Page 11 of In This Moment

Scarlett set her hands on her hips, nodding approval. “I like it. Good idea.”

Dorothy shuffled some papers. “Chunks of plaster are missing from many areas in the walls upstairs. The contractor said he can fix that, or at least fit drywall to blend. However, the Greek support columns for the loft are possibly unstable.”

Yeah. One of them slanted precariously to the left. Rebecca gave it a look since she’d only seen photos. There were two columns holding up the overhang of the loft that resembled the ones on the porch. Beyond them was the back wall shelving, where the couch they used to hang out on as teenagers had been removed. She always thought of it as a cozy nook.

Forest frowned in thought. “What are you thinking?”

“Complete replacement.” Dorothy crossed her arms. “We can try to match what’s currently there, but it won’t be exact.”

“Okay, just so long as you don’t use metal poles or something that’ll throw off the design. I mean, the place has to be structurally sound, so go ahead.”

Rebecca shuffled her feet. “Sheldon Brown’s great-grandmother carved her name on one of the columns when she was a girl. It’s been painted over, but you can still see traces of the knife indentations. We were thinking of cutting that out and framing it somewhere.”

“Didn’t know that.” He rubbed his jaw. “If I’m on the Historical Society and wasn’t aware, I’ll bet others don’t. Regardless, I like the idea of framing that part of the library’s past.”

That was a huge relief. Rebecca shared a look with Scarlett, who appeared just as grateful the columns wouldn’t be a problem. All issues had been addressed but one, and it was a biggie.

“Last but not least.” Dorothy cleared her throat. “Lighting is sparce. As it stands, the chandelier is the only source, minus the storeroom and bathroom. We’d like to add recessed lighting here, here, here, and here.” On the blueprints, she pointed to the four areas they’d discussed by Zoom, which were under the loft overhang, two in the loft itself, and two along both the right and left walls by the built-in shelves. “Recessed lighting doesn’t fit with the architecture, but it would be the least invasive, offer the most light, and is cost-effective for us.”

“Eesh.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Not sure on that one.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. “I’ll bring it to the Society for a vote. Could go either way. On the one hand, you don’t want it too dark in here, but on the other, it has to fit the style.”

Scarlett snapped her fingers, an aha expression lifting her brows. “What if we add a ceiling medallion design plate around each light? It’ll give the period appearance, yet still allow for the fixtures. It would mesh well with the copper plating, too.”

Rebecca metaphorically patted Scarlett on the back. The idea was brilliant. They could get medallions at any home improvement store for little money. Plus, it was a win-win for them and the Society.

“Okay, that might sway the vote.” He jotted what she assumed were some notes on his copy of the packet. “That should do it. I have one question, though, not related to your plans.” He grinned, carefree and child-like. “Is the library really haunted?”

Scarlett threw her head back and laughed.

Rebecca shook her head, amused. Legend was, Katherine Vallantine loved books. It was why her beloved husband had built the library for her in the first place. Somehow, through the years, word got around she haunted the place after she’d died, that she assisted all who entered seeking knowledge. Rebecca and her besties had never encountered such a spirit, but Mrs. Brown had mentioned once that Katherine’s journal had appeared out of nowhere to her and Mr. Brown before they’d married. Anything was possible.

“I doubt it.” Dorothy slid paperwork back into a folder.

“Oh, come now.” Scarlett placed a hand on her chest, laughter residing. “You never know.”

They saw Forest out and locked the door. Dorothy and Scarlett had to get back to work, which reminded Rebecca of her next task. She had to bite the bullet.

Once everyone had gone, she glanced at her reflection in her car window. She’d worn light makeup, her hair down, and a lavender blouse with khaki capris. Casual but nice. It would have to do.

A sigh, and she grabbed her portfolio from the passenger seat, then headed down Main Street on foot. Gammy’s house didn’t have a mortgage, but there were bills piling up. It was time she got herself a job.

Chapter Four

Graham leaned back in the chair in his office, gaze on the computer screen in front of him displaying a spreadsheet with numbers. It wasn’t looking any better than it had the last twenty times he’d glared at them, but something had to be done. Perhaps an idea would light a bulb over his head if he stared long enough. He was just desperate enough to try anything.

Six months. That’s how long Gunner Davis, town mayor and owner of the Vallantine Gazette, had given Graham to turn things around for the paper. Subscriptions were down, advertising near zilch, and the newspaper could barely eke out one page of material a day. His whopping two-person staff team consisted of Joan Hornady and Jefferson McCraw. The former did a gossip or opinion column and pulled the Atlanta weather report. She was a baby boomer who spent most of the day at her desk scrolling Facebook. The latter handled sports and sometimes local news if there was anything noteworthy. Which wasn’t often. He was in his seventies and often napped the entire afternoon. Both were part-timers.

Graham had no idea what he was paying them for, but firing the entire staff after two months on the job wasn’t going to earn him any friends.

A sigh, and he glared at the ceiling. He wasn’t good at this kind of crap. Managing? Sure. Writing a good story? Yep. Editing? Absolutely. Marketing, building subscribers, and fixing what he feared was a permanently damaged system in a small southern town of twenty-five hundred residents? Not so much.

Acid ate away at the lining of his stomach. If he failed, he had nowhere else to go. There wasn’t a newspaper or blog in the fifty states that would hire him after the scandal that got him canned in Minneapolis.

A jingle indicated someone had opened the outside door to Main Street. Probably Joan heading out for a smoke break. Again. He didn’t bother checking.

But then a newly familiar voice lilted from the front of the room toward him instead of silence.

The wall in his office in back facing the newsroom was glass. On the other side were six desks, two of them occupied by Joan and Jefferson. Rebecca Moore stood in the aisle between them, chatting with both people.

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