By Book or by Crook Read Online Free Page B

You know that nephew of mine? Keeps getting himself into trouble. I figure you’re the one to give him an awful good talkin’-to. You don’t mind if I borrow this big fellow for a few minutes, do you, little lady?”
    Butch threw a smile over his shoulder as he allowed himself to be led away.
    I glanced at my watch. Seven forty-five. My feet were killing me, and it felt as if my smile were pasted on my face with superglue. Bertie had said she had an important announcement to make at eight, something to do with the Austen collection. Even I didn’t know what that was. Surely everyone who was interested would be here by now. All the people I’d met since starting the job had arrived, except for . . .
    Curses!
As if my thoughts had summoned her themselves, the door flew open, bringing in more cold, damp air, along with the one person I was hoping I wouldn’t see. Louise Jane McKaughnan. Wanna-be librarian. Louise Jane had volunteered at the library a few times, filling in here and there for vacations, and she thought that qualified her for a full-time position. That Louise Jane had neither education in library science nor any experience other than shelving books and checking them out seemed not to matter to her one bit. She wanted the new job, and she had no qualms expressing her displeasure at it being given to—
horrors
—an outsider. I slunk behind a cabinet displaying books of nautical charts and ascale model of an eighteenth-century sailing ship, wondering whether I could hide out here for the rest of the night.
    Until Butch was free, anyway.
    Bertie, as could be expected, greeted Louise Jane warmly, as if they had not exchanged bitter words behind the head librarian’s closed office door only this morning. Louise Jane pointedly ignored her, and marched into the room as though she were a general leading her forces into battle.
    In her wake followed not an army, but Poor Andrew MacGillacuddy. No one ever called Andrew just “Andrew,” and certainly not Mr. MacGillacuddy. He was always Poor Andrew. For reasons unknown to everyone in town, Poor Andrew adored Louise Jane and trotted in her wake, begging for scraps of attention. Louise Jane treated him with mild contempt, when she could be bothered to notice him at all.
    From my hiding place I heard Andrew say, “Can I get you something to drink, Louise Jane?” in a high-pitched, almost pleading voice. Andrew was close to six feet tall, but I’d have been surprised if he weighed more than a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. Which, come to think of it, he was right now. A lock of blond hair flopped over his forehead and he lifted a hand to push it back. His eyes were a nice shade of pale blue, and would have been attractive if not for the look of intense adoration they had when looking at Louise Jane. Which they almost always did. Then those longing eyes would put a six-week-old puppy to shame.
    “Get me a beer,” she snapped. “Good. There heis.” She headed straight for the alcove, where Connor was still standing beside the collection, exchanging greetings with patrons.
    But it wasn’t Connor she was intent on cornering.
    I saw a look of alarm cross Bertie’s face and came out of hiding to join her. “Oh no. Not now. Not here,” she muttered.
    “I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Uppiton,” Louise Jane bellowed. Once again, conversation ground to a halt and heads turned. Connor blinked in confusion. “Is there a problem, Miss McKaughnan?”
    “There sure is. As Mr. Uppiton knows full well. This can’t be allowed to continue.” Andrew tiptoed up to her and held out a glass full of frothy beer. She snatched it out of his hand and swallowed half of it in one go.
    Bertie pushed her way through the crowd. I’d never seen such a look of pure anger on her face. In addition to her job as head librarian of the Lighthouse Library, Bertie was a yoga instructor. She practiced its calming rituals every day.
    Knowing, fearing what was about to happen, I