Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

A COWARDLY FEAR OF KNOWLEDGE

Holly

I hum "Merry Christmas, Baby" to myself at my desk while I read a stack of cases involving unlawful trespass under Section 3705(c). To my complete lack of surprise, not a single case involves a box. I’m in my work groove, lost in concentration. So when my phone chirps, it takes me a moment to register that I have a call and another beat to realize it’s my cell phone, not my work line.

I dig my phone out of my briefcase and glance at the display, seeing that it’s Noelle.

“Hello?” I manage to pick up the call just before it rolls to voicemail.

“Holly, can you hear me?”

“Barely.” Her voice is nearly drowned out by loud, sustained shouting in the background. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the library. Hold on, I’ll go back inside.” The noise fades. “Better?”

“Yes. What is that racket? It sounds like someone chanting.”

“It is. That’s why I’m calling. There was a small group of protesters outside the building when I got here. They’ve grown since then.”

“Protesters?” I echo dumbly.

“Yeah, I think they’re here to support Vicky’s book ban plans, based on their signs and slogans. They’re from out of town, I think. I don’t recognize any of them and the library lot is full of cars with out-of-state plates.”

Tabitha’s prediction is coming true already, I think.

“How many are there?” I ask.

“Several dozen, now. They’re blocking the entrance and the kids can’t get in for story time. Here, I’ll send you a video.”

There’s a pause, then my email notification dings. I open the attachment she just sent and watch the recording on my laptop. A large group of people march in front of the library, waving signs that read “Protect Our Children,” “No Dirty Books,” and “Keep Filth Out.” They shout indistinctly as they picket the entrance.

“Did you get it?” Noelle asks, her tone low and urgent.

“Yeah, I’m watching it now.” The protestors’ faces are red and angry as spittle flies from their open, screaming mouths. On the screen Clem and Brent Stillwater appear in the frame, headed toward the doors. Clem stops, scoops up his grandson, and heads for the back of the building. The shouting continues. My stomach clenches, and I pause the video. I’ve seen enough.

“Did Clem bring Brent through the back entrance?”

“Yes, and after I let them in, I locked the doors. Holly, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want these protestors coming inside, but the library is a public place.” Her voice shakes.

I take a deep breath. I have to keep it together so I can help her stay calm.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll contact Judge MacIntosh’s chambers and explain what’s happening. Yes, these people have a right to protest, but they can’t block public access to the library—or the sidewalk for that matter. I’ll get an emergency order and come over to deal with them. You stay inside. Don’t confront the protestors. Call the county police and ask them to send someone to maintain order. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The relief in her voice is palpable when she thanks me.

I hang up and type furiously, my fingers flying over the keys, as I draft the emergency order. As far as I know, this group doesn’t have a formal connection to the case against Jack. So I feel no compulsion to give the district attorney’s office a head’s up.

Instead, I dial Judge MacIntosh’s chambers and quickly explain the situation to Roz. Then I email her the order and wait for her to call me back. I’m too keyed up to work.

For some reason, the first person I think to call is Jack. I don’t stop to question this impulse. Instead, I try his cellphone. The call goes to voicemail and I hang up without leaving a message. I resort to drumming my fingers on my desk.

As soon the phone starts to ring, I snatch it up. “H. Evelyn Jolly.”

Roz’s speech is rapid fire. “The judge just signed the order. If you swing by to pick it up, I’ll meet you down in the lobby.”

“I’m on my way,” I say, grabbing my keys and coat.

By the time I get the order from Roz and drive over to the library, the crowd has swelled to over a hundred people. Where are they even coming from? The entire town is booked solid with Christmas tourists. They have to be staying somewhere else. I drive past the library at a crawl and park in the alley behind Ivy and Merry’s place on Poinsettia Way. Then I sprint back to the library, praying I don’t slip on a patch of ice as I dodge groups of shoppers and an elf passing out candy canes near the jewelry store.

When I skid to a stop at the corner of the library, I spot Jack standing on the low retaining wall along the front of the building. His arms are crossed, his face tense, as he stares down the protesters. I pull out my phone and call Noelle.

“I have the order,” I pant. “Meet me in the parking lot.”

I round the building and arrive in the lot as she’s slipping out the back door. Behind her, Farah locks the door from the inside.

Noelle’s face is pale, her freckles prominent against her skin. But her green eyes blaze. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to serve them with the order. We’ll ask the police to help move them across the street.”

“The green space with the fountain and the benches?”

I nod. “It’s safer for them, and everyone else.”

She grabs my hand. “Thank you.”

We lock elbows and walk arm-in-arm around the side of the building. Then we squeeze up on the steps in front of the entrance to put ourselves between the library and the protesters. Jack swivels his head toward us. His eyes bore into me with a fierce promise to keep us safe.

My heart falters at the unspoken vow and my breath catches. I try to smile. I’m sure it looks more like a grimace.

“Who’s in charge here?” Noelle calls, her voice loud and clear, while I grip the railing and steady my emotions.

A man with close-cropped gray hair, wearing a leather bomber jacket that’s nowhere near warm enough for a Vermont winter, steps forward. “I am. James Woodlock. I lead the coalition of groups that organize under the national umbrella of Clean Books, Healthy Minds.”

I raise an eyebrow at the moniker but keep my expression neutral. Defusion is the name of this game.

“I’m Noelle Winters, director of this library, and this is our attorney, H. Evelyn Jolly.”

I take over. “The library welcomes community input. And though you folks don’t seem to be local, we recognize your group’s right to protest. But you can’t block public access to the library or the sidewalk. By order of court, you’ll need to move to the fountain courtyard across the street.” I gesture toward the space.

Woodlock starts to grumble, and I hand him the order. “It’s a matter of local ordinance,” I explain. “The county police will be happy to escort your group safely across the street.” I point behind me to Liza and Ned, who flank the front doors with their hands on their holsters.

The protesters behind him start up a chant, but he raises a hand to cut them off. They fall silent as he scowls down at Judge MacIntosh’s order. Then he looks up, casting a glare directly at Jack, who meets it with a hard look of his own. They lock eyes for a long moment, before Woodlock looks away.

He folds the order in half, sticks it in his jacket pocket, and turns to address his group. “A court order’s a court order. Let’s go.”

Ned and Liza stop traffic to let them stream across High Street to the courtyard, tramping through the slushy snow.

Noelle wraps me in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

I exhale, relieved Woodlock acquiesced without a fight, but I can’t relax. “I don’t think it’s over yet. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s just getting started.”

“I know, but at least the kids can get inside now. That’s the important thing.” She gives me a wan smile and walks inside.

Jack strolls over to join me on the steps and gives me an appraising look. “You handled them well. These folks aren’t usually so reasonable.”

“How do you know them?” I ask, curious.

“What do you mean?”

“That Woodlock guy—the look you gave each other. It seems like there’s a history there.”

He shakes his head and his shoulders tense. “It doesn’t matter.”

It matters to me. If he has a connection to these protesters, I need to know what it is in case it affects my defense. And, if I’m being honest, the evasion stings on a personal level, too. But before I can press him, Farah emerges from the library.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I say.

She waves a hand. “I’m doing a work experience this semester with Noelle. I have an idea to run by you. I could get my AP Literature class to stage a counter-protest where we read excerpts from banned books from the library steps. Would that cause problems? Noelle wanted me to ask you.”

I study the steps. “It’s a brilliant idea. Just make sure your group doesn’t block the entrance.”

“We can sit on the wall,” she points to the brick retaining wall where Jack had just been standing, “and get up one at a time to read.”

I give her a grin. “Perfect. It’s brave of you to organize this, Farah.”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s cowardly of them to fear knowledge.”

She looks at the group across the street for a long moment before she turns and marches back into the library with a determined gleam in her eye.

Jack and I watch her go.

“These fools picked the wrong small town to mess with this time,” he muses.

I glance across the street at the protesters, then back at Farah through the library window as she gestures animatedly while talking to Noelle. Maybe Jack’s right.