Page 5 of Fire Harbor

Farley responded by staring at him with those saucer-sized, innocent, sad brown eyes.

Linus reached out to lay a hand on the dog’s head. “Okay. Maybe you’re not that bad. But you gotta stifle the urge to chew on whatever suits your fancy.”

The pup seemed to get the message and curled up next to him, where he stayed as Linus turned his attention back to the five-minute commute home. But before he went two blocks, he realized he needed cereal and milk for breakfast in the morning and Farley needed more dog food.

He braked, made a quick loop at the entrance to his cul-de-sac, called Windemere, and turned around in front of a stone-and-wood Craftsman in the middle of the block.

“One more stop at Murphy’s, and we’ll enjoy the rest of our evening,” Linus promised as he turned and headed toward Main Street for a fast grocery haul.

The Ocean Street Public Library had three employees, two part-time library assistants—Glynnis Ainsworth, who had been employed the longest but was in her fifties and had no desire to take on more hours, and Greta Wilding, who was still a graduate student, working toward a master’s degree, and very much wanted to become full-time as soon as she completed the required courses. Supervising the two employees was the director and head librarian, Lake Marigold, who worked full-time and was responsible for implementing all library services community-wide. That meant strategic initiatives like policies and projects fell on her shoulders.

Luckily for the town, Lake was as frugal with public funds as she was with her own finances. Her bent toward economics made her the ideal chief executive officer to oversee all development and budgets.

But today, she sat at the service desk scanning the books for Alice Barrett, a fourteen-year-old first-year high school student who hung out in the library after school. Lake believed the library could bring a community together, so she often encouraged the younger generation to detox from their phones, set them aside for longer than five minutes, and read instead of posting on TikTok or other social platforms.

Her strategy worked about fifty percent of the time. Three years earlier, she’d taken over as town librarian and immediately saw an uptick in younger students browsing the shelves—a small victory in her mind for any booklover.

Ten minutes earlier, Lake had announced that closing time was inching closer. Now, a short line began to form behind Alice, who tended to wait until the very last minute to bring her selections to checkout.

“When will this branch ever connect to the main library system?” Alice grumbled. “San Sebastian offers a kiosk and the technology for self-check-in/checkout.”

Lake put her finger to her lips for quiet and smiled at the teenager. Alice’s negative attitude could get even louder if the girl thought Lake was ignoring her.

As Lake began stamping the cards inside each book, in a low voice barely above a whisper, she pointed out, “I get this question from you every time you grace us with your presence. The answer is we’re working on it. Keep in mind San Sebastian has had a library since 1959. We’ve only been around for less than seven years. That’s a sixty-five-year head start. And recently, San Sebastian added another branch across town. And wouldn’t you know that both locations have the latest software? Yay for them. Just remember, Alice, you’re always free to make the hour round-trip drive there to use their state-of-the-art facilities any time you want.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “That’s so lame. You know I don’t have a driver’s license yet. No wonder everybody calls you a mean old maid.”

“There is that,” Lake returned cheerily, continuing to add the due date using the old-fashioned method—a stamper with a rhythmic ka-thwack that echoed past the bookshelves.

“Why not give us a chance to catch up before you go saying mean things?” Another teen piped up. “Tell her, Ms. Marigold. Tell Alice that you’re waiting for funding from the mayor for a new computer system. Be patient for once, Alice, without running your mouth.”

Nikki Augustine was the other teenager who preferred to spend her time after school browsing the bookshelves instead of heading home. Nikki unloaded the books she held and stacked them on the counter, nudging Alice out of the way. “Besides, I like the way Ms. Marigold does things around here. Who needs more technology just to return a book? I certainly don’t. Usually, all I do is open the flap and pull out the card. Voila! It tells me when the book is due—every single time. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

Alice rolled her eyes again, this time at Nikki. “You would say that. It’s like you prefer to live in the Stone Age.”

Nikki shoved her glasses on her nose and cleared her throat, like a teacher lecturing another student, she leaned over toward Alice. “People who lived during the Stone Age had a life expectancy of thirty-three short years, so I doubt anyone would choose to live during that period of time.”

“See? You can be such a snotty, know-it-all nerd,” Alice charged. “That’s why you make such a great kiss-up in class. You’ll probably turn out just like old Ms. Marigold. She’s never even had a boyfriend.”

“I’d rather be a nerd without a boyfriend than a total lame ass in class, too dumb to figure out when her book is due back,” Nikki fired back.

“Ladies,” Lake began in a steady voice, her tone getting slightly louder, her patience waning, “as much as I’d like to stand around and referee this difference of opinion, I’d like to get home to my dogs and eat supper before I turn into an even older old maid than I am now. So maybe continue this argument off school grounds and out of view of the public library. Why not try practicing a détente of sorts over an ice cream cone? After all, I know you’re both walking the same way home.”

“See what you’ve done? You’ve upset Ms. Marigold,” Nikki accused.

Lake let out a sigh. “I’m not upset. I’m hungry.” She stamped Nikki’s last book and shooed the girls toward the front door. “Go. Get out of here and finish your homework.”

“I’ve done mine,” Alice snorted.

“Good for you,” Lake returned, glancing at the last two people she had yet to stamp their books.

Once the girls exited, the library became the quiet temple Lake loved.

“Are they always like that?” Julianne Dickinson asked. “Those two used to be best friends in grade school before they started high school.”

“Who knows how the teenage mind works? They snipe at each other more than an old married couple,” Lake noted, stamping the one book, a cookbook, that Julianne had selected. “I don’t know how you keep all these kids in line but consider me one of your biggest fans.”

Julianne, who was now school superintendent for both Pelican Pointe Elementary and Ocean Street Academy, smiled. “I don’t know how you run the library and keep everything so up to date. I, for one, think you do a marvelous job.” Julianne tapped the jacket cover of the cookbook. “Hayden has this on backorder and won’t be getting in another shipment until the first week of June. I can’t wait that long.”

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