Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) by S. Dionne Moore Page A

need any mama drama.” How I wished that Hardy and I could go over there and babysit. We’d visit for sure as soon as Matilda got settled.
    “I’ll call him now,” Cora said.
    “And make it somewhere nice. You need to get yourself fancied up, make you feel like a woman.”
    “You’re so good to me.”
    “We take care of each other,” I responded. “Just wish it could be me watching that little pumpkin. She sleeping?”
    Cora rounded Arianna up and I spoke fool-talk to her for a few minutes while she babbled back. Hardy got in on the act, too, buzzing his lips and making silly faces, as if Arianna could see him. Some of the residents who’d trickled into the common area sure got a kick out of watching him.
    We beamed at each other after hanging up. “Little Diva is a chip off the old block,” Hardy said, puffing up.
    “Guess Grandma’s genes are dominant after all.”
    He deflated.
    M omma’s entrance shut us both down when she declared she was headed upstairs for a nap. “And I don’t want you all flapping around in there. You knows I can’t sleep with noise.”
    Who’s she kidding? Matilda sleeps so deep you’d think rigor mortis had set in.
    She trundled herself to the elevator. Hardy patted my leg and went straight at the piano. Since I had some time on my hands, I decided it was time to ogle the library at Bridgeton Towers. I could use a good mystery.

 
 
 
    Chapter Fifteen
    I heartily support libraries. The idea of an unlimited supply of books on any subject; what a way to catch a mind on fire for learning. Bridgeton Towers might need some things, but they had a first rate library. Large print books everywhere. Non-fiction books took up an entire wall. Biographies interested me. Sometimes. Depended on the person doing the biographing.
    Sitting cross-legged in front of that shelf was Darren. He seemed deep into the book spread on his lap, not even noticing me when I came up beside him. Guess the boy got into things pretty deep when he set his mind to something. Nothing wrong with that. I liked a person leeched to a task. I did wonder why Darren chose to sit on the floor instead of cozying up in one of the nice chairs in the reading area. I let him be and moved over to eyeball the selection of mysteries, pleased to find one right-off by my favorite author. Even though I’d read it before, it had been years, what with school and all, so I figured I was due for a re-read.
    A couple of residents that I’d not had the chance to meet moved into the library. One sat across from me, a rather hunched black man of at least eighty, who turned his teeth on high beam as he greeted me, sat, and spread his newspaper open.
    The little old lady used a cane and shuffled toward the romance section. I returned to my story until I heard the impatient ding of a bell. Little lady stood at the vacant check-out counter, her gaze on Darren’s back. So Darren must be the librarian. True enough, he unfolded himself from the floor, carefully marked his place , and helped the woman checkout her books. As soon as she left, he returned to his spot, giving me a wave and smile before resuming his reading. Must be a good story.
    An older gentleman sitting near me seemed engrossed in a scrapbook looking thing spread out on his lap. I strained my eyeballs trying to figure out what he was looking at. Old newspaper articles and such is what it looked like to me.
    In the next second, he sprang to his feet, clutching the scrapbook something hard. Near scared me to death. He had such a shocked expression on his face. I leaned toward him.
    “You having a heart attack or something?”
    His eyes circled the room. Whatever emotion ruled, his trancelike state gave me the willies.
    I lunged upward and took hold of his arm, but he blinked. When he met my gaze, I sent him a smile meant to reassure. He blinked and blinked again, staring down at my hand on his arm as if contact of another human could not be his reality.
    “Darren!” I grated