Fiona's Knight of Dreams
The good ladies of 1947 Timber are ready to find a wife for their new single minister. Charles has ideas of his own when he meets Fiona, the lovely accident-prone and outspoken part-time librarian. Fiona, on the other hand, is holding out for a knight on a white charger to carry her away from her humdrum small town life. Fiona and Charles are thrown together as they begin to solve an old mystery which has turned up in a library book. Will Fiona's white knight ever show up to sweep her away? Will Charles ever run out of invitations for cream cakes and lemon slice? Fiona might just discover the sound of hoof-beats when she least expects it.
No sooner had Charles Redpath entered her thoughts than he entered the library.
"Finished your books already? You must be a fast reader."
"Well, I discovered I'd already read the Perry Mason and the book on Revelation was a little too much on the dry side."
"Funny, I thought Revelation was the one preachers used to scare the congregations. I never thought of it as dry. But then any book of sermons might take a little work to get through. I mean if you have to listen to one on Sunday mornings, why would you.." she broke off and put her hand to her mouth to stop any more words escaping. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean…"
"Oh I know what you meant." She looked up expecting to see an expression of censure or hurt or disapproval, but instead Fiona could swear his eyes were twinkling, very nice brown eyes with a definite twinkle. Now why did she think that?
"Sunday sermons are an occasional requisite for spiritual guidance," he said, “but a little can go a long way. On the other hand, mine sometimes have a certain soporific value."
"Not if you're preaching them on Revelation," she retorted.
"Good. Your smile is back." He held out the book of sermons, "Actually I wanted to show you something in this one."
She looked at the book suspiciously. Was she wrong in her evaluation? Was he going to start giving her a private lesson in the scripture?
He shook the book and two envelopes fluttered out to the counter. "I found these in the book and I wonder if we should try to return them to the owner."
They were plain envelopes, each bulky enough to contain a letter or note. One had the capital letter D on the front. The other said J in a slightly different hand.
"I can look to see who checked the book out last," said Fiona,” but it was likely a long time ago. I mean, how many people would.." There she went again, putting her foot in her mouth. "I'll check the records," She clamped her mouth firmly shut before she could shoot herself in the foot again. She giggled a little. What was this fetish she was developing about feet?
She checked the pouch card for the book and looked up the member number in the card index. "Last time this book went out was nearly three years ago. It was checked out by Rev. Hamilton."
"But my predecessor was Jonas Micklethwaite."
"Yes, but he was only here for a couple of years. I think he got tired of small town life, or his wife did, and they moved to a larger place. Before him it was Rev. Hamilton. He was here for -well forever, just about. He christened me and my brother too. Then his wife got sick and he had to look after her until-well, until she died. He was pretty much ready to retire then, he was quite old, and so he went over to Greenway to live with his daughter."
"I wonder if these letters are important to him."
"Well, let's check," said Fiona, starting to slide her nail under a flap.
"We can't do that! They're someone's private letters!” Fiona gave a quick look at Charles’ face and concluded the outrage of his words wasn’t echoed in the curiosity in his expression.
"And you call yourself a detective?"
"I don't call myself a detective. You asked me why I didn't become one. Anyhow, we can mail them to him in Greenway."
"Look this one isn't even sealed," said Fiona, picking up the other letter. "So they're not really private." She flipped it open and out popped a sheet of paper.
She pushed it between them sideways on the counter so they could both read.
Sharon McGregor is a prairie girl who has been working her way west to escape the cold. She now lives on beautiful Vancouver Island. She hasn't escaped her roots, though, as her romances are set in small town North America. When not writing or reading, she operates a shave ice concession with her daughter and follows her grandchildren's athletic endeavours. She has a constant battle with her cat Zoey for control of her computer keyboard. Sharon loves to write romance, mystery and humor, if possible all three at the same time.
Web page- www.sharonmcgregor.com
Amazon author- http://goo.gl/0toXu0