Annabelle Sherwood tossed her voluminous red curls back over her shoulder with practiced grace and batted her false eyelashes at the man who had greeted her. Sure, old Mr. Brazleton could not see well enough to appreciate the stunning cleavage Annabelle displayed in her low-cut silk blouse, but he was still male and capable of making out her hourglass silhouette. He could smell her costly designer perfume with heavy musk undertones (Annabelle would slather herself with undiluted pheromones if it were possible).
But Annabelle knew her only reward from Mr. Brazleton would be his toothless, admiring grin. He had neither the money nor the working plumbing to take Annabelle out for lunch, much less for an evening—or night—on the town.
Good thing about a small town like Live Oak: Annabelle knew the financial and marital status of every man who entered her library. She knew how to get the most from every one, and she wasted no time on the poor, the puny, the perverted, or the Happily Married.
Miranda Ogilvy, the new librarian, had observed Annabelle in action for only a day and a half, and already Miranda was in awe of (and a little disgusted by) her curvy coworker.
When the marvelous Annabelle crooned greetings at old Mr. Brazleton in her most seductive siren's voice, Miranda was surprised at first. Brazleton was not the type Annabelle usually targeted. Then Annabelle winked at Miranda and returned Brazleton's smile with apparent sincerity. Annabelle was being kind to the lonely octogenarian, in Annabelle's way.
"That was sweet," Miranda told Annabelle when Brazleton doddered out the front door.
"Yeah," Annabelle sighed. Then she shrugged it off. "He's harmless, y'know? Besides, it's been a slow day and I can always benefit from a bit of practice."
"You are a really good person, Annabelle," Miranda said.
"Okay, don't ever let anybody hear you say that. You could ruin my reputation. Shelve these for me?" Annabelle hefted a stack of returned books onto a rolling cart and nudged the cart toward Miranda.
"Of course." Miranda expected nothing else. Why should the swan do grunt work when the ugly duckling was at hand? Besides, even if Miranda stood alongside Annabelle at the check-in counter, patrons would form a line in front of Annabelle and never notice Miranda's existence. Thus, Annabelle spent most of the day on display at the front desk, while Miranda disappeared into the stacks.
....
Outside the library, Pietro wheeled into the parking space closest to the front door. He let the motor and air conditioner run while he turned toward Shepard, who was unbuckling his seat belt.
"I can go in alone," Pietro insisted. "Why deal with the man-eater if you don'ta got to? I can return dese and pick up da ones from the Hold shelf. Gimme you library card." Pietro reached for a bulging floral tote bag resting by Shep's feet.
Shep snatched the bag from Pietro's reach. "I'll check in while you check out. We'll finish in half the time, and we won't be late for work."
"Nnnnooo," Pietro whined. "I don'ta like doin' this. Is not honest. Is denigrate my manhood. Is spoil my image witha da ladies."
"Oh, hush," said Shep and opened the passenger door. "Leave the AC on for Dave. We'll be just a minute, Dave."
From the back seat Dave whuffed and lay down to wait.
Pietro sighed dramatically, then opened the car door. "Show time," he said to himself as he left the driver's seat.
He rounded the hood of the car and joined Shep, who was standing beside the passenger door, holding the conspicuous, flowery tote bag. Pietro held out his left elbow, Shep placed his right hand on his friend's arm, and they walked toward the library steps together.
Miranda returned to the front desk to collect more books for shelving. Annabelle touched her shoulder and pointed outside the building's glass facade. Two attractive men climbed the steps, arm in arm, dressed like fashion models, wearing sunglasses. The bearded one had long platinum hair spreading across his wide shoulders and down his back. The other was dark, clean-shaven, small-boned, and wore Euro-style half boots with his silk slacks. The big, hairy one could have been mistaken for a Viking warrior if he hadn't been carrying a huge purse with pink flowers on it. Something familiar niggled just beyond Miranda's conscious memory.
"It's them," Annabelle whispered.
"It's whom?"
"The local queer contingent." Annabelle's shoulders rose and fell in an exaggerated sigh. "Such a tragic waste."
The two women watched the men climb the steps and enter the glass doors. Inside the doors, the dark one pointed the golden one toward the women, and the dark one paced toward the Hold shelves across the lobby. The Viking queen approached the counter.
Miranda heard, "Goin' on break," and Annabelle disappeared.
Miranda put on the Smile of the Professional Librarian and waited to be ignored by the newcomer.
Black glasses seemed to stare through her, exactly as she expected, when the man stopped in front of her and clumped his large purse onto the counter. He sniffed the air. He leaned closer to Miranda and sniffed again. He stood tall and broke into the grin children wear on Christmas morning.
"Castor Bean!?" he guessed.
"Mr. Krausse?" she exhaled in disbelief.
"What are you doing here?" they both asked at once, then chuckled.
"I work here," she said.
"Of course. You would," he said.
"Just like Aunt Phyllis!" they said together, and she laughed.
"And you?" asked Miranda.
"Got books to check in," Shep answered. He stacked the books from the tote bag onto the counter. "Almost didn't know you with your clothes on," he teased.
"I had clothes on the last time. And you said you couldn't see me!"
"Didn't. You still smell the same, though. I was confused there for a second with what's-her-name's perfume still in the air, but I'd know your scent anywhere."
Miranda began scanning the books and placing them on a re-shelving cart. "You prefer audio books."
"Yeah. Long commute to work. We listen to books in the car."
Miranda nodded. "I had an even longer commute in Miami than I have here. My aunt used to send me a new foreign language course for my birthday every year. I've learned Spanish, French, German, and Italian in the traffic on South Dixie Highway."
He laughed. In German, he said, "We'll have to get together and talk some time."
She answered in French, "Are you trying to lure me to your bachelor pad?"
In Italian, he asked, "Could you be lured so easily, signorina?"
"I don't play hard to get," was her reply in Spanish. "I am hard to get. Impossible, practically." Then she spoiled her feigned hauteur with a giggle.
He chuckled, enjoying the game.
Miranda switched to English. "Your accent is better than mine. I'm guessing you didn't learn those languages in your car."
"Boarding school in Switzerland. Survival skills, really. We had to speak French to the professor of humanities, Italian to the chef, Spanish to the riding instructor, and German to the science teacher. The curse of the rich kid." His open smile and self-deprecating manner were endearing.
"Sounds miserable," she joked. "I'm so glad you escaped with your life." She turned to place the last of his books onto the re-shelving cart. "I see you read a lot of Dean Koontz novels."
"Dave loves the ones with dogs, especially dogs that are smarter than humans."
"So these are really Dave's books."
"Busted. He's waiting in the car."
"Well, tell him I like Dean Koontz, too. Has Dave read the book written by Koontz's dog, Trixie?"
Shepard faked dire alarm and faux-whispered, "Oh, heavens! He had such a crush on her! Don't mention that book in front of Dave! He didn't get out of bed for two days when Trixie passed away."
"I checked outta da books from the holding shelf," announced Pietro, plunking four audio books onto the counter alongside the flowered bag. In the same instant, an avalanche of books tumbled from the re-shelving cart to the floor with a clatter. When Pietro raised his eyes from his books to where Miranda had been standing, she was gone.
She had dropped to her hands and knees, scrambling after fallen audio books—some of the packages had popped open, spinning silver discs in all directions.
"Pietro, this is Miranda. Miranda, this is my old friend, Pietro. He and I actually went to boarding school together. Pietro, Miranda just moved into Phyllis' house."
Pietro, seeing no one, but hearing noises, leaned over the counter to where he glimpsed a bit of Miranda's backside. "Ciao, bella!" he said, admiring the parts he could see.
"Enchanté," called Miranda from the floor. Pietro loaded the new books into the flowery tote bag and placed it in Shepard's hand.
"We need-a to go, sweetheart," Pietro said loudly, glancing about in search of Annabelle.
"Yes, dear," Shep boomed, then said quietly in Miranda's direction, "It was great talking with you, Castor Bean. See ya around."
"Yeah, see ya," called Miranda from the floor, and waved one hand above the counter's edge.
Annabelle sashayed to the counter just as Miranda stood up with books and discs in her arms. Annabelle did not reach to help, of course. Instead she watched the two men walking arm-in-arm down the steps toward the parking lot. "Such a waste," she said with a sigh.