“Not everything.”
Ms. Peele scowled. “If you’re so determined in this pursuit, I can stay until you’re finished.” She waved an arm. “All these heavy boxes. And with your heart condition. You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”
“I’m fine. I can’t ask this of you, my dear. It’s All Hallow’s Eve. It was foolish of me to even begin this task so late. You go home. As I said, I have my own keys. Once done, I can secure the building.”
“Very well, but don’t forget to set the alarm.”
Ms. Peele motioned for Sharyn to accompany her out, but Sharyn nodded to the broken box. “Professor Wright, Ms. Peele is right. This isn’t a task you should be doing by yourself. I’m happy to stay. In fact, I’d love to be the first to see these new books.”
And that wasn’t her only reason.
It’ll be the perfect excuse to skip the night’s party.
“In truth, I could use an extra hand,” Wright admitted. “But perhaps—”
A cell phone rang in his pocket, cutting him off. He pulled it out, checked the number, then stepped aside. “Excuse me. I must take this.”
Ms. Peele drew Sharyn aside. “Your offer is very generous. And you should know you have nothing to fear in being alone with him. He is a most honorable man. Plus, his inclination leans not toward women, if you understand.”
Sharyn smiled at this attempt by the older woman—clearly from another generation—to be discreet. “Thank you for letting me know.”
The woman nodded sagely. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” She touched Sharyn’s arm. “But don’t let him keep you all night. You’re too young and pretty to spend Halloween cooped up in here.”
“If that happens, I’ll have those Exeter ghosts to keep me company.”
Ms. Peele patted her arm. “Ghosts don’t keep you warm at night, my dear.”
True . . .
This was something Sharyn knew all too well. She’d not had a proper date in more than a year, and it had been even longer since someone shared her bed.
Sharyn walked Ms. Peele to the strongroom’s exit and said her goodbyes.
As Sharyn closed the door, Professor Wright’s voice rose behind her, sounding both alarmed and angry. He was speaking German or some other Nordic language. All those hard consonants only accentuated his growing agitation.
Sharyn used this time to collect the boxed atlas and cross to the rows of white steel shelves, all hung on sliders, which could be wheeled apart by black winches on their sides. She checked the box’s catalog number and returned the atlas to its proper spot. Luckily, the location had already been left open after the book had been retrieved and delivered to the reading room.
Once done, she stepped out and found Professor Wright’s call had ended. He stood with his back stiff, his cell phone clutched at his side. His gaze stared a thousand yards off.
“Is everything okay?” Sharyn asked.
“No,” Wright mumbled. “Not at all.”
Sharyn inwardly winced. Maybe volunteering here had been a mistake. But she had committed herself.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
The professor shook his head, then his eyes focused on her, pinching somewhat. “Maybe...”
He turned and crossed to the broken crate. He retrieved the crowbar and pried off the damaged lid with three strong cranks. “It must be in this last box...”
She came over to assist him, but he held her off with a raised palm. He hurriedly yanked out books, parted cloth wrappings, while grimacing in frustration. Then finally he freed one book and ripped away its covering. His shoulders sagged with relief, but his hands shook.
“It’s here.”
He stared at the old volume for a long breath, then rewrapped it with some haste. Sharyn only caught sight of its dark cover and a glint of metal.
Wright stood and stepped over. With his eyes pinched, he stared at her, too long, enough to make her uncomfortable.
