Page 70 of Wanted by the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC)
“And now,” she said, tottering toward Martina with books in tow, only her face visible above them, “I’d love it if you’d help me with an errand.”
Martina surveyed the library, a few browsers wandering among the shelves, including Rosa tucked into the children’s section, as usual. “Are you sure we should leave him alone?”
“It’s just down the street. Won’t take but a moment. And Gio can handle it, can’t you?”
He actually saluted—in imitation of his father or Freddy, she couldn’t say—before returning to parade rest. “Yes, ma’am.”
“He certainly can,” Martina agreed, and the boy’s chest puffed out with pride at her words. Maybe, despite her flaws and failings as a mother, he would grow to be the right sort of man after all.
Avis loaded her arms with half of the stack of books. “We have a special delivery to make to Danny Maloney.”
She glanced at the spines of the volumes Avis carried.The Life of William Carey.Lottie Moon. Christianity and the Nations. This for the man who routinely had to check his colorful language at the club with children present and could hold hisown in a debate with Gio about the British and Empire light heavyweight match in London.
“Are you sure? These don’t seem to be ... well...” But her objection faded there. How many times had she been surprised by the preferences and opinions of other book club members? Miss Cavendish loved British comedy, Freddy performed Shakespeare like someone in Boston’s theater district, and sweet Mrs. Whitson had confided that she was going to lobby forThe Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hydeas their next read.
Avis waved off her concern, an excited smile teasing her face. “You’ll see.”
Outside, the overcast sky paired with a cool breeze reminded Martina that summer was almost at an end. The children would begin school on Tuesday. A few trees had begun to be tinged with reds and yellows, but most stubbornly clung to green, unwilling to surrender so easily. Even Maloney Pawn Dealership had changed for the season, with a handsome fur coat out in the window to snag the attention of passersby.
Inside, though his shoulders slumped slightly when he realized they weren’t paying customers, Mr. Maloney covered it admirably. “Good afternoon, neighbors! What can I do for you?”
“Actually, we hope we can do something for you.” Avis set the books on the counter and gestured for Martina to do the same.
But Mr. Maloney had already backed away, hands up. “Sorry, ma’am. I don’t buy books, except an encyclopedia set every now and again. No money in it.”
“Never fear. We’re not selling. Just lending a few that might be of interest to you.” With that, Avis opened the first book, then pointed with a neat, manicured finger to a line midway down the card tucked in the back:Charlotte Maloney.
Mr. Maloney turned the book toward him, his expression unchanging for so long that Martina began to worry he wasn’t well. Then his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You found them.”
Avis nodded. “All patrons sign the checkout cards, and there are only a few dozen books in the section you pointed out. From there, it was a simple matter of opening them to check the records.”
“Charlotte read all these books, did she?” A gleam of tears had come into his eyes, one breaking free and plummeting toward his moustache. “Always was a clever one, my Lottie.”
Martina fumbled in her pocket to offer him a handkerchief—thankfully, one not stained with foundry oil—which he accepted, blowing his nose with gale-wind force. “Thank you,” he said, beaming at both of them and clutching the books to his chest like no greater treasure had ever come through his shop’s doors.
“You’re very welcome.” Avis was practically glowing.
“I’ll read them all.” He traced his wife’s signature again, then raised the handkerchief to his eyes. Martina looked away to give him a moment of privacy, browsing the wares set out in displays with neatly labeled tags dangling from them. A set of golf clubs hung beside two fine tennis rackets. Used musical instruments in open cases, from a violin to a dented bugle, had been arranged with a kind of weary pride. Avis seemed to be taken with a bassinet dripping white lace.
Martina stopped at the china cabinet, looking through the fragile objects arranged inside, including a tan rabbit with ears thrown back, pink nose alert. How Rosa would love that!
From behind her, she could feel someone standing close, too close, though she hadn’t heard any footsteps. She flinched, turning ... and laughed out loud in relief. Only a mannequin, though the calf-length men’s coat draped over it had given it human proportions.
Wait.She’d seen this coat before.
“Sorry to dash off so quickly,” Avis was saying to Mr. Maloney as he returned from the back room to gather the second armful of books, “but library business calls.” She nodded at Martina, clearly expecting her to follow.
“You go on. I’ll join you soon.”
Even in a small town like Derby, there were likely dozens of coats of this description. Trying not to draw attention, Martina leaned over and sniffed the collar. Was that really Patrick’s cologne or only her imagination?
She picked up the left sleeve. There, almost unnoticeable, was an oval-shaped burn from the Chesterfield Patrick had smoked in the alley outside the Bristol-Banks Foundry.
So he really had been here. The thought settled oddly in Martina’s mind. For Patrick to be desperate enough to sell part of his carefully crafted image ... what could he be up to?
“Looking for something for the man in your life?”
Though she knew the booming voice was only Mr. Maloney, Martina couldn’t help startling, dropping the coat sleeve. She forced a smile as he stepped around the counter, traces of concern weighing down his eyebrows. “No, I most certainly am not.”