torn