none. But since I didn’t have to worry about that for a few weeks, I decided not to. Why ruin the present with worry about the future?
“This contest is going to be so much fun,” Thessie said. “That was so nice of your friend Kristen to donate the candies.”
In reflex, I almost looked back at our latestacquisition, which was safely bungee-corded on a bookshelf. The road, however, was winding and narrow and I kept my gaze forward.
“It’s really too bad I can’t enter the contest,” Thessie was saying.
“Sure is,” I said cheerfully. “Anyone connected to the library is out of luck. Besides, you know how many candies are in there. You helped me count.”
I didn’t remember the number, but then I didn’t have to because I had that information in the spreadsheet I was using to track the names of the entrants and their guesses. We had blank slips to write down guesses for the number of candies in the jar, and the guess that was closest would win the candies, the jar, and the ultimate prize of the bookmobile coming to her or his house. Everyone would get one slip per visit and may the best guess win. The local paper had agreed to write up the contest-winning personal bookmobile stop and I was already planning to have the bookmobile’s carpet steam-cleaned of all Eddie hair before any reporter set foot inside.
“Maybe I forgot?”
Unlikely. Thessie’s sharp brain wouldn’t forget anything it didn’t want to, let alone the number of Kristen-made maple-flavored hard candies, individually wrapped and placed in a large, clear, thick plastic jar I’d found in my aunt’s attic.
“You know,” I said, “even if nobody’s close to guessing right, you still won’t get it.”
“Not even if everyone’s
really
far off?” she asked hopefully.
“If everyone is that far off, I’ll suspect someone was priming them with wrong numbers.”
“Hey!” she protested. “I wouldn’t do that!” But she turned back to look at the jar with a contemplative look on her face.
Shaking my head, I flicked on the blinker and made a wide-sweeping right turn into the parking lot of a former gas station, now a gardening supply store. By the time we were set up, half a dozen people were milling about, waiting for someone to open the door.
“Good morning,” I said, smiling wide. “Welcome to the Chilson District Library Bookmobile. Come on—”
But they were already up the stairs and in, no further invitation necessary. And there, kicking up dust as she walked across the gravel parking lot, was the exact person I’d hoped to see at this stop.
“Good morning, Faye,” I said as she came up the steps. “Did you remember to bring those cookbooks?”
Her face, which had been smiling, instantly transformed into a horrified—and very guilty—look. She tucked her short graying hair behind her ears with hands that held no books, not even the overdue cookbooks that I’d found for her through the interlibrary loan system. “Oh, wow, Minnie. I forgot all about them. They’re at home, but…” She glanced over her shoulder. “But you’d be gone by the time I got back. Um…”
I crossed my arms, put on my firm librarian face, and looked her in the eye. Which was only possible because she was standing one step down. “You know the library’s policy is to refuse lending privileges until any and all overdue books are returned.”
She hung her head and sighed. “I know. It’s my own fault.” With drooping shoulders, she retreated down the stairs.
Uh-oh. I must have carried the Firm Librarian Face a little too far. “Faye!” I called. “Come on back. I know how much you were looking forward to reading the new Nicholas Sparks. It’d be unusual punishment to make you wait.”
“You mean… ?”
“We’ll bend the rules just this once.” I put my finger to my lips and looked left and right. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
She nodded toward the front of the bookmobile where a black-and-white feline was
“This contest is going to be so much fun,” Thessie said. “That was so nice of your friend Kristen to donate the candies.”
In reflex, I almost looked back at our latestacquisition, which was safely bungee-corded on a bookshelf. The road, however, was winding and narrow and I kept my gaze forward.
“It’s really too bad I can’t enter the contest,” Thessie was saying.
“Sure is,” I said cheerfully. “Anyone connected to the library is out of luck. Besides, you know how many candies are in there. You helped me count.”
I didn’t remember the number, but then I didn’t have to because I had that information in the spreadsheet I was using to track the names of the entrants and their guesses. We had blank slips to write down guesses for the number of candies in the jar, and the guess that was closest would win the candies, the jar, and the ultimate prize of the bookmobile coming to her or his house. Everyone would get one slip per visit and may the best guess win. The local paper had agreed to write up the contest-winning personal bookmobile stop and I was already planning to have the bookmobile’s carpet steam-cleaned of all Eddie hair before any reporter set foot inside.
“Maybe I forgot?”
Unlikely. Thessie’s sharp brain wouldn’t forget anything it didn’t want to, let alone the number of Kristen-made maple-flavored hard candies, individually wrapped and placed in a large, clear, thick plastic jar I’d found in my aunt’s attic.
“You know,” I said, “even if nobody’s close to guessing right, you still won’t get it.”
“Not even if everyone’s
really
far off?” she asked hopefully.
“If everyone is that far off, I’ll suspect someone was priming them with wrong numbers.”
“Hey!” she protested. “I wouldn’t do that!” But she turned back to look at the jar with a contemplative look on her face.
Shaking my head, I flicked on the blinker and made a wide-sweeping right turn into the parking lot of a former gas station, now a gardening supply store. By the time we were set up, half a dozen people were milling about, waiting for someone to open the door.
“Good morning,” I said, smiling wide. “Welcome to the Chilson District Library Bookmobile. Come on—”
But they were already up the stairs and in, no further invitation necessary. And there, kicking up dust as she walked across the gravel parking lot, was the exact person I’d hoped to see at this stop.
“Good morning, Faye,” I said as she came up the steps. “Did you remember to bring those cookbooks?”
Her face, which had been smiling, instantly transformed into a horrified—and very guilty—look. She tucked her short graying hair behind her ears with hands that held no books, not even the overdue cookbooks that I’d found for her through the interlibrary loan system. “Oh, wow, Minnie. I forgot all about them. They’re at home, but…” She glanced over her shoulder. “But you’d be gone by the time I got back. Um…”
I crossed my arms, put on my firm librarian face, and looked her in the eye. Which was only possible because she was standing one step down. “You know the library’s policy is to refuse lending privileges until any and all overdue books are returned.”
She hung her head and sighed. “I know. It’s my own fault.” With drooping shoulders, she retreated down the stairs.
Uh-oh. I must have carried the Firm Librarian Face a little too far. “Faye!” I called. “Come on back. I know how much you were looking forward to reading the new Nicholas Sparks. It’d be unusual punishment to make you wait.”
“You mean… ?”
“We’ll bend the rules just this once.” I put my finger to my lips and looked left and right. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
She nodded toward the front of the bookmobile where a black-and-white feline was
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