“Hi Cindy,” I greeted the small (pocket-sized, as she liked to call it), curly-haired librarian ensconced behind the circulation desk of our local library. Brilliant green eyes sparkled up at me from behind turquoise-rimmed glasses.
“Hi sugar, how’s life treatin’ ya?”
Normally I hated being called “sugar” or “sweetie” or “honey,” but from Cindy Mayes, a woman I had been seeing at the library at least once a week since I was five years old, it just made me feel warm and fuzzy.
“Well, I have a bit of a mystery on my hands,” I replied, leaning on the desk.
“Ooooh, a mystery, do tell!” She was practically rubbing her hands together with glee.
I held out the button to her with the initials F.P.W. She gingerly took it in hand and examined it closely.
“Does the name Felix P. Willowtree mean anything to you?” I asked.
She froze in place and slowly looked up at me, eyes wary. She handed me back the button and took off her glasses, nonchalantly polishing them on her cardigan.
“I can’t say it does,” she replied, studiously not meeting my eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“He left his card in the tip jar at the bar and I’m pretty sure he’s the one who knocked me over on the street earlier today. This button was stuck to the bottom of my boot.” I held it up again but she still wouldn’t look at me. “Cindy, come on, I know you know something. You’re shut up like a clam and that’s not like you at all. My mom just gave me the same song and dance.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she sniffed, perching the glasses back on her nose. She finally met my eyes. I was taken aback by the flicker of fear I saw there.
“Cindy,” I began, but she stopped me with an upturned hand.
“I’m sorry Hannah but I have a lot to do this afternoon. I’m very busy.”
I looked around at the almost empty library. One patron was slowly picking away at the keyboard of one of the public computers and another was relaxing in front of the fireplace with a large stack of books and a cup of tea. Busy my right foot. I turned back to argue but she was already shuffling away on sparkly red pumps.
“Fine then,” I called, causing the two patrons to look over at me. “I’ll just find someone else to help me, since you’re afraid.”
“Hannah, wait!” she cried, but I was already out the door.
At the Corner of Main & Merrin 