Nora Roberts - Blood Brothers

Meg hooted out another laugh, shook her head. “If you really want to talk, and get some sense out of it, you want Mrs. Abbott. She ran the old library, and she’s at the new one for a spell most every day.”

Then scooping up the bills Cal left, she went to refill waiting cups at the other end of the counter.

CAL HEADED STRAIGHT TO HIS OFFICE. HE HAD the usual morning’s paperwork, phone calls, e-mails. And he had a morning meeting scheduled with his father and the arcade guy before the center opened for the afternoon leagues.

He thought of the wall of fire across Main Street the night before. Add that to two sightings by Quinn-an outsider-and it sure as hell seemed the entity that plagued the town was starting its jollies early.

Her dream troubled him as well. The details-he’d recognized where she’d been, what she’d seen. For her to have dreamed so lucidly about the pond, about the clearing, to have bruises from it, meant, in his opinion, she had to be connected in some way.

A distant relation wasn’t out of the question, and there should be a way to do a search. But he had other relations, and none but his immediate family had ever spoken of any effects, even during the Seven.

As he passed through the bowling center, he sent a wave toward Bill Turner, who was buffing the lanes. The big, burly machine’s throaty hum echoed through the empty building.

The first thing he checked in his office was his e-mail, and he let out a breath of relief when he saw one from Gage.

Prague. Got some business to clear up. Should be back in the U.S. of A. inside a couple weeks. Don’t do anything stupider than usual without me.

No salutation, no signature. Very Gage, Cal thought. And it would have to do, for now.

Contact me as soon as you’re Stateside, Cal wrote back. Things are already rumbling. Will always wait for you to do the stupid, because you’re better at it.

After clicking Send, he dashed another off to Fox.

Need to talk. My place, six o’clock. Got beer. Bring food that’s not pizza.

Best he could do, for now, Cal thought. Because life just had to keep rolling on.

QUINN WALKED BACK TO THE HOTEL TO RETRIEVE her laptop. If she was going to the library, she might as well use it for a couple hours’ work. And while she expected she had most, if not all, of the books tucked into the town’s library already, maybe this Mrs. Abbott would prove to be a valuable source.

Caleb Hawkins, it appeared, was going to be a clam until the following day.

As she stepped into the hotel lobby she saw the pert blond clerk behind the desk-Mandy, Quinn thought after a quick scroll through her mental PDA-and a brunette in the curvy chair being checked in.

Quinn’s quick once-over registered the brunette with the short, sassy do as mid to late twenties, with a travel-weary look about her that didn’t do anything much to diminish the seriously pretty face. Jeans and a black sweater fit well over an athletic build. Pooled at her feet were a suitcase, a laptop case, a smaller bag probably for cosmetics and other female necessities, and an excellent and roomy hobo in slick red leather.

Quinn had a moment of purse envy as she aimed a smile.

“Welcome back, Miss Black. If you need anything, I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Quinn turned to the stairs and, starting up, heard Mandy’s cheerful, “You’re all checked in, Miss Darnell. I’m just going to call Harry to help with your bags.”

As was her way, Quinn speculated on Miss Gorgeous Red Bag Darnell as she climbed up to her room. Passing through on her way to New York. No, too odd a place to stop over, and too early in the day to stop a road trip.

Visiting relatives or friends, but why wouldn’t she just bunk with said relatives or friends? Then again, she had some of both she’d rather not bunk with.

Maybe a business trip, Quinn mused as she let herself into her room.

Well, if Red Bag I Want for My Very Own stayed more than a few hours, Quinn would find out just who and what and why. It was, after all, what she was best at.

Quinn packed up her laptop, added a spare notebook and extra pencils in case she got lucky. Digging out her phone, she set it on vibrate. Little was more annoying, to her mind, than ringing cell phones in libraries and theaters.

She slipped a county map into her case in the event she decided to explore.

Armed, she headed down for the drive to the other end of town and the Hawkins Hollow Library.

From her own research, Quinn knew that the original stone building tucked on Main Street now housed the community center, and the gym she intended to make use of. At the turn of the current century the new library had been built on a pretty rise of land on the south end of town. It, too, was stone, though Quinn was pretty sure it was the facing used on concrete and such rather than quarried. It was two levels with short wings on either side and a portico-style entrance. The style, she thought, was attractively old-fashioned. One, she guessed, the local historic society had likely fought a war to win.

She admired the benches, and the trees she imagined made shady reading nooks in season as she pulled up to park in the side lot.

It smelled like a library, she thought. Of books and a little dust, of silence.

She saw a brightly lettered sign announcing a Story Hour in the Children’s section at ten thirty.

She wound her way through. Computers, long tables, carts, a few people wandering the stacks, a couple of old men paging through newspapers. She heard the soft hum-chuck of a copier and the muted ringing of a phone from the Information Desk.

Reminding herself to focus because if she wandered she’d be entranced by the spell she believed all libraries wove, she aimed straight for Information. And in the hushed tone reserved for libraries and churches, addressed the stringy man on duty. “Good morning, I’m looking for books on local history.”

“That would be on the second floor, west wing. Steps over to the left, elevator straight back. Anything in particular you’re after?”

“Thanks, but I’m just going to poke. Is Mrs. Abbott in today?”

“Mrs. Abbott is retired, but she’s in most every day by eleven. In a volunteer capacity.”

“Thanks again.”

Quinn used the stairs. They had a nice curve to them, she thought, almost a Gone With the Wind sort of swish. She put on mental blinders so as not to be tempted by stacks and reading areas until she found herself in Local Interest.

It was more a room-a mini-library-than a section. Nice cozy chairs, tables, amber-shaded lamps, even footrests. And it was larger than she’d expected.

Then again, she should have accounted for the fact that there had been battles fought in and around the Hollow in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars.

Books pertaining to those were arranged in separate areas, as were books on the county, the state, and the town.

In addition there was a very healthy section for local authors.

She tried that section first and saw she’d hit a treasure trove. There had to be more than a dozen she hadn’t come across on her own hunt before coming to town. They were self-published, vanity-pressed, small local publishers.

Titles like Nightmare Hollow and The Hollow, The Truth had her giddy with anticipation. She set up her laptop, her notebook, her recorder, then pulled out five books. It was then she noticed the discreet bronze plaque.

The Hawkins Hollow Library gratefully acknowledges the generosity of the Franklin and Maybelle Hawkins Family

Franklin and Maybelle. Very probably Cal’s ancestors. It struck Quinn as both suitable and generous that they would have donated the funds to sponsor this room. This particular room.