Worn out & an excerpt!

      I'm beat. Tired to the bone, but I got a lot done this weekend. I'm not back to my old energy level, but at least I didn't spend the whole weekend asleep. I did laundry, housework (even dusted!), lawn work, two play rehearsals, one community theater board meeting, filing, wrote and printed patron letters for the ticket mail-out, printed labels for patron drive, etc. I didn't get done all that I wanted, but I'm not sure if I could have completed my list even if I wasn't dealing with all these health issues. So I feel tired, but pleased.
      The play is going well. The actors are growing into their parts. This week I will try to help them polish their characters as well as add some bits of physical action. I wish we had two more weeks of rehearsal, but we open May 16, and that's that.
      I used CafePress.com to make a T-shirt for the play. Most of the cast ordered one. I hope they get here before the play. Every bit of advertising helps. Although I really thought they would make good souvenirs more than anything else. Next up, I need to write the publicity story for the local paper and take a publicity photo of the cast. And send out a newsbrief to the radio stations and the cable local access channel. And design and get printed the program. And collect the sound effects and get them onto the computer. All of this has to take place this week.
      Next Tuesday (May 15) I attend my first diabetes management class at the local hospital. I'm hoping to learn a lot there. I'm still groping in the dark on this. I'd like to feel more confident in my food choices and my diet. I'm determined to get this under control.
      I'm going to go to bed now. Have a great day tomorrow. And although I said I wouldn't, it's my blog and I'm going to post an excerpt here anyway! Try to endure it gracefully. In this excerpt, Bernard drops by the library at night; he soon discovers it's not one of his better survival decisions. Pleasant dreams.

Excerpt 4.3 from Murder by Dewey Decimal
Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

      "You don't have to rush off so early," Dolores Wyatt said.
      "I'm really tired, and I have a lot to do at the library," Bernard said, rising from a chair in the Wyatt's living room.
      "I guess being the Head Librarian is keeping you busy, especially since Agatha hadn't been doing her job very well," Michael Wyatt said as he put his arm around his wife.
      Sherry was sitting on the floor near her mother and father and smiled up at Bernard. "Mom would probably let you have more of that cake if you asked her nicely."
      "Tempting offer, but I've got to go," Bernard said. "Thank you for the meal. It was delicious."
      "You're always welcome, Bernard," Dolores said. She rose and headed for the kitchen. "Mike, if you would help me, I think we could get most of the clean-up done tonight, and I wouldn't have to worry about it tomorrow."
      Michael rose with alacrity. "Be right with you, dear." He shook Bernard's hand. "It's been good seeing you again, Bernard. Don't be a stranger." He promptly followed his wife into the kitchen and closed the door behind him.
      "Obvious exit, if I've ever see one," Sherry said, smiling.
      Bernard laughed. Slowly the smile left her face. "You know, Daddy was very upset with me when we broke up. Of all my boyfriends, he liked you the best. He thinks I made a mistake."
      Taken aback, Bernard couldn't think anything to say.
      She looked up at him. "Why don't you stay and talk for a while?"
      Bernard sat back down, and they talked for a hour or so more. Or actually he listened as she told him in exhaustive detail about a clerk in some store who had attempted to convince her that burnt orange was really her color. While she talked, Bernard watched the lights glisten off her auburn hair. He studied the shape of her face as if he was seeing her for the first time. Her perfect blue eyes, the expressions she made as she imitated the clerk, her quick gestures, once he had been content with simply being with her. To his surprise, he found himself stifling a yawn.
      Finally, he stood. "I've simply got to go and get some sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open."
      "I had no idea I was that boring," Sherry said with mock dismay.
      "You know that's not it," he said, wondering if it was. "I've not been getting enough sleep lately with all this stuff going on."
      "You shouldn't worry so much," she said as she walked him to the door and then paused at the threshold.
      "You're right. Thank your parents again for me, and thank you for inviting me," he said. He was outside and at his car before he realized she had been waiting for him to kiss her good night. The door was already closed. Stupid, I missed a chance, he thought, but for some reason, he couldn't really get worked up about it. Too tired, he decided.
      Bernard drove home, his mind drawn back to Lisa's and his conversation early in the day. What did she expect me to say? he wondered. I don't know how I feel about her. I like her, but I don't want her making decisions about her life based on our relationship -- whatever it might be. Things go wrong all the time. Look at Sherry and me. And after what Sherry had done to him, he didn't think he would be ready for a deep relationship for some time -- supposing, of course, he and Sherry were finished.
      A few days ago, he had no doubts that their relationship was over; now, he wasn't sure. Since that day in the library, he had eaten dinner with her family twice counting tonight, and she had called at least once every day. He couldn't decide if Sherry was attempting to start over or was just trying to be friendly. After all, she might have hesitated at the door because she was trying to avoid kissing him, not because she wanted him to. He wasn't sure how to interpret her actions anymore.
      And he didn't understand his either. Barely a week ago he would have given anything to have Sherry back, and now he wasn't sure how he felt about her. Can a person change that much in a week? he wondered. And where does Lisa fit into my life? Is she a friend or something more?
      It occurred to him that he had not mentioned the meals or the calls to Lisa. And why should I? he asked himself. It's not like I'm two-timing anyone. But it still bothered him that he hadn't.
      As he passed the library, he turned in on an impulse. I've been wanting to read that new Carolyn Hart book, and maybe it will get my mind off all this.
      He walked to the doors, unlocked them and entered, still wrestling with Lisa and what she represented. He flipped on the lights and walked back to the shelves. He found the book quickly and noticed a small 'a' adorned its spine. Millie and the other library aides had no idea what the 'a' meant. He would have dismissed it as simply an outdated classification except it appeared on the most recent books also, apparently inked in by Agatha herself.
      He checked the book out and flipped the lights off. He stopped dead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a thin strip of light from beneath the door to Agatha's office. He caught his breath. Was someone -- the murderer -- in there? Could the police have left the light on? Yesterday morning, Sims had told him that the office could be cleaned and used again, but Bernard hadn't got around to telling the new janitor yet. The yellow police banner still hung across the door, not that it would keep people from simply going underneath it if they wanted in the office.
      Bernard listened intently. Suddenly the air conditioner clicked on, its humming sounding like a tornado to Bernard's over-sensitive hearing. He started, nearly dropping his book. He swallowed. Should he call the police? He'd feel ridiculous if no one was in the office. Still, wouldn't it be better to be ridiculous than dead? He gave himself a mental shake. He was letting the events of the past few days make him paranoid. He flipped the library lights back on and walked over to the office door. He pulled the police banner down and turned the doorknob. The light in the office went out!
      Bernard stumbled back, panicked. Someone was in the office!
      Backing into the circulation desk, Bernard suddenly realized he was a perfect target. He scrambled over the counter, his feet knocking pencils and papers everywhere. The phone crashed to the floor. He grabbed it and dialed 911.
      "Emergency services."
      "Get the police over to the library now!" Bernard said, whispering.
      "Sir, you'll have to speak up; I can barely --"
      "Get the police to the library now," Bernard said. "This is an emergency. Someone has broke in. I think it may be the murderer!"
      "Sir, just stay calm. Your call is being relayed. Who is this?"
      "Bernard Worthington. Please send the police."
      "Help is on the way. Are you in any danger now?"
      "I don't know."
      "Can you leave the building safely?"
      "I don't know. I'd have to go past whoever is in there," Bernard said.
      "Don't chance it. Stay put. Help is on the way. Do you know if the intruder is armed?"
      "No."
      The dispatcher continued to talk to him, but Bernard was no longer listening. He thought he heard someone move in the office. Cautiously, he peered around the corner of the counter.
      He couldn't see anyone, but the office door was slowly opening!
      He pulled back.
      "Sir, are you there? Sir --"
      "I'm here," he whispered. "Where are the police?"
      "They're on their way. Where are you at in the library?"
      "I'm behind the circulation desk. In the lobby." And he was still there when Sims and another officer, guns in their hands, entered the library.
      "Bernard," Sims called softly.
      "I'm here," Bernard said.
      "Has he left the office?" Sims asked.
      "No." Bernard said.
      "Okay, you stay there and keep your head down."
      I think he's enjoying this, Bernard thought. He carefully glanced around the corner of the desk and watched as Sims and the officer slid along the wall to Agatha's office.
      "This is the police," Sims said. "Come out with your hands up."
      Silence.
      Two more officers came in and took up positions around the lobby.
      Sims slowly reached around the doorway and turned on the lights in the office. He jerked his hand back. Nothing happened.
      "I'm going in," Sims told the officer. He crept around the doorway, crouched over. Absurdly Bernard thought about the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He waited for a shot or a shout or some noise, feeling the tension in his shoulders.
      Sims came out of the office. He looked both disgusted and relieved. "There's no one here. Bernard, are you sure no one came out?"
      "Yes, he would have had to come right past me." Bernard got up, went over to the office and looked inside. It looked the same as when he last saw it: trashed. "Did you check behind the desk?"
      "Yes," Sims said curtly and turned to the other officers. "Why don't you guys look around outside and then go call in."
      The officers holstered their guns and left.
      "The windows?" Bernard asked with a sinking feeling.
      "Both locked."
      "Someone had to be in here because the lights went out when I touched the door," Bernard said.
      "Maybe it has a short." Sims flipped the light switch up, the lights went out, flipped it down, the lights came on. He repeated the action a few times. "Doesn't seem to be anything wrong."
      “But the door opened,” Bernard said.
      “You must have turned the knob,” Sims said. He looked at Bernard's stricken face and sighed. "Hey, don't take it so hard. You've been through a lot this week. It's no surprise you're a little edgy. Why don't you go home and get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
      "I guess you're right. I'm sorry about this. It's just when the light went out, I thought ... well, never mind." The worst thing, Bernard thought, is that I won't die of shame.
      Sims helped him pick up the scattered papers and other items Bernard had knocked into the floor earlier.
      "I've got to get back on patrol," Sims said.
      "Why are you working tonight?" Bernard asked as he turned the library lights out. "I thought you were on day shift."
      "I am, but I'm covering for Philip Owens this week. He's on vacation. Nice guy but really crazy about deer hunting."
      Bernard locked the doors and walked to his car, only half-listening to Sims. He felt like a fool. And he knew that the story would be all over town tomorrow. With my luck, Lisa will sell it to the Dispatch. At least I won't be here much longer. He remembered the Carolyn Hart book. He had left it on the circulation desk. It's just as well, he thought. I don't think I feel like reading a thriller right now.
      Sims waved and drove off. Bernard paused at his car door and looked back at the Ryton Memorial Library. In the darkness, its turrets, tower and Gothic trimmings gave it an evil air that a haunted house would envy. Bernard couldn't suppress a shiver.
      He drove home, thinking of unsolved murders, undefined relationships and unexplained lights.
      In the dark and quiet library, the office door closed firmly.

End excerpt. Copyright 2007. All rights reserved. No copying or downloading without express written permission.