“Thank you, Francis.” James returned the paper to his employee.
“I hope Milla’s holding up okay. She’s one of the nicest people we know. If Scott and I…” He trailed off and then began again, “I couldn’t imagine not having my brother around.” Embarrassed, he tapped on the newspaper with his right finger. “Ms. Alistair’s dropped the ball with this edition. I’m sure she was busy covering her lead story, but there’s nothing in here about Glowstar’s ransom note.”
James froze in the act of unlocking the front door. “How did you know about that? Lucy told me they thought it was a hoax and had shredded it right after it was read.”
“Lottie told me,” Scott replied proudly. “I think Deputy Truett has a crush on her. He tells her everything they’ve got going on at the Sheriff’s Department. Guess he doesn’t know she’s my girlfriend.”
“You use any excuse you can to say that word, do you realize that? And a lot of good she’s done us. She didn’t consider the note newsworthy either!” Francis scowled, folded the paper, and stormed inside. He flicked the lights on with violent motions and then rounded on his brother. “Do you even care about Glowstar or this job or anything besides your girlfriend ? You’ve totally left me hanging on Age of Conan, and you don’t even read anymore!”
“What’s Age of Conan?” James looked at Scott. “Is that true? About not reading?”
Scott looked glum. “It’s a video game. We used to play online as a team. I was an assassin and Francis was a necromancer. His character got killed last night because he didn’t have me to protect him.” He slowly unzipped his jacket. “And I still love books, Professor. I just don’t have as much free time as I used to.” He lowered his voice. “If Francis had a girlfriend, this wouldn’t be so hard. I know he wants me to be happy, but he’s feeling left out.”
“You could always stake out the book return bin on Christmas Eve,” James joked. “Bring some of your high-tech gear and trap Glowstar’s kidnapper.”
Scott’s eyes widened. “Awesome idea, Professor! The note said midnight, right?” He balled up his coat and ran toward the break room. “Hey bro! Let’s powwow!”
The morning passed quietly. Since school was out until after New Year’s, several mothers towed grade school children into the library in order to check out books and videos to serve as entertainment over the holidays, but other than the Children’s Corner, the shelves remained untouched. There were very few hold or transfer requests, and since the Fitzgerald brothers had already repaired three broken hardcover spines, emptied the shelving cart, cleaned the computer screens, and dusted the shelves, James had no qualms about leaving them in charge of the floor while he answered e-mails.
Shortly before three o’clock, when he was about to interrupt the brothers’ animated plotting concerning the recovery of Glowstar in order to suggest a coffee break, Willow entered the library carrying a covered cake plate.
“I baked you something,” she whispered almost guiltily.
James took the cake from her hands and said, “There’s no one here. You don’t have to whisper.” Smiling, he jerked his head toward the break room. “Come on back. Would you like some coffee?”
Nodding, Willow followed him into the room behind the circulation desk and seated herself at the round table. “I made this cake for you. I didn’t know what to do today, so I baked. It’s one of Paulette’s recipes. I think she was planning to make it on Friday, actually. Lots of people have served it at their wedding, but it’s a bit too sweet for me.”
“You look tired,” James said gently. “I think you and I could both use a caffeine boost.” He opened a tin and began to scoop ground coffee into a paper filter. “How are you holding up?”
“As well as can be expected, considering I’m out of a job and will probably be arrested any second now.”
James’s hand jerked, sending coffee grounds across the counter. “What makes you say that?”
Willow sighed lugubriously. “I hated her, for starters. And I was at the inn most of the day. I’m not an idiot,” she said more forcefully. “The cops wouldn’t have questioned us like they did unless there’s foul play involved.”
After setting the pot to brew, James studied Willow carefully. “Well then. Did you kill her?”
Instead of a passionate refusal, Willow simply shook her head. “I’ve been tempted to more times than I can count, but I wouldn’t gain anything by it. I can hardly be an assistant to a dead woman.”
“True,” James agreed. “But weren’t you going to ask her for a raise this week?”
“You’ve got a good memory,” she said with a thin smile. “And I asked on Thursday and was told to forget it.”
Above the gurgles of the percolating coffee, James scrutinized Willow carefully. “Weren’t you angry?”
“Of course! I smoked six packs of cigarettes between then and Saturday night!” she exclaimed. “I’m still mad. In fact, I hope the bitch suffered.” Willow’s hand flew over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I know she was about to join your family.”
Poor girl, thought James and smiled at her kindly. “Don’t worry about it.” He pointed at the cake plate. “I want to show you a magic trick. I’m going to lift the top off this cake and within one minute, twin twenty-four-year-old men, who also happen to be first-rate librarians, will appear in this room.”
Easing the lid straight up in order to keep the creamy lemon frosting from smudging, James took a whiff of the heavenly scent of sugar-laden sweetness and then glanced at his watch. “Fifty-five seconds remain. What is this marvel, anyway?”
“Lemon-strawberry layer cake,” Willow answered, visibly relaxing. “I made the jam in New York and brought a few jars with us.”
“So you’re an accomplished cook as well?” James positioned his body so that it blocked the beautiful, pale yellow confection.
Flushing attractively, Willow nodded. “I grew up in Vermont. My mom was an excellent cook, and she taught me a lot about preserving the taste of fresh foods. Every summer, we made tons of jams, pies, fruit tarts. Even homemade ice cream. That’s why Paulette hired me. Frankly, I can make anything she can. But the food I love to create is candy. Truffles, caramels, chocolates filled with fruit purées.”
“Did someone say chocolate?” Scott poked his head into the break room. “I only smell coffee.”
Francis pushed his brother forward and then lifted his nose and inhaled, his eyes narrowing. “No, not chocolate. It’s something else.”
“And with six seconds remaining, may I present Scott and Francis Fitzgerald?” James pointed at his employees with paternal pride.
“Did you know your boss was a magician?” Willow directed her question at Francis, who stared at their visitor with undisguised interest.
James stepped to the side in order to retrieve a few paper plates and a knife and thus, the cake was revealed. Scott nudged his brother in the side until Francis noticed the unexpected treat.
“Did you make that?” he asked Willow. When she bowed slightly in assent, he took the knife from James’s hand, quickly cut himself a slice, and stuffed a bite into his mouth. “ You’re the magical one!” he pronounced enthusiastically. “A cake enchantress!”
Scott rolled his eyes in mock disgust, but Willow’s face gleamed with pleasure.
“This is delicious.” Francis edged around his brother and sat down at the table. “You should move down here and open a candy shop. If your chocolates are anything like this cake, you’d be a big hit.”