married. And when our Mom got sick—Dad died a long time ago—she moved into Mom’s house, set up the apartment there on the ground floor, so Mom wouldn’t have to walk up stairs. She took care of Mom for years.”
And loved every minute of it?
Joey made a right turn off the road and followed a tree-lined street to the village green, parking in a lot behind the Pennington Free Library.
Lucas followed him inside.
The walls were paneled with dark wood. Bookshelves and massive tables and chairs were carved from a lighter shade of wood. A thick, deeply worn maroon carpet covered the floor.
Lucas sniffed the warm, silent, sluggish air.
Old leather bindings, old wood, old times.
They walked through the virtually empty reading room to the reference desk in the rear. A wooden name-plate was centered on the desk: F. Geneen.
The woman behind the desk was thumbing through a book, making occasional notes on a yellow legal pad. Probably in her early forties, her dark hair was short and thick and streaked with gray, and she was wearing a brown shirtwaist dress that made her blend into the background.
Lucas thought, It’s as if she’s saying, “I’m not really here. I’m not anywhere.”
She looked up, ready to be helpful, and saw Joey. Helpfulness melted away. Frown lines in the corners of her mouth deepened.
Joey smiled at her. No smile in return.
Her eyes drifted to Lucas. A rimless pair of glasses framed her dark brown eyes and long, thick lashes.
“Can we talk to you for a minute?” Joey asked.
“Let’s go to the lounge.”
She stood up. She was tall—taller than Joey—narrow-hipped and long-legged, and she moved easily and economically.
An athlete. A runner, maybe.
She turned, leading them to a door marked Employees Only. Opening it, she motioned them inside.
The librarians’ lounge was a smaller version of the reading room, somber and dark. Two huge, leather-covered couches stood catty-corner on one side of the room. On the other side, three bulky leather chairs surrounded a small, round table. No one was there.
Fay sat in one of the chairs. Joey and Lucas sat opposite her.
She wears very little makeup. Her skin is clear, the color of outdoors.
“What do we want to talk about?” Fay asked.
She’s watching Joey like a frog watching a dragonfly.
“First, Fay, this is Lucas Murdoch.”
Lucas smiled and nodded, but Fay took no notice.
“Mr. Murdoch is retired. He used to live in New York City. He’s thinking of settling down here. He’s looking for a place to stay.”
No response.
Lucas studied her features. Her nose was a little too long, her mouth too full, her chin too strong—but the sum of the imperfect parts was attractive.
“He’s got money,” Joey said. “A pension. Ernie’s checking that out.”
She looked down at the table-top for a moment, then looked back at Joey, waiting.
“We were talking—over at Sarge’s—about whether you might want to rent the apartment to Mr. Murdoch.”
“What did you decide?”
Joey shook his head. “It’s not up to me.”
She turned to Lucas and asked, “Why do you want to live in Pennington? There isn’t much going on here. But I’m sure you know that.”
“I guess I’m tired of big cities. I grew up in a small town. I’d like to be back in the kind of place I remember.”
He smiled, his expression a mixture of hopefulness and concern.
“I don’t know if I want a stranger living in my house.”
“I’m very quiet. I won’t play any loud music. Or invite anyone to the apartment.”
“How do I know that’s true?”
“Ernie’s checking on him,” Joey said.
“Can he find out whether Mr. Murdoch drinks? Or plays the drums?”
“He’s just checking on whether he has money.”
She repeated the word “money” softly, and frowned.
She needs the money.
“I have a decent pension, and simple tastes,” Lucas said. “The apartment would be my one luxury.”
“I don’t know,” she said, without much energy.
“We could do it on a trial basis—for a month, say.”
“You would have to pay part of my electric bill in your rent, and part of the fuel bill in winter time. And you’d have to have your own phone.”
“That’s okay.”
She looked down at the table-top. “I don’t know.”
“What would you consider a fair price?”
She frowned.
“It’s really just two and a half rooms and they’re not big: a bedroom, a combination living room-dining room, and a kitchenette. It’s furnished. And I keep it clean. I’m not sure why.”
Lucas nodded.
“I could take you over to see it,” Joey said.
“Three hundred dollars a month. That’s fair, I think.”
“It sounds fair to me. And, if you change your mind, I’ll leave. I don’t need a lease. We can keep it on a month-to-month basis, if you like.”
Joey was nodding.
“I don’t know,” she said. “You’d have to supply your own linens and towels. But there are dishes and pots and pans you could use.”
“Why don’t we give it a try?” Lucas said.
“I’d need a few days to get things in shape.”
“He could stay at the motel in Fulton,” Joey said.
“If you mention Joey’s name, they’ll probably give you the room for half price.”
Joey smiled nervously.
“Show
