The Book Waitress Series Volume One (3 page)

“Good night, Derek.”

He hoped his smile put her at ease rather than creeped her out even more than she probably was. She’d been kind to wave off his misstep, but she probably thought him a total loser. Oh, well.
This isn’t Fantasy Island, and I’m not here to find love. I’m here to expose a satanic cult and hopefully save a child.

Chapter Three

What a day it had been! Camille reflected on the whirlwind that swept her up and had yet to drop her back down to earth. But now that the library had emptied of its patrons, she could stop and take a breath. She flopped into her chair and closed her eyes briefly. It was eight o’clock and she had about another hour of duties before she could go home. Or go back to the house that she would try to make a home.

This time of day at the library, she loved. The silence deafened, but brought peace. Reference materials needed re-shelving, so she checked them in and placed them on a cart to wheel about the stacks. A loud crash echoed through the empty expanse, and she nearly jumped out of her shoes. It had come from an area she had been to earlier, and she hoped it wasn’t what she suspected.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, she mustered her courage and stalked over to the aisle where the Devil’s Handbook Volumes were housed. This time, she couldn’t blame herself for knocking them off the shelving, and she couldn’t blame a stray mouse or rat either. This time, the books laid purposely open next to each other from one end of the aisle to the other. She cautiously approached.

“Hello? Hello? Anybody here?” she called out. Not sure whether she wanted an answer or not, she tip-toed over to the first book. As she picked up each successive book to put it away, she noticed, that on the opened page in each book, one letter was larger than any other.

“What the hell is going on here?” she muttered.

Her brain quickly sorted it out. GET OUT OF HERE! That’s what the letters spelled. Her heart fluttered, sending waves of electrical impulses across her back and arms. She would love to. Nothing would give her more pleasure than to go back to the home and library she loved. But a job’s a job, and she had a duty to go where her superiors placed her. On a personal level, she’d be damned if she’d let anyone intimidate her. Not anymore. Public school had ended years ago. She didn’t have to put up with this crap anymore.

“Whoever you are, I’m warning you. I’m not easily scared off. This is my territory, so I suggest you treat me with some respect.” She felt like an idiot talking when no one was obviously there, but she also had to consider that what had happened may not have been done by an actual person, but by something otherworldly. Oddly enough, her social awkwardness didn’t include interactions with things paranormal or supernatural. For many years, part of her voracious reading included all things fiction and non-fiction within the paranormal and supernatural genres. She believed in ghosts and spirits, both kind and malevolent. It appeared that a demonic spirit had welcomed her earlier and asserted itself just now.

Shelving the last volume, she returned to her cart. “Aw, now come on! Where have all the books gone?” She’d been about to put away a few volumes of Money magazine, so she looked on the shelf. “Huh.” It was there already. She rushed over to the next area, the shelf for Fortune magazines. “I’ll be damned.” Those books had been placed back in their places, as well. “What the
hell
is going on around here?”

She went through her list of books to be shelved, and each and every one of them had been put back and in the right place. In her estimation, she’d had an experience with one malicious entity and one nice one. Or there’s one spirit that’s mischievous and remorseful. Either way, it warranted a conversation with the other women to see if they’ve had similar encounters.

“Camille?” Startled, she spun around so quickly that her hair pin flew out and clinked on the floor.

“Oh, Susan, hi.” She bent down, searching for the hair fastener. “Drat. Where did that thing go?”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Here it is.” She walked a few paces and picked up the wooden stick. “My, but you have beautiful hair. If I were you, I’d keep those long curls flowing freely.”

“Oh, thanks.” Noticing her colleague’s short gray hair, she could see why. “It gets in the way, mostly. Susan, I’m glad you came down.”

“I was just gonna tell you that Nancy and I are leaving for the night. Here’s the key to lock up the place. This master key locks all three locks on the front and back doors.”

“There’s a back door?”

“Of course, silly.”

“Nancy’s only shown me my dungeon here. I haven’t seen the rest of the place.” She laughed. Susan didn’t.

“Oh, my. Yes. She can get pretty single-minded and forget her manners. Come with me and I’ll show you where it is.”

They climbed the stairs together and with each step, Camille went from wanting to share what had happened with the books to keeping her mouth shut. Warning flags were waving madly in her face. Susan, who lacked any sense of humor, chattered on and on about Nancy being a shrew. But she’d been there so long as supervisor, she didn’t think the workhorse would ever leave. Susan impressed her as a bit flighty with her gossipmonger ways, the sort that wouldn’t know a ghost if it smacked her in the face with ooze. She settled on keeping things to herself, for now, and hoped that tomorrow would be much less exciting.

“So here’s the back door. We usually lock it up first, then lock up the front on our way out. We alternate who stays to lock up. It was Caroline’s day to lock up, so that’s why we gave it to you. Why mess with the schedule? You know?”

“Right. Luckily, I only have a small bag to unpack anyway when I get back to the house.”

“Ooh, I don’t think Nancy or I took that into consideration. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, I’m rather surprised she called me in. I mean, in my estimation, there wasn’t anything dire that needed immediate attention. At least not in my area. A bit insensitive, if you ask me, not that you did, but if you were to ask, I’d tell you that. But I need this job, so I think I’ll just stop talking now.”

Susan stood with mouth agog.
As if she hasn’t heard worse from Nancy?
Camille didn’t think so.

“Well, have a good evening then settling in. See you tomorrow.” With pursed lips, she squeezed out a smile for Camille, then turned and left the library.

“What kind of freak show did you send me to, dear Lord?”

There was a reason Camille disliked people so much. The two people she’d have to work with supported it. People didn’t care about each other. They were ego-centric and narcissistic. She’d make sure to avoid speaking with them as much as possible. And then she’d find a way to get off this damnable island, back to where she belonged.

She trudged back downstairs to finish up her work. Just to be sure there would be no funny business she called out, “No more mischief around here tonight. You hear me, Mr. I Think I’m a Bad Ass? Go chase your tail or whatever you mean spirits normally do. But the nice one, I’ll call you Sweetie, you can stay and keep me company if you like.”

Shutting down the computers was next on her list of chores to be done before turning out the lights and leaving. But these intriguing experiences piqued her curiosity. What kind of history surrounded this place? What kinds of secrets lay buried within the walls of such a long-standing structure? Finding the answers to these questions would shed much light on today’s disturbances. She shut down all but one computer, hers, and got to work.

Her overstuffed backpack could wait, and the rest of her belongings were coming over in two days. She’d gotten lucky and her five boxes of “can’t-do-withouts” were able to be lumped in with some other goods on a moving van. Nancy would have to do without her for a day. Poor thing.

When she typed in the library’s name on its catalog’s search, nothing came up. No books, magazines, or newspapers. She opened another tab and searched the internet. “Whoa, talk about a history,” she muttered. A page’s worth of articles popped up. A mixture of amazement and annoyance tangled within her. “Now, that’s odd. Why doesn’t the library have anything, but the internet does? Sweetie, are you thinking what I’m thinking? This here library is censoring itself. What exactly is it trying to cover up?”

Camille stared at the screen, flummoxed. No wonder Shelter Island Library purposefully kept its name out of its catalog. A murder/suicide happened in the basement! That could definitely spell disaster for business. Seems a couple of librarians, John Stalworthy and Betina Graves, were both married to other people and conducted an illicit affair for months using the basement as their hideaway. He wanted them to divorce their spouses so they could marry each other. She didn’t. He went psychotic, killed her, and then shot himself in the head. She died instantly while he lingered on for a day before letting go and joining her in death.

“Wow, Sw…Betina. I’m so sorry it ended this way. I’m figuring it’s you helping me out here. And I guess the scary jerk is John. Well, don’t worry. You have a friend in me. As for John, he better watch his manners from now on or I’m gonna get someone to come and shoo him away for good.”

Strangely, she felt a pressure on her left shoulder, as though someone had given her a reassuring pat. “Jesus!” She gasped and bounded out of her seat, brushing off whatever had touched her. “Putting books away for me is one thing. Touching me, now that’s something else completely.” Sticking an authoritative finger in the air, she wagged it angrily. “Don’t ever do that again. If you understand me, make some kind of sound.”

Three light taps immediately followed her request. “Holy mother of….” She twirled around a couple of times, trying to locate the sound, but couldn’t. “I think it’s time for me to head on home now. Yes, that’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll just turn off my computer, the lights, and I’m outta here. This is just nuts. Lots to digest in one day. Lots.”

Not waiting for her screen to go dark, Camille turned off all the lights and dashed up the stairs to lock the back door. She turned off the lights for the main level and locked the front door. The air outside was a subtle mixture of warmth and then sudden cool breezes. She breathed it in and slowly let it out, forcing the tension to release her body from its stranglehold. What had she stepped into with this transfer? Nobody warned her about Nancy. No one bothered to mention the murder in the basement or its ghosts. Didn’t
anyone
have the least bit of loyalty or compassion?

Walking back to her house, she found she wasn’t alone on the streets. Couples and singles were out having a stroll, walking their dogs, or shedding their calories from dessert with jogging. She supposed she might become one of them soon. Exercise and good health were important to her. Her only vice were McDonald’s French Fries. She laughed out loud as she recalled trying to persuade her professor to allow a study be conducted on the addictive nature of those beastly things. Of course, she’d said no, but Camille remained convinced that a secret ingredient held the key to her addiction.

Finally at her doorstep, she opened the door with her key and slunk inside. Tossing her purse and keys on the little foyer table, she threw herself onto the couch. The cushions slowly absorbed her body, creating a cocoon-type effect. Just what she needed. A hug at the end of an excruciatingly difficult day. A grumbling, gurgling sound reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime.
This schedule sucks! I must demand a dinner break be worked into the schedule tomorrow.
It’s how her old library operated, and it’s probably a labor law anyway. If need be, she’d look it up.

For now, she needed to find food. This island wasn’t about Pizza Hut or McDonald’s. It was all quaint places to meet and eat organically grown foods. The mainland could keep the commercialism and
fast food chains. Remembering the small grocery store she passed on the way from the dock, she thought about going back out. She mulled it over long enough that she fell asleep on the couch.

Chapter Four

“You really should be nicer to her, you know.” Susan cracked her window open slightly and fresh air rushed in.

“Susan, I want her outta here like we got Caroline out. The less people around the better. We don’t need a nosy busy body with a fresh set of eyes in this place and you know it. No, if I make it very uncomfortable for her she’s bound to leave.”

“He sees things differently. Aren’t you afraid he’s gonna find out you’re trying to give her the boot behind his back?”

“We have a difference of opinion right now. We’re not seeing eye-to-eye on the future and what our next steps ought to be, but he’ll come around.”

“And what if he doesn’t? You could find yourself in a heap of trouble for meddling in his affairs. He has plans for this one, Nancy. She’s different than the others. You do anything to mess that up and he finds out, you’re dead meat and meeting Satan personally.”

“Well, that won’t happen, now will it? Not if you keep your big mouth shut about it.”

“I told you a million times I won’t say a word. But don’t you think we’re starting to draw attention to ourselves? I mean Camille is the third librarian they’ve shipped over. Can’t you tell them we’re fine with just the two of us?”

“That’s not how it works. Certain size libraries get a certain amount of librarians. No, we’ll just have to beat the system. We need to make her so unwanted and uncomfortable that she leaves by week’s end. Can you handle that? Because all I’ve seen you be is nice.” She reached out and seized the older woman’s arm. “Nice doesn’t get her to leave, Susan. Mean and obnoxious and ruthless does. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Nancy released the hold she’d had on Susan’s frail arm and returned it to the steering wheel as she pulled up to the curb by their house. “Good, go inside and think up all the mean things you can say and do tomorrow to make her day utterly miserable. Channel the bitch I know is inside you. I’ll see you when I get back. I have some errands to run. Ha! Already I have some wicked things in mind for her.” She smacked her hands together and smirked.

***

Some point during the night, Camille woke and dragged her weary body up to her bedroom. Just before crashing again, she’d set her alarm and now regretted that decision. Its obnoxious beeping earned it a toss across the room. She didn’t have to be at the library until 1 pm, but wanted to get herself set up before leaving for work. At the moment, though, her stomach ached from hunger. First on her agenda this morning, shop for groceries! Shuffling to the bathroom, she made a mental to-do list.

Buy food and necessities. Eat, dust, vacuum, wash the dishes and cups, and read.
She couldn’t go a day without reading something. With last night’s encounter still fresh in her mind, non-fiction paranormal took hold of her heart again. It irritated her this morning that she freaked out. How many people could say they’d interacted with a couple of ghosts? Not too many, she was sure. Instead of running out, she should have stayed and interacted with them
more.
The things I could have possibly learned from them
.

Showered and changed, she sprinted out the door and headed straight for the store. It took all of five minutes to walk there. She’d wind up in the best shape ever from all the walking she’d be doing while on the island.

Never had shopping been such a pleasure. It could have been her hunger talking, but they had everything she needed and it all looked scrumptious. Before she knew it, her cart was filled.

“Would you like help out to your car?”

Her fantastic shopping trip just went down the toilet. She thought briefly to drive her car to the island, but something about keeping it in her driveway at home solidified in her mind that this transfer would be temporary. And when she found out how close everything was to each other, it seemed silly to bring her car only to drive a minute down the road. However, she didn’t anticipate the shopping. How would she get her groceries back to the house? Call a cab? Possibly, but that would be silly as she lived just down the street. Maybe, they would let her wheel the cart home if she promised to give it back.

“Um, actually, I don’t have a car. Quite frankly, I don’t know what I should do. Do you think maybe I can walk the cart to my house and return it? I only live down the street a bit. A five minute walk.”

The cashier gave her a strange look, as though people didn’t ask that question all the time. She didn’t think it ridiculous at all to borrow the cart for a short walk home.

“I’ll have to ask my manager. I’ll be right back.” As she walked over to Customer Service, Camille leaned against the stack of bottled water and stared at her forlorn cart of groceries. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave here without you.”

“Are you talking to your food?” Derek asked as he ambled over to her with a few bags in his hands.

“You know what they say about people who talk to their food, don’t you?” She walked over to her cart and pulled out a box of Goldfish from one of her bags.

“No, what?”

She tore into the box and shoved a handful of crackers into her mouth. “They’re hungry.”

Derek chuckled. “Good one. Are you waiting for someone or are you just exhausted from the shopping workout you’ve had? Geez, I don’t think I’ve seen a cart so loaded since I lived with my parents.”

“Are you calling me a pig, Derek?” She stared him down with a look she’d patented years ago. The look that said, “Gimme your best shot. I’ll still win.”

His eyes widened and he waved her off. “No! No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought that’s a lot of food for one person and….”

She rested a hand on her hip. “So you’re calling me a hoarder now?” His face, as pale as it had been, turned even whiter.

“Oh, God! This conversation has gotten way out of control. I’m sorry. I….” She couldn’t hold her laughter in any longer.

“I’m busting your chops, Derek. Relax.”

He hung his head and then looked up at her with a sparkling gaze and a dimpled grin.

“Nice, Camille. Real nice.”

“Hey, when you got it, you got it.”

“And you got it all right.” They laughed together, and she completely forgot why she had been standing amongst the cases of water.

The cashier returned to refresh her memory. “I’m sorry, but store policy is the carts have to stay here.” She didn’t wait for Camille’s response, but instead, returned to her register.

“That bites.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, trying to come up with another solution.

“What’s the matter?”

“I left my car on the mainland, thinking I wouldn’t need it for anything. Well, here’s ‘anything’, and I need it. How am I going to get these groceries home? A cab is just silly. I only live down the road a bit.” She took another handful of crackers before she fainted from hunger.

“I got my car right outside.” He jiggled his keys in the air. “I’ll take you and your groceries home.”

“You would do that for me? But you barely know me.”

“Your name’s Camille. You’re a librarian who loves having a stocked kitchen. I can tell that if you don’t eat something substantial soon you’re gonna keel over. Come on. No more talk. Let’s get you home and fed.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind. Probably the kindest person I know.” She smiled, and if her belly could smile, she knew it would have, as well.

In no time at all, he wheeled the cart out of the store, loaded all the bags into his bright orange Chevy SS, and drove them back to her house. He amazed her at every turn. The man even took the bags into her house. His parents had taught him well.

As she put the groceries away, she had a brilliant idea. “Can I offer you a freshly made lunch for your efforts?”

“That would be great. I could use something right about now.”

“Super. I’m ravenous, so the quickest thing to make is peanut butter and jelly. You okay with that?”

“More than okay. I love PB and J. Throw me the bread and I’ll make it for us.”

Wondering what she’d done to deserve the star treatment, Camille observed as Derek slathered one piece of bread with a heaping of peanut butter, and spread the jelly on the other slice. Her mouth watered. She learned immediately that care and precision were not his strong suits in the kitchen.

“Do you cook a lot at home?” she asked, fighting against her instinct to stay aloof.

“Not really.” He handed her a thick sandwich oozing with the delectable spreads. “It’s hard to when I’m out investigating. But while I’m here on the island, it might be easier. Now, PB and J doesn’t qualify as cooking, but it’s all I got in me. I hope you like it. If not, feel free to reassemble.” He fixed another one for himself.

***

Derek watched Camille plunk down at the kitchen table, moaning and groaning over the most meager of meals as though it were lobster dripping in butter. He shook his head and sat down across from her. He thought he’d wrecked everything earlier at the store. Pieces of his foot were still being extracted from his mouth. Her humor delighted him. He may not have caught on to her jibing, but he’d be ready for it the next time.

“So what are you investigating? You said you were doing ‘important work.’” She licked at the gooey mixture as it oozed out the sides.

“Ooh, I kinda wish you hadn’t remembered that pompous remark. Sorry about that. Sometimes my words sound right in my head but wind up making me look like a horse’s ass.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m socially awkward and have an intense dislike of people. And why I just said that, I have no idea. See, there I go, being socially awkward.” She closed her eyes, dropped her head in her hands, and sighed. He patted her arm.

“Hey, it’s okay. I assume, and happily so, that I’m not one of those who you intensely dislike since we’re breaking bread together. So you’d like to know what I’ve been doing, eh?”

“Yes! I would love to know what’s got you focused for so many hours.”

“Well, recently, a child’s gone missing from the island. The leads are cold except for one. I’ve discovered that a satanic cult, The Mission, used to operate on this island a long time ago. Supposedly, they were shut down about forty years ago, but who really knows. Other children who lived here have vanished. From what my research is telling me, there’s a pattern. Every six years a child goes missing. The first case dates back thirty six years.”

“Oh, my God, that’s horrible. Have any of the children been found?”

“Nope, and the police are no closer to finding out what’s happened now than they were all those years ago. I’m convinced the cult is alive and active. I believe the kids have been kidnapped, trafficked, or sacrificed in some satanic ritual. I don’t know, but I’m convinced they’ve been used somehow by this cult. That’s why I’m on the island. I’m here to find out for certain. I need to discover where they used to conduct their meetings. I’ll be interviewing families, and then stuck in your library for a while, pouring over newspapers and anything that can help me figure this mystery out before the current child, Zachary Michaels, disappears forever.”

“I’ll help any way I can at the library. But there may be a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve come across a mystery of my own. It involves the library censoring information about a murder/suicide that took place in the basement there many, many years ago. Documentation can be found on the internet, but not in this library. Who’s to say if the library has everything you’ll need?”

“Fascinating and disturbing. I guess they figured it would be bad publicity to keep information on it. But news is news and that’s censorship all right. Wow! Wonder what else, if anything, has been going on down in that basement.”

“I’m wondering if I should tell you the rest of it.” She squinted at him as though sizing him up, evaluating whether or not he could tolerate hearing what she had to say.

“Well, you wondering out loud is teasing my curiosity, so out with it already. I think I have a pretty open mind.”

She lowered her voice. “There are spirits in my department.” She paused and waited, he supposed, for him to react. But he really had no reaction as of yet.

“Go on,” he urged.

“One I think is malevolent and the other seems sweet and helpful. I believe them to be the couple involved in the murder/suicide all those years ago. And now, I’m sure you think I’m absolutely off my rocker.” She stood and walked toward the front door. “It was nice talking with you but I’m used to this routine. Thanks for the lift. Don’t forget your bags. I’ll see you at the library.” She opened the front door with a defeated look on her face.

“Whoa, hold on.” He chased after her and gently closed the door. “First of all, don’t speak for me. I do a pretty good job of it all by myself, minus the semi-frequent hiccups. Secondly, what makes you think I don’t believe you? I’ve read and seen enough to know there’s something beyond this earthbound world. There are paranormal events that can’t be explained so easily. So if you say there are spirits, there are spirits. I’d love to meet them. Hopefully they’ll come out to play while I’m there.”

She threw him a skeptical glance. “I’m impressed. I didn’t take you for an open-minded kinda guy. My apologies.” She sat back down at the table and grabbed a bag of chips. He followed.