must wonder if you’re the right person to be in charge of our venerable and historic library.”
As the youngest head librarian ever employed by the city, Shelby had faced her share of detractors when she applied for the job, but she knew the library was prospering under her guidance.
Still, the city never had enough money in the budget to cover all the expenses and upkeep the “venerable and historic” building needed. Old and needy would be a more apt description of the place.
The chance to gain a sizable donation from the Renault family was a windfall that couldn’t be ignored.
“We have a general meeting of the board a week from Thursday, Mrs. Renault. You’re welcome to attend. I’m sure I can work up a proposal that will satisfy both your needs and the needs of our community.”
“Good, Miss Mason. However, should it come to my attention that you’re continuing to engage in baseless gossip about my son…well, I’m sure y’all can see how that would influence my decision.”
“Of course, Mrs. Renault.” It meant Charla would take her money elsewhere without batting an eye.
With another slight tilt of her head, Charla maneuvered her chair down the aisle toward the door, where the owner of Café Au Lait hurried to hold it open for her.
Wendy blew out a deep breath. “Her son’s death hasn’t changed her a bit.”
“Why do you say that?” Jocelyn asked.
“Because she still enjoys pitting people against each other. Shelby, you know the college will be crawling all over themselves to gain the old gal’s favor. They’ll cater to her every whim.”
“I’ll simply have to convince her that we can provide a better memorial than they can.”
Jocelyn gathered up her purse. “How are you going to do that?”
Shaking her head, Shelby admitted, “I have absolutely no idea.”
Wendy wrapped the last beignet in a napkin and stuffed it in her handbag. “Did you like him? I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but was Dylan Renault the kind of man who deserved to have a scholarship or a new library wing named after him?”
Shelby smiled sadly. “I didn’t like him, but I can’t blame his mother for wanting to see that her son’s name is treated with respect. We know it doesn’t matter if a dozen libraries are named after him. God is the final judge of us all. Only He knows the soul of Dylan Renault.”
Jocelyn laid a tip on the table. “Are you going to talk to Sam about the Christmas party?”
Shelby hesitated. She didn’t actually know anything. It was more of a feeling. Still, Jocelyn and Ava were close friends. What if it got back to Charla that Shelby was talking about Dylan again?
The college will be rubbing their hands with glee over their new donation, that’s what.
“I’ll call Sam if I remember something concrete. Otherwise, don’t say anything about it. I feel silly for mentioning it.”
After paying the check, the women left the café. With a round of quick hugs and promises to meet again next week, they parted ways. Jocelyn left for her office, while Shelby and Wendy walked toward the library. Shelby found herself checking the street for Patrick’s motorcycle, but to no avail.
She had been stunned to see him again after all this time, but she was honest enough to admit that surprise had been only part of her pulse-pounding reaction to the man. He was dangerously attractive, even more so now than when she had last seen him.
What she found truly disturbing was how much she wanted to see him again.
After crossing Main Street, Shelby and Wendy cut through the park on a paved path that led toward the city library. The smell of damp, newly cut grass hung in the air and mixed with the scent of flowers and blooming shrubs. The two women hurried past the small white gazebo standing alone at the center of the park.
At first glance, the lattice-covered structure looked picture-perfect in the setting, but on closer inspection one could see the paint was peeling and some of the slats were broken.
People who lived in Loomis knew that a woman had been murdered inside the gazebo twenty-five years ago. The death of that young mother was the reason Loomis started their annual Mother’s Day Festival with their Mother of the Year Pageant.
The pageant had grown from humble beginnings into the town’s biggest event with prize money worth thousands of dollars going to the mother who was chosen as the winner. Over the years, the money, gifts and prestige of winning had sparked some serious rivalries and even resulted in foul play among the women vying for Loomis’s most coveted title.
The mystery of the woman’s death had been solved when Vera Peel confessed to killing the amateur photographer because she had been taking pictures of the bayou the day Vera killed her husband and his lover there.
Even knowing how and why the woman had died hadn’t altered people’s perception of the gazebo. Only newcomers or visitors used it. The locals continued to give it a wide berth.
Suddenly a creaking, scuffling sound made Shelby and Wendy spin around in fright. A dark figure sat on the floor inside the structure.
It took a heart-stopping second for Shelby to recognize Chuck Peters, the town drunk who panhandled and did odd jobs around the city.
“I didn’t see nothing. I didn’t,” he muttered, and lurched to his feet.
Shelby sucked in several calming breaths, then took a step toward him. “Mr. Peters, you frightened us.”
He swayed slightly as he peered at them through his thick, black-rimmed glasses. During one of his sober spells, Chuck had worked briefly for Shelby’s father at his woodworking shop. After her father passed away, Chuck started doing odd jobs for the reclusive Vera Peel. With his benefactress now in jail for murder, Shelby had to wonder how he was managing.
Wendy tugged at Shelby’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Mr. Peters, do you need me to call Reverend Harmon for you?”
His eyes widened with fear. “No! Don’t call him. Don’t tell anyone you saw me here. Don’t tell. Swear you won’t tell!”
Hoping to reassure him, Shelby added quickly, “But Reverend Harmon can get you a hot meal and a place to stay.”
“No, I like this place. I can see who’s coming.” His eyes darted around like frightened birds seeking a way out of a cage.
“You can’t stay here. The police won’t let you,” she said gently.
It was obvious that he was more disturbed than usual. He ran his hands through his greasy, thinning red hair. “Don’t tell ’em I’m here. I didn’t see nothing that night. You can’t say I did.”
“What night, Mr. Peters?”
“Can’t say. Don’t know. Didn’t see nothing that night.”
Wendy pulled harder on Shelby’s arm. “Let’s go. You can’t help him if he doesn’t want it.”
Shelby allowed herself to be led away. “I’m going to call Reverend Harmon anyway. He’s dealt with Chuck in the past.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe he can get the old loony back into the mental hospital where he belongs.”
“Wendy!” Shelby glanced back, but Chuck didn’t seem to be paying attention to them. He was making his way out of the gazebo with unsteady steps.
Beyond him, Shelby noticed another figure lurking in the shadows near the path. The man turned away abruptly before Shelby could see who it was.
“I’m only suggesting that Reverend Harmon can supply him with the professional help he needs.” Wendy defended her suggestion. “Let’s get out of this park. It’s creepy