Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Noelle

A fter I send Farah off with instructions to spread the news that Nick Jolly will be appearing as Santa Claus this weekend, I settle behind the circulation desk and flip through the morning's messages. I have a private office—a nice one—but I'd rather be out here on the floor with my community, so I rarely use the director's space. I can't wipe the grin off my face at the thought of Nick putting on the Santa suit. Judging by the excited conversation and laughter of the library patrons, I'm not the only one. I hate that Ryan's mom's been injured, but if it had to happen, she picked a good time. And Lois is a tough bird. She'll bounce back.

I open the grant proposal instruction packet I've been avoiding all week. But the dry, technical language is no match for the distraction in my pocket. I surreptitiously slip my hand into my pocket and pat the clue to reassure myself that it's still there. What possessed me to tell Nick I'd wait for him to open it? I don't mind waiting to search for the next clue together, but I am itching to know what the clue is. Having this tiny temptation tucked into my pocket is torture.

I take the envelope from my pocket, place it on the desk, and return to the grant documents. But this is no better. If anything, it's worse. Clue No. 4 stares up at me, silently screaming ‘open me!' I flip it over. Nope, it's still distracting. Finally, I slide it under my coffee mug and will myself not to look at it.

The afternoon drags on. After three-quarters of an eternity, I estimate it's got to be four, almost five, o'clock. When I look at my watch and see that it's ten minutes after one, I groan. Loudly.

Over in the atrium, Brent Stillwater looks up in surprise from the chessboard where he's in the process of mopping the floor with his grandfather.

"Miss Winters, are you okay?" he squeaks.

Embarrassed by my outburst, I reassure the town's five-year-old chess prodigy that I'm just fine. I check my phone and see a text from Nick:

Suit needs work. Headed to Ariana's for alterations now. Shouldn't be long.

I text him back ‘ np ,' even thought it's not no problem. It's a big problem called impatience. Then I firmly remind myself that I'm happy that Nick is going to play Santa, he needs his costume to fit in order to do so, and the clue isn't going anywhere. This works. For approximately forty-five seconds .

Before I can second guess myself I snatch the envelope up from under the mug. If I slice open the envelope seal very carefully, I could read the clue and reseal the envelope. Nick would never have to know. Besides, this is my scavenger hunt. Nick's only tagging along to keep me company—or out of some misguided protective instinct. And, anyway, I'm not going to hunt for the clue without him. What's the harm in a sneaking a peek? It's no different from reading an excerpt of a novel before buying it or watching a movie trailer.

My mental gymnastics have just about convinced me to open the envelope when I hear my name being called from across the library. I drop it like it's radioactive and jerk my head up in time to see two of the three Field sisters heading toward me.

"Hi, Sage. Hi, Thyme." I greet them with a wide smile that I hope looks innocent, or at least not guilty, and maintain steady eye contact with them while I shove the clue back under my coffee mug.

"Hey, Noelle. Isn't it great that Uncle Nick's gonna play Santa for the festival after all?" Sage asks.

"Absolutely!" I chirp.

Thyme cocks her head to study me. "Are you wearing Merry's hoodie?"

"What?" I'm suddenly hyperaware of my borrowed clothes.

"Yeah, that's definitely Merry's. My mom gave it to her for her birthday last year."

Of course. Just my luck. My mind races. How do I explain that I spent the night at the cabin with their uncle without making it sound like I spent the night at the cabin with their uncle ?

Flustered, I blurt, "Your uncle Nick's helping me with the scavenger hunt. We went looking for a clue this morning. A hike was involved, so I needed to borrow appropriate clothes."

In a serious stroke of luck, the mention of the scavenger hunt distracts them from my attire. They both lean over the desk.

"Another clue? Catch us up."

Happy to oblige, I walk them through finding the clue in the coffee shop, which led me to the lake and Nick. Then I explain how we found the clue in the letterbox up by the waterfall (with a small conversational detour to give them a broad-strokes description of letterboxing). Along the way, they pepper me with questions, talking over each other with rapid-fire speech.

I'm halfway through telling them about the O. Henry clue at Alpine Jewelers, when a gigantic clattering noise fills the first floor. The crashing continues, seemingly endless, until, finally, there's an ear-splitting crescendo.

"Is someone playing cymbals?" Sage asks.

My blood chills as I realize what happened. I hold up one finger. "Wait for it."

Aaaand, there it is. An ear-piercing scream. The sisters instinctively drop into twin fighting stances.

"Will you excuse me? I have to take care of this."

Thyme puts a hand on my arm to stop me before I can dash. "Wait, real quick—Holly said there's a 3D printer here. Sage has this great idea for a party favor."

"Clem!" I point toward the chessboard, and Clemens Stillwater looks up. "Can you help Nick Jolly's nieces with the 3D printer? "

He gives me a thumbs up. "Gladly. The kid's trouncing me again, anyway."

I turn back to the sisters. "Clem is our makerspace expert. He'll show you how to use the printer."

Brent giggles and runs over while his grandfather gathers his things. "Come on, I'll take you to the Wonder Workshop. It's upstairs."

As Brent leads them toward the stairs, I race across the lobby and into the children's' wing. I screech to a halt in the middle of the hallway, where Sunny Min sits sobbing in a pile of hundreds of magnetic tiles.

I crouch beside her. "What happened?"

She takes a hiccuping breath, then wails, "Some man knocked over the ball run. And he pushed me down."

I wipe a tear from her cheek. "A man? You're sure he was a grown-up?" Sunny's only six, and she's petite. I'm guessing she means a bigger kid, possibly a preteen.

"A man," she confirms. "He had on a hat and sunglasses. I didn't see his face, but I bet it was a nasty, ugly one."

"He certainly has nasty, ugly behavior," I agree.

She surveys the wreckage. "Why did he do that? We worked so hard."

They did. Sunny and a few of her classmates have been adding to the run every time they visit the library for weeks. The contraption took up half the hallway and was a marvel of elementary school engineering that delighted everyone who sent a ball coursing through it. My heart aches for her and her friends.

"I'm sorry, Sunny. That's very unfair, and if he did it on purpose?— "

"He did!" She clenches her tiny fists.

"Okay. Let's get this cleaned up, and then I'll find him and invite him to leave."

She nods. We stack the tiles in the bins that line the wall, then head to the snack room, where a cherry popsicle takes the sting out of the destruction.

After a few licks, her trademark sunshiny grin returns and she sets her jaw in a firm, determined line. "I'm gonna start fixing the ball run, Ms. Winters."

"Yeah?"

"Yep." She gives me a nod. "Sensai Adam says an indomitable spirit is the warrior's greatest weapon."

I make a mental note to let the martial arts teacher know his lessons are sticking, then hold up my palm for a high five. "Go get it, girl."

She slaps my palm, then skips off.