Chapter Eight
“Excuse me? Excuse...meeee...?”
Startled, Caroline Duer gazed to the left, then right, before coming to rest on the heart-shaped face of a little girl tugging on her sleeve. “Were you talking to me?”
The child’s shoulder-length tangle of red hair bobbed as she nodded. “Would you help me find a book?”
Her enormous blue eyes inspected Caroline for a second. And as if an afterthought, she added, “Please.”
Caroline’s eyes skittered around the Kiptohanock Library. “Um...”
Moments before, a librarian had been reading to a cluster of children on the big green rug. Obviously, one of her charges had wandered.
“I don’t see her right now, but...”
Where was a librarian when you needed one?
“Uh...” Caroline wasn’t good with children. Sea creatures, yes. Little girls, no.
This was what happened when you put off what needed to be done. You got roped into over-your-head situations.
“I’m not—”
“But I said the special word.” The little girl cocked her head and waited.
Special word? What in the name of fried flounder was a special word? A secret children’s language to which Caroline wasn’t privy? “I’m sorry, dear...”
The little girl scowled.
“Dear” must not be a special word. Where was the librarian? Caroline cut her eyes over to the child.
The little redhead planted her fist on her hip. And jutted it. “I need you.”
Just Caroline’s luck. A tyke with attitude.
The little girl needed her? A clear case of mistaken identity, but it had been a long time since anyone needed her. In fact, the last time she’d been needed, she’d failed everyone so completely.
She was perhaps the worst person on earth anyone needed to need. Caroline swallowed. Where was the librarian? Better yet, where was this child’s mother?
Even Caroline understood children required a lot of time. More time than she as a thirty-five-year-old marine veterinarian was willing to pencil into her schedule. If you couldn’t spare the time, don’t have ’em. She drummed her restless fingers on the wooden surface of the librarian’s desk.
“I want books like that.” The little girl pointed at the illustrated Eastern Shore bird-watcher’s field guide in Caroline’s hand. “Books about turtles and dolphins, too.”
Caroline glanced from the book to the little girl. “This is a book my sister, Amelia, illustrated. Illustrated means—”
“She drew the pictures.” The little girl fluttered her hand as if shooing sand fleas. “I know all about that.”
Caroline’s lips twitched. Okay, the redhead was a smart little girl.
“Are you going to check it out?”
“I don’t live around here.” Caroline’s gaze darted out the window overlooking the Kiptohanock square. “Not anymore. I don’t have a library card.”
The little girl dug a plastic card out of the pocket of her jeans. “I do.” She held up the card. “I’ve had my own library card since I learned to read when I was four. My daddy says I’m a reading machine.”
Caroline stifled a laugh. The same could’ve been said of her as a child, too. She passed the book into the little girl’s custody.
The redhead grinned at Caroline. “Thanks.”
Caroline shifted to move past her. “You’re welcome.”
“Aren’t you going to help me find the book on turtles?”
Caroline studied the expectant little face. “You’re not going to leave me alone till I do, are you?”
The little girl smiled. Tiny lines feathered the corners of her eyes. An indication she was a happy child? Caroline hoped so.
“All right. Come on, then.” Racking her brain for what she remembered of the Dewey Decimal System, Caroline headed into the stacks. The little girl followed close on her heels.
Ten minutes later, Caroline’s arms bulged with picture books and the surprisingly adult volume on aquatic life the child herself selected. Caroline marched toward the checkout station. Still, no sign of the librarian.
She
