Everybody Knows (Sunnyside #1) by Jacie Floyd Page B

night, Bert and I agreed to take a look
around before our meeting today. You do what you need to do, and we’ll see you
at noon.”
    The two men slapped Jimbo on the back and headed
off on their own.
    For someone who’d been up all night with a crying
baby, the sheriff’s report was accurate and complete. Harper didn’t have much
to add. He agreed that some of the damage had a personal vibe to it, but he
didn’t know who was being targeted or why.
    “I’ll figure it out, Miss Simmons,” he assured
her. “Meanwhile, I’ll send a copy of the report to the town council so the
insurance claim can be filed. I guess you’ll need a copy for your benefactor,
too.”
    “Yes, I will. But, Sheriff, do—”
    “You might as well get used to calling me Jimbo,
ma’am. Everyone around here does.”
    “Thank you, Jimbo, and I’m not too used to
answering to ‘ma’am,’ if you’d rather call me Harper.”
    Looking up from his notes, he nodded. “Sure
thing.”
    “Before you go, I wanted to ask if you know which
kids around here are graffiti artists? Are you familiar with their tags? Some
of this looks too sophisticated for casual spraying. And most painters have
their own distinctive style.”
    He gave her a poker face. “It sounds like you know
a bit about the subject.”
    “In Chicago, many people consider graffiti an
acceptable urban art form.”
    “Do they now?” He pushed his cap back and
scratched his forehead. “Around here we call it defacement of property.”
    “That’s what I call it, too, when it’s sprayed all
over the walls of my library. But under different circumstances, there have
been many museum exhibits showcasing some of the artists ‘work’ in larger
cities.”
    Scowling, he scanned the walls. “I doubt we have
an accomplished artist at work here.”
    “Right, but it does point to a hobbyist with
talent and experience. A couple of artists gave a demonstration at the library
where I worked, and I learned that many stylists have their own distinctive
style and a personal signature they call ‘tagging’. That might be helpful in
tracking down this artist.”
    “I’ll look into it, ma’am .” His clipped tone made
Harper’s shoulder’s slump.
    Just when she thought she’d gotten off to a good
start with at least one person, she had to go and offend him by accusing kids
in his town of causing some of this damage. And he didn’t look too happy about
Harper telling him how to do his job either.
    After the three official visitors left, work got
seriously underway. Harper was knee-deep in piles of books when a slim Indian
girl sought her out. The beautiful soft green of her sari enhanced the creamy
mocha of her skin.
    “Pardon the interruption,” she said, with a
lilting accent and quiet dignity. “I am Daxina Patel, and I am looking for the
new librarian?”
    “That would be me.” Harper smiled and wiped her
hands on her shorts. “Harper Simmons. Welcome to the library.”
    “Thank you, I’m here to talk to you about cleaning
the library.”
    “Great, we can use all the help we can get.”
    “Help, yes.” Daxina paused a moment to look at the
bustle all around her. “But at this moment, no.”
    Nonplussed, Harper agreed. “Okay, then, if you
want to help on another day, I’ve started a signup sheet with days and hours
over on the Circulation Desk.”
    “I’ll sign up before I go,” Daxina said. “But I’m
here to talk to you about my brother’s job.”
    “Who is your brother? And what is his job?”
    “My family owns the local QuickStop. My brother,
Bilal, was moonshining as the library’s night custodian. Is that the right
word? Moonshine?”
    “I think you mean moon lighting as the library’s night custodian. Working a second job at
night.”
    “Ah, yes, that is what I mean. He would like to
have his job back if you are going to hire someone again.”
    “Ah.” Harper was happy to finally see a
connection. “Why are you here instead of your