1 Lindsey Norris, director of the Briar Creek Public Library, was seated at the reference desk gazing out the window overlooking the bay and the archipelago called the Thumb Islands. The large maple tree on the front lawn of the library was in its final stages of autumn vibrancy, and the leaves were dropping like colorful confetti every time the breeze coming in from the ocean stirred the tree's limbs. October was here, which indicated that shorter days were coming and winter would follow soon with fires in the fireplace and days spent reading while the snow piled up outside. Lindsey was more than ready for some quality binge reading. Bring it on. She glanced around the library, watching the comings and goings of the patrons and staff. She liked to pause every now and then and try to see the library from a visitor's perspective. Was the interior engaging? Did it invite people to linger? Were there plenty of the most in-demand items? How comfortable were the chairs? Lindsey considered all of it. Colorful displays of books greeted patrons when they first arrived, and seasonal ephemera decorated the windows. The library staff changed them out regularly to keep them interesting. Was the building clean? Yes, the town had an amazing cleaning crew, and the staff made it a practice to sweep through and gather materials left on the study tables several times per day. Was it friendly? Lindsey glanced at the first point of contact for patrons. The circulation desk. Ms. Cole, the head of circulation, was stationed at the desk. She was wearing a white blouse with navy slacks, which was a shocking departure from her usual monochromatic style consisting only of shades of blue, whether they were complementary or not. Formerly, Ms. Cole had been nicknamed "the lemon" for her puckered personality, but she'd mellowed over the past few years and was presently running unopposed in next month's mayoral election. Lindsey was resigned to losing Ms. Cole to her governmental duties, and despite the many ups and downs their relationship had endured since Lindsey's arrival, she knew she would miss Ms. Cole and her pragmatic ways. There was a steadfastness about her that was rare in employees these days. Still, as a lifelong resident of the town, with an unparalleled institutional memory, Eugenia Cole was going to make a fantastic mayor. Before Lindsey could get too maudlin, a scarecrow wandered past her desk, leaving a trail of paper leaves in his wake as a pack of children followed, collecting the maple, oak, and birch leaves with the excitement only a group of toddlers could bring to such an activity. Lindsey met the scarecrow's gaze, and he winked at her over the heads of the children. Aidan Barker, the library's temporary story time person, was dressed in patched overalls that sported big, brightly colored felt pockets sewn over the knees and bib, a flannel shirt, and a straw hat that perched on his head just off center enough to make him look friendly. The kids gathered the leaves and raced back to him, stuffing his felt pockets until they were bursting. A young boy who looked to be about three shoved a handful of leaves into one of the pockets on Aidan's knees, patted the flannel and said, "Here's your insides, Mr. Scarecrow." "Thank you, young man," Aidan replied. Then he did a little jig as if adjusting his leaves. The boy laughed and scampered off to find more. The child's mother smiled, carrying a sleeping baby in her arms, and said, "This is brilliant. Maybe I can get him to do some leaf pickup in our yard when we get home." The scarecrow tipped his hat to her as she chased after her son. Lindsey smiled and said, "Wild guess here. You're reading about scarecrows in story time?" Aidan said, "Correct. We're reading The Scarecrow's Hat, Scaredycrow and Barn Dance!" "The kids will love it," she said. She gestured to the big maple outside the window. "Perfect timing, really." "I hope so," he said. "My wife is a tough act to follow." Aidan was the husband of Beth Barker, the library's regular children's librarian who was out on an extended maternity leave with their newborn daughter Beverly, named for the beloved children's book author Beverly Cleary, who had recently passed. During Beth's final stages of delivery, there had been some labor-induced talk of naming the baby Ramona or Beezus, but Aidan had prevailed and Beverly won out. "How are Beth and baby Bee today?" Lindsey asked. In addition to being her children's librarian, Beth was also Lindsey's best friend, and while they talked often, Lindsey had been giving the new mother some space, mostly to rest around the rigorous nursing and diaper-changing schedule she'd been maintaining for the past few months. "Amazing," he said. "They're both just amazing." His voice held a note of awe. "But Beth is ready to get back to the library. I think she needs to talk to some grown-ups, use her creativity, and get away from the constant cycle of nurse, nap, poop, rinse, repeat." "We can't wait to have her back," Lindsey said. "Not that you haven't been wonderful, but . . ." "No, I understand completely," he said. "This is definitely Beth's space, and I am just a placeholder. Thank you for arranging a job share so she can come back part-time. I don't think she'd be willing to leave Bee otherwise, and this will give me a chance to be home with the baby while she works. I expect to level up my bottle-feeding and rocking-to-sleep skills." "I'm glad it worked out. And thank you for filling in for her story times. I don't think she'd trust anyone else," Lindsey said. "It helped that my library director is a new parent, too," Aidan said. "She gets it." Aidan was a children's librarian in a neighboring town, and he and Beth had met while performing dueling story times. When Beth went on maternity leave, Aidan's library director agreed to lend him out for the story times in Briar Creek until Beth was ready to come back. "Is there any chance we'll see Beth today for crafternoon?" Lindsey asked. "I know she read this week's book The Code of the Woosters by P. G. Wodehouse," he said. "So, she's planning to attend, but it's really up to baby Bee and the sort of day she's having." Lindsey nodded. "Understood." "Mr. Scarecrow, can we have stories now?" a little girl asked. Her hair was twisted into tight spirals on top of her head and held in place by hairbands sporting brightly colored flowers. She was trailing a very grubby and clearly well-loved blanket behind her. Lindsey squinted at it. She thought it might have been a nice shade of lavender at one time, but now it was a tired hue of pale gray. The girl's father followed her, carrying a bag that was already full to bursting with picture books. "Of course, let's go get started," Aidan said. Lindsey didn't think she imagined the relieved look on the father's face. He barely suppressed a grunt when he picked up the bag of books and hurried after his daughter, who was skipping toward the story time room. Aidan clapped his hands in a short pattern, and the children stopped what they were doing and clapped back. And just like that, they had gathered the last of the leaves and exited the main area of the library, leaving sweet silence in their wake. The quiet that followed their departure was short lived. "Hot dish. Hot dish. Coming through," a voice announced to no one in particular. Lindsey swiveled on her chair and saw Paula Turner walking through the main room of the library. She had two oven mitts on her hands and was cradling a casserole dish that was giving off steam. She was headed toward the meeting room where they held their weekly crafternoon sessions. "Go ahead, boss," Ann Marie Martin said as she joined Lindsey behind the desk. A former library assistant, Ann Marie had been promoted to the position of adult services librarian when she graduated from library school last spring. As the mother to two rambunctious tween boys, she considered this job her oasis from the chaos. "I've got the desk." "Thanks. I don't have any questions to turn over to you. Other than a visit from a scarecrow, it's been very uneventful." "I'll take that as a good omen for getting my adult programming calendar done, then." Ann Marie smiled. Quiet moments in the library, which was the center of their small community, were rare. Lindsey hopped up from her seat and hurried after Paula. She wanted to make certain the meeting room door was open for her since Paula appeared to have her hands full. "What's in the hot dish?" Lindsey asked as she caught up to Paula. "It smells amazing." "Sweet potato casserole with a crunchy pecan streusel." Paula glanced at her. "At that's just to start." Lindsey opened the door, and Paula entered the room. The table where the crafternoon members gathered to discuss a book, work on a craft and eat was fully loaded with food. It looked like a whole feast had been prepared. "You've been busy," Lindsey said. "Don't tell the others, but you are my test subjects," Paula said. She put the casserole dish on a trivet in the center of the table and tossed her vibrant orange braid over her shoulder. Paula dyed her hair with the seasons or her mood, whichever motivated her the most when she was getting it done. It had been a pumpkin shade of orange for the past month. "Test subjects?" Lindsey asked. She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. "My parents are coming for Thanksgiving, and my dad is a meat-and-potatoes guy," Paula explained. "Honestly, if there isn't a slab of dead animal in the center of the feast, he feels deprived. I'm hoping I can serve a fully vegetarian meal, and he won't be disappointed. Thus we have the sweet potato casserole, figs in a blanket, salt-and-pepper radish chips and cornbread, because cornbread goes with everything." "Agreed." Lindsey nodded. "You're a braver woman than me. I would never subject anyone to my cooking by hosting a holiday meal." Paula laughed. "Good thing your sister-in-law owns the Blue Anchor restaurant so you don't have to." "I married up," Lindsey agreed. She glanced out the window at the town pier, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, Mike Sullivan, known as Sully to his family and friends. In addition to piloting the local water taxi that serviced the residents of the Thumb Islands, he also ran a seasonal tour boat. The pier was empty, so she assumed he was out on the water. That was another reason she enjoyed winter, more time with her husband at home as his tour schedule diminished. "Are we late?" Violet La Rue asked as she and Nancy Peyton appeared in the doorway. As the retired Broadway actress she was, Violet entered the room dramatically in her usual flowing caftan with her silver hair held back in a bun at the nape of her neck. With her deep brown skin, large dark eyes and prominent cheekbones, she was a strikingly handsome woman, and people always turned to watch her when she crossed a room. Violet made every entrance look like a jaunt on the red carpet. "We can't be. We're never late," Nancy Peyton said. Short in height with wavy hair that was slowly turning from silver to pure white and sparkling blue eyes, Nancy was a "Creeker," meaning she'd been born and raised in Briar Creek and had never left. Widowed young, she owned an old captain's house on the water, which she'd converted into three apartments, one of which Lindsey had lived in when she first arrived in town to work as the library director. While technically senior citizens, both Nancy and Violet were incredibly active in the community. Best friends, they represented what Lindsey hoped she and Beth would be one day, growing old together and still getting up to shenanigans. They were also two of Lindsey's favorite residents and had been with the crafternoon club since the very beginning. Lindsey noticed that they both carried their tote bags with their latest craft project, which was crochet. She sighed. The only part of crafternoon that Lindsey didn't care for was the craft part. She was equally awful at all handicrafts, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't craft to save her life. The crocheted bucket hats they were working on were an exercise in torture. "Where's your project?" Paula asked, looking pointedly at Lindsey's empty hands. "Did you know Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse was called Plum by his friends and family?" Lindsey asked. "She's changing the subject," Nancy said to the others. "That means she's made a muddle of her crochet." "Who made a muddle of their crochet?" a voice asked. They all turned to the door to see Beth arrive, pushing a stroller. "Baby Bee is here," Nancy cried, keeping her voice soft in case the baby was sleeping. Any talk of crochet was forgotten as they all gathered round to admire the baby, for which Lindsey was grateful. She really didn't want to trot out the tangle of butternut squash-colored yarn in front of her friends. It was supposed to be a hat but looked more like an angry mitten. She joined the group as they gazed in wonder at Beth's little girl. At five months old, Bee was a pudgy butterball of unparalleled cuteness. She had her mother's dark hair and pert nose and her father's dimpled chin and pretty eyes. She blinked at them, not at all alarmed to have so many faces peering down at her. Beth unfastened the strap that secured Bee and hefted her out of the stroller. Nancy was there with her arms outstretched, and Beth handed her over, clearly happy to share. Bee gurgled at Nancy, who looked enchanted. Beth stretched her arms over her head and then sat on one of the sofas, looking content to rest for a minute. Nancy walked the baby about the room with Violet by her side, reciting sweet baby rhymes that had Bee mesmerized. "I knew it was a genius idea to read this week's book," Beth said. She watched Nancy and Violet and then wagged her eyebrows at Paula and Lindsey. "Now I can sit here and eat lunch without interruption for the first time in months." "I hope you like sweet potatoes," Paula said. "Love them," Beth assured her. "Lindsey, there's a man waiting for you out in the lobby," Ms. Cole said as she entered the room, clutching her crochet bag and a copy of this week's book. "Oh?" Lindsey asked. Ms. Cole appeared agitated, which was unusual for the normally unflappable librarian. Excerpted from The Plot and the Pendulum by Jenn McKinlay All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.