Real Murders - [Aurora Teagarden 01] by Charlaine Harris

Author:Charlaine Harris [Harris, Charlaine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-12-27T07:00:00+00:00

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

I gladly left as Arnie Buckley began the uphill battle of making conversation with Perry.

With no enthusiasm at all, I slumped in a dreadful metal chair in the library conference room and heard the news that was already stale. Mr. derrick, with his usual efficiency and lack of knowledge of the human race, had already prepared the new duty charts and he distributed them on the spot, instead of giving everyone the chance to digest and discuss the new schedule.

I was down for Thursday night from six to nine, with Mr. Buckley penciled in tentatively as my volunteer; the volunteers hadn’t yet been asked individually if they were willing to work nights, though the volunteer president had agreed in principle. Mr. derrick was going to put an advertisement in the newspaper telling our patrons the exciting news. (He actually said that.)

“Going out with our new resident writer tonight?” Perry inquired smoothly when I returned to the check-in desk.

He took me by surprise; my mind had been firmly on work, for once.

“Yes,” I said bluntly, without thought. “Why?”

I’d let my distaste show; a mistake. I should have kept the surface of things amiable.

“Oh, no reason,” Perry said airily, but he began to smile, a smile so false and disagreeable that for the first time I felt a little afraid.

“I’ll take the desk now,” I said. “You can go back to your work.” I didn’t smile and my voice was flat; it was too late now to patch it up. For an awful minute I didn’t think he’d go, that the terrible gloom in Perry’s head made him utterly reckless of keeping the surface of his life sewn together.

“See you later,” Perry said, with no smile at all.

I watched him go with goosebumps on my arms.

“Did he say something nasty to you, Roe?” asked Mr. Buckley. He looked as pugnacious as a tiny old man with white hair can look.

“Not really. It’s the way he said it,” I answered, wanting to be truthful but not wanting to upset Lizanne’s father.

“That boy’s got snakes in his head, ”Mr. Buckley pronounced.

“I think you must be right. Now about this new schedule...”

We were soon busy again, and the surface of things was restored; but I thought Perry Allison did indeed have snakes in his head, and that his mother’s frequent calls at the library were monitoring visits. Sally Allison was aware of the snakes, frightened they might slither through the widening holes in Perry’s mental state.

Mr. Buckley and I were kept busy until closing time, with a spate of “patrons” of all ages, coming in to do schoolwork, returning books after they’d left work. Being busy made me feel more like myself again, more like there was a point to what I was doing.

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