See Also Deception by Larry D. Sweazy

and tore open again, leaving me no choice but to gather them up like mindless chickens. Where was Shep when I needed him?

CHAPTER 11
    Strangers were most often welcomed with open hearts and suspicious minds in North Dakota. It may sound like a contradiction, but the truth of the matter was that the sudden appearance of a new person in town, or anywhere else for that matter, was about as rare as seeing a shooting star blazing across a clear blue sky on a lazy Saturday afternoon.
    Under normal circumstances, Calla Eltmore would have served her time at the library, retired with some small comfort, and made sure that a new librarian was properly installed into her previous position, fully trained and completely aware of the nuances the job required. But the circumstances of the moment were hardly normal, and for some reason the possibility of retirement wasn’t something that had given Calla hope, or the will to live. I had no idea what to expect of the person standing behind the librarian’s desk.
    I plopped the recovered books on the counter with a little louder thump than I had intended. The sound shot up to the two-story tin ceiling and echoed throughout the building with a doom-inspired volume that surprised me. It sounded like a gun had gone off, and I immediately regretted not being more careful; more aware of where I was and why I was there.
    The unknown woman spun around and faced me with a hard scowl on her face. She was a head taller than I was, but that was mostly due to the deep brunette hair piled high on her graying scalp. Her hair looked like a boll of cotton that had been dyed, grown upward, then started to wither at the roots; there was no hiding her age, no matter how hard she tried. I had little trust in a woman who changed the color of her hair with a potent mixture of magical chemicals that came out of a dime-store box. Her vanity shocked me.
    â€œMay I help you?” the woman demanded. She stepped toward me and I saw, too, that her height was aided by three-inch high heels, not the expected comfortable, sensible shoes like Calla had always worn. She looked me up and down and a judgmental sneer flickered across her face. You would have thought I was wearing a flour sack dress.
    â€œThe woman who just left . . .” I flicked my head over my shoulder, then turned back quickly to meet the steel, unchanged gaze of the new librarian. “She dropped these on the way out and went off without them.”
    â€œYou mean she just left them there?” the woman demanded, twisting her lip up further in disdain.
    â€œUm, yes, she did.”
    â€œThese books are library property, bought and paid for with tax dollars, or by donations from generous patrons. There’s a fine for that.” There were wrinkles above the woman’s lips that couldn’t be filled in by any amount of foundation. They were flared wide open. I guessed she was about ten years older than I was and wound up tighter than barbed wire freshly strung.
    I shifted my weight, unprepared for an attack of any kind. “I have no idea who that woman was, and I am fully aware of the rules and policies that govern this library. I have been coming here since I was a child. I’m sure you have the name of the borrower. You can take up the violation with her, not me.”
    â€œWell . . .” the woman said, snapping her head back. She wore glasses, not unlike Calla’s really—black plastic, pointed at the tips, with a gold chain that attached at the shafts. The chain dangled loosely, and the glasses threatened to fall away.
    I said nothing more. I just stood there staring at the woman, numb to my toes, sadder than I had been in months because I wasn’t talking to Calla.
    There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the library but the two of us. I had seen hide nor hair of Herbert Frakes.
    There was no other sound—except for the persistent wind outside, but no one heard that noise