I was late for work and pushing 80 on Route 3 as I raced my way to the Marsh Hills Library. It was a typical late spring morning. Foggy, overcast and damp. Just the sort of weather that threatened library books everywhere with mold and mildew. Not a typical thought most commuters would be concerning themselves with, but hell, most commuters aren't librarians -- and I am. Paige Turner, supervisor of circulation at one of the nicest libraries on the South Shore coast. And that was indeed a thought that was occupying my mind, second only to how the humidity would frizz my hair.

"Get a grip, Paige." I told myself. This was no time to be worrying about unmanageable hair, or even mold for that matter. Library books had been disappearing off the shelves at a pace far exceeding what our normal stats would indicate as "reasonable losses." I'd been up so late trying to figure out what the hell was going on I'd overslept. My friends kidded me I did it intentionally, as an excuse to let my 67 Chevelle (license plate AU-SHH) go full out on the freeway. Maybe they were right. Ten years of commuting and only one speeding ticket, those were odds I could live with.

I pulled into the parking lot, grabbed my book bag, and headed inside. Before I'd even reached the circ desk I was greeted by Mr. Pierce, one of my oldest and dearest patrons.

"There's a Linda Barnes missing now Paige!" he informed me with real concern in his eyes. Mr. Pierce was a patron who had decided years ago he had no use for male authors, and was working his way through every mystery series in the place written by a woman. So far the longest stretches of time that elapsed without him hounding me for suggestions had been during his Muller and Rendell phases.

"Not a Carlotta Carlysle?" I asked.

"Yes, the new one in the series."

Okay, that did it, now I was getting pissed. As a redhead, I was personally offended. I made a mental note to check out all the Robin Hudson books and put them into protective custody at my house until this was solved.

Mr. Pierce was one of the main reasons I'd even become aware of the problem. No one stuck to a series in order like he did. And no one was quicker to inform me if a book cataloged "checked in" was not on its proper shelf. Now he had more news to impart: "Looks like even the big whigs are getting involved now, Paige -- I saw Mrs. Rosemont head up to your director's office."

Mrs. Rosemont was our wealthiest trustee, and had more pull in all community affairs than any other person. She was also very down-to-earth and I liked her immensely. I decided to saunter by Jo's office in the hopes she'd see me and let me in on the conversation. Luckily, Jo knew this was an area of interest to me, and did just that.

"Paige, come on in. This concerns your department more than any other."

I thanked her with a smile and stepped into her office. I was prepared to greet Mrs. Rosemont, but ill-prepared to greet the gorgeous specimen of manhood standing next to her. Damn this humidity all to hell. "Hello Mrs. Rosemont." I tried to adjust my voice to its normal tone. Jo was grinning as she introduced me to tall, shoulders-out-to-there, and handsome.

"Paige this is Harry Wright - Detective Harry Wright." Since both Mrs. Rosemont and the Detective's attention were now focused on me, Jo felt compelled to give me the old wink and nudge look.

For what certainly wasn't the first time, I found myself thanking the stars that Jo was married to a man as gorgeous as she was, and rumored to be having an affair with the local Habitat for Humanity director.

"Now, Paige,” she said. “I was just discussing, with Jo, that this whole business of books flying off the shelves has become a hot topic down at the senior center. And maybe some people would think I'm silly getting a detective involved, but I let Chief Kellar know that a lot of tax dollars pay for their salaries and this library, and half the force has got nothing better to do than turn off broken burglar alarms and help stranded women who've locked their keys in their SUV's.” [Like I said, we really liked Mrs. Rosemont]. “He agreed that this mystery certainly deserved at least a little attention from the force and has offered the services of Detective Wright.”

"Well I, for one, am certainly glad you decided to help us." My words were directed at the trustee, even if my handshake and focus were on the cute guy with the gun.

"I understand you're in charge of the circulation department, Miss Turner?" he asked in a voice that went with the looks.

"Please, call me Paige." The raised eyebrow look was one I had grown accustomed to. "Yeah, I know, my parents were comedians."

"Paige, I thought it would be best if you work with Harry — fill him in as much as you can on what specifically is missing, any clues, etc." Jo was grinning again.

"Sure, why don't we go downstairs and take a look at the, umm, alleged crime scene?" I suggested.

"After you," he said.

Mrs. Rosemont followed us out. "Now you listen to these ladies, young man,” she told him. “They run this place like a well-oiled machine."

"That's what I'm here for ma'am."

Oh yes, me and Mr. Wright, wandering about the fiction stacks together. Not a bad way to spend a morning. After pointing out different series that had been hit, I suggested we take a tour of the whole building. I started upstairs in the historical room. I introduced him to Susan, our reference librarian in charge of all the rare collections and briefly explained to her what he was there for. Her voice was so gentle he had to lean in to hear her, and I made a mental note to myself to try to speak more softly.

"Susan," he asked, "can you tell me if you've noticed any rare materials missing?"

"I haven't been tracking anything really, so it would be hard to tell unless it was something specific someone asked for and then I would notice. But this room is kept locked and I'm pretty familiar with any patrons who use it, primarily for genealogical materials. Lots of people in this town can trace their ancestry back to pilgrims and sea captains. It's a pretty popular hobby all around New England."

Oh for crying out loud, Susan, quit whispering, I said to myself.

"Perhaps you could take a closer look, particularly at anything you think would be highly valuable, and let me know if anything is missing?" Wright said as he handed her his card.

"Certainly, detective."

I brought him out to the main reference desk. Clarisse Thomas, our head reference librarian, seemed a bit put out, no, more like downright miffed when I explained the police department's involvement in the book thefts.

"Forgive me for sounding a bit negative, detective," she snapped, "but it seems a department heads meeting informing us of this turn of events would have been a more appropriate way to hear about it."

I knew I had to try to cover for Jo and quickly retorted, "Clarisse, we just left Jo's office, and I'm introducing Detective Wright to the entire staff, filling everybody in as we go. We're all anxious to get him involved in this as quickly as possible."

"How about your department, Ms. Thomas." Wright asked her. "Anything peculiar going on up here? Any areas being affected that you know of?"

"As far as I know everything is in order. You do realize the size of our reference and nonfiction collections, Detective? It would be extremely difficult to conduct any sort of thorough search. But I do believe the patrons who utilize our services are highly respectful of the materials we own."

"Well, judging by the books missing in the mystery section, someone is not very respectful of the library's materials."

"Forgive me sir, I was speaking of the reference collections only. I have no idea what is going on with the so-called "popular" materials downstairs."

We left the reference department and headed back downstairs to the main circulation area. "I'll need an employee list, Paige." Wright said.

"Why?" I asked. "You don't really think this is an inside job, do you?"

"Do you read mysteries, Paige?"

"Sure."

"Then you know most crimes are committed by someone relatively obvious. It's certainly the first place we have to look. I'll also make some calls to the local used book stores, see if anyone's been trying to sell stuff lately that matches up with your list of what's missing. And if you could do one more thing for me?"

What? I wondered. Have dinner with him? Get naked?

"If you could try to come up with a list of any patrons you might consider worth checking."

Oh that, sure, I could do that too.

That night I was doing my yoga and trying to contemplate the cosmos, when the position I was in only really let me contemplate my own naval. I had left my last yoga class when the yogi didn't appreciate me saying so far the only inner peace I'd achieved was a stray inner piece of lint in my belly button. I was sticking to videos until I really got the hang of the whole relaxation part. My mind was racing over the fact that Harry (I decided he wouldn't mind me calling him Harry) was interested in checking into all the employees. What if that 8th grade suspension really did stay on my permanent record? What if it turned out one of the librarians was a psycho serial killer who'd been stuffing bodies into book drops all across the country?

I started considering everyone on the staff, and tried to imagine each one, not as a mild-mannered librarian, but as a thief. The only one I kept coming back to was Clarisse. But that was probably just because I didn't like her. Clarisse had spent the better part of her career working in academic libraries. Academic and public libraries were two different universes all together. When her husband decided to retire by the ocean, he dragged her out of the city with him, leaving her to spend the rest of her employable years at a silly little public library.

I thought about the arguments she often started at budget meetings. It drove her insane, how much money was spent in the fiction department. It didn't seem to matter to her that most of our patrons were readers for pleasure, and not researchers. It also drove her insane that most people wanted to access our computers to check their email and not to scan the National Geographic database. But would she steal? I decided it was enough of a hunch to at least pass on to Mr. Broad Shoulders. I unfolded myself from my yoga position, which always seemed to amuse my cat, Abelard, and fished around in my purse for Harry's card.

"Hi Harry, it's Paige." I said when he answered. "Have you gotten anywhere with that employee list?" I wondered about myself, as I sat there almost excited over the fact that there would be a psycho killer I'd never suspected.

"A few things, nothing too serious. Why? Did you think of something?"

I took a deep breath, considering momentarily that I was about to rat on a coworker. "I have to say, for some reason, I just keep coming back to Clarisse. I think you were right, it doesn't make any sense for a patron to steal these books. Library books are worthless as far as money is concerned. By the time we stamp them up and tape them up and label them up, even if they were worth something originally, we pretty much destroy any chances of someone getting serious money for them."

"So why Clarisse?" he asked.

"If there's one person in the library who really can't stand our department it's her. You met her, you saw her demeanor, immediately defensive and everything. She also can't stand the relationships we have with so many of our patrons.This library is like a local diner for people. We have lots of regulars, people who have been coming for years. Customer service is one of our biggest concerns there, and it shows by the support we get from the community. I don't suppose you'd want to gossip about any possible crimes in her past?"

"I suppose it won't be a threat to national security if I tell you the only thing I could find on her were three false burglar alarms going off at her residence in the past year and a half."

Damn, I thought. "Well," (my mind was working overtime now) "what if, say, hypothetically speaking, her burglar alarm went off again, and we happened to be in the area when it did, could we hypothetically get into her house and check it out?"

"Paige?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You really do like reading mysteries, don't you."

"Well sure, you know deep down we're all secretly hoping to be junior G-Men."

"I guess I didn't really expect that from a librarian."

"Actually Detective, times have changed. I haven't worn my hair in a bun since 1992.... and Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Do you read much? I mean, besides autopsy reports and Most Wanted lists?"

He laughed at that. "In this town? I guess you know I'm not in the library much — I mostly read sailing and boat magazines as a hobby. Do you like boats?"

I pushed that major seasickness ferry episode to the back of my mind. "Who me? Born on the water, love it, positively love it. And you know...our periodical room has at least six boating magazines that I can think of off the top of my head. Wooden Boat, Boating, Sailing, Sail, Practical Sailor...."

"Okay, okay! I promise to get a library card ASAP."

"But back to the alarm thing...." I said.

"Paige, I do believe what you are considering is technically a felon."

"No, no, no - come on! She's a friend of mine! A coworker! If I accidentally tried to open her door. Okay, look, law man, forget I said anything. But just remember she lives on Alden Street, and Shore Drive runs perpendicular to Alden, and maybe you just might want to be cruising by tomorrow night around 9:30?" I could hear an audible sigh come through the phone.

"I'm forgetting everything you said after 'possible suspect with motive: Clarisse.' "

"Okay Harry, whatever you say."

We hung up and I smiled at Abelard. He'd laughed at least six times during that conversation. I hoped he'd laugh when he ran into me at Clarisse Thomas' house.

I hadn't crept around in sand dunes since my college days, but there I was the next night, making my way up from the beach to the back of Clarisse's house. Stairs ran up from their beach dock to the backyard and I cautiously climbed them. I had tried to rerun any conversations we'd had over the years and couldn't remember any relating to rottweillers or bull mastifs. I paused at the top of the stairs, crouched behind the fence that ran the length of the property and then let out a long, deep breath that would've made my Yogi proud. Keeping myself in a crouched position I ran toward the back of the house, almost certainly looking like a bad cartoon version of someone trying not to be seen. From there I inched my way over to the side of the house bordering Shore Drive, praying I'd see headlights. Within a few minutes I did, and I let out another slow breath. There were no lights on in the kitchen so I quickly climbed up on the deck, ran up to the french door and gave it a good quick yank. Nothing happened. I started shaking it harder, still nothing.

I heard a voice from within, "Is someone there?" Okay, all or nothing now.

I shoved all my weight against the door and felt it give just an inch. The alarm went off and scared me to death. It took me about 30 seconds to go flying off the deck, around the side of the house, and through the trees to the car waiting on Shore Drive. I flung open the door and landed, none too daintily I'm afraid, on the passenger seat.

"Paige Turner, fancy meeting you here." was all he said.

"Yup, just out doing a little jogging, but I think I'm ready for a drink now." We waited for a patrol car to pull up in front of Clarisse's house, and then pulled in behind him.

"Harry, is that you?" the officer asked. We both stepped out of the car. "Paige? What are you doing here?" It was Peter Manzavino, one of our regular patrons.

"Hi Pete. Harry and I were out on a date, actually, and saw you pulling in here. I work with Clarisse Thomas and was just concerned."

He smiled at Harry as if he understood Harry was trying to show off for me. "Well the Thomas alarm goes off on a somewhat regular basis, Paige. But please stay back at the car until I know it's okay."

At that moment Clarisse came to the door, looking a little shaken by my door rattling.

"Everything all right ma'am?" Pete asked as he approached her.

"I'm not sure, there was a noise on the back deck, could you please check that out?" I was willing her to look at me and she finally did. "Paige? Paige what on earth are you doing here?"

I took that as my cue to enter and signaled Harry to follow me. "Clarisse, it's just a coincidence but we were driving by when Pete pulled in. I wanted to make sure you were all right." She was standing with the door open and I didn't bother asking, I just nonchalantly made my way into her living room. Harry followed closely behind me.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm fine, really, probably just a raccoon or something. So you two are, seeing each other then?" She eyed Harry suspiciously.

"Oh, I guess it's not really a big secret, yes, we were heading out to dinner actually." As I chatted I was trying to wander deeper into the house without looking too obvious.

"There's really no reason for you to stay,” she suggested. “I'm sure Pete can check everything out."

"You can't be too careful, Mrs. Thomas." Harry said. "There have been break-ins along the beach recently. Would you like me to check the house for you while Pete is outside?"

"No, no, no, I didn't hear anything in the house."

Clarisse was getting very nervous. I casually made my way past the dining room toward the open door of her study. Clarisse nearly knocked Harry over in her attempt to block my path.

"Paige honestly, I'm fine, please, you two were going out -- don't let me ruin your evening."

It was too late.

"Clarisse, you aren't really doing some sort of furniture refinishing in your study are you?" I said, pointing into the room.

"What? Furniture refinishing? Of course not, why?"

I ignored her feeble attempt to block me and walked into the study. On a long console table was some sandpaper. "The sandpaper, Clarisse. I didn't think this was really the type of room to be sanding furniture." From my vantage point I could now look at the bookshelves that lined the walls of the study and started seeing very familiar authors and titles. I held out the sandpaper to Harry as I looked.

"Paige, I am really going to have to ask you both to leave now," she insisted.

“Sandpaper?" Harry asked.

"Sandpaper." I said. "Clarisse, enough is enough. You know I can see all of our books right here in front of me. You know I know what's missing. Parker, Grafton, Dexter...I'm just fascinated that the very titles that are missing seem to be the only ones you own." I turned my attention to Harry. "Sandpaper, Harry — very handy for making library stamps disappear."

He looked impressed. Well damn it, he should be impressed, I was impressed with myself.

"There's no proof these are library books, Paige!" Clarisse seemed close to falling apart now.

"But there is proof, Clarisse. “You see," I said, as I wandered over to the shelves and pulled off two of the items, "if you spent any time in our department you'd get to know our patrons better. Patrons like Mrs. Livingston, who's been using the town's libraries for over 50 years. About 20 years ago, she started having trouble remembering what books she'd read." I continued talking as I leafed through the pages of one of the books. "Rather than be bothered by writing every title down, she simply circled page 10 of every book she read in pencil. Well would you look at that...." I turned the book toward both Clarisse and Harry. "Page 10, circled in pencil. What do you bet I find other ones with the same mark?"

Harry went to find Pete. Clarisse sunk into a club chair in front of the bookshelves.

"Clarisse, why on earth were you stealing our own books?"

Her eyes flashed with anger and I realized regardless of what she said, jealousy was at the root of it. "Do you know how much damned money this town spends on this fluff?” she asked. “I can't get them to buy me a decent updated reference book, but they can afford six copies of O is for Outlaw. Every town meeting it's the same, we get the money which our esteemed director then turns around and squanders on all this trash. Well I was sick of it! I've spent over 25 years working with some of the top researchers in the country! This library deserves better! I knew if I could just break up these series, get people fed up enough, maybe they'd find their way up to the reference department and actually learn something."

"Clarisse, I read these books."

"Exactly Paige, and what have you learned?"

"I've learned how to stop kooky librarians from stealing them?"

Later on, Harry and I walked back to his car as Pete led Clarisse away to his cruiser.

"You know Paige, I was serious,” he said. “ Tomorrow morning, I'm going right down to that library and getting a card."

"Just be sure to bring a picture ID, Harry. We don't let just anybody in you know. And, tomorrow? Gee, why so fast?"

He smiled. "Well, my Most Wanted list suddenly only has one name on it, so I could use some other things to read. Maybe you could help?"

"That's my job, Harry. I'm a librarian. Guaranteed to increase circulation."

# # #

About the Author:

Carleen M. Loper is a circulation librarian in Duxbury, MA who writes a humor column in her library's quarterly newsletter and lives with her own Mr. Right (Jim) in Wareham, MA. No photos were available for this bio, as they are currently being held as evidence in a case involving a Glamour Shots photographer whose body was found in a dumpster.

Carleen doesn’t usually go public with her writing, but now that she has a taste of fame, she is sending her entire extended family out to buy Katy Munger, Sparkle Hayter and Lauren Henderson books in hopes of getting another shot at immortality....

In her spare time, Carleen is, well, absolutely fabulous, talented, amazingly funny... humble .... and guarantees to increase your circulation!

Read other Tart City short stories. . .