By Deborah Bainbridge
Book club invitation. Take one if you dare.
Lucy withdrew a folded slip of red paper from the acrylic display. How mysterious.
Hearing shuffling from behind the check-out desk, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I’d like to renew my library—”
A bang preceded a clattering in the drop box, and a man rose, rubbing his head and clutching a small stack of books tucked beneath his arm. Tan slacks and a tweed vest complemented his tousled brunet hair.
“—card.” She swallowed hard. The man’s captivating eyes held Lucy in place, like pools of melted chocolate she could dive into. Oh my. Instinctively, she straightened her brick dress, then reached up and checked the bun at the top of her head for stray hairs.
“The library may still have you on file.” His voice was deeper than she’d expected. “When were you last in?”
“Not since high school.” Her eyes darted to his left hand. No ring. “So, about five years.”
“Wow. I grew up in the library.” He placed the returns onto the book cart behind him. “This was my first job. I still volunteer on the weekends and after work sometimes, like today.” He leaned an arm against the counter. “What kept you away?”
I was just wondering the same thing. “College, then work. I’m an accountant.” Her lips curled upward. “I sit all day in a tiny cubicle reading documents and receipts, tallying figures. I need adventure.” She motioned around to the books.
“I hear that.” He chuckled. “I’m an English professor at the college—and a sucker for a good mystery.” He reached out his hand. “Samuel.”
“Lucy Winters.” His warm hand completely enveloped hers.
Samuel’s eyes flickered to the slip of paper pinched between her fingers. “If you like mystery, you’re going to love that.” He raised an eyebrow. “You need a library card, right?”
“Yes.” She flushed. Setting her identification on the counter, she unfolded the red flyer. Follow the clues found in the “Queen of Crime’s Mystery Collection.” Book eight to begin.
Goose flesh spread across Lucy’s arms. “The Queen of Crime,” she muttered.
Samuel handed Lucy a cardinal library card with sunshine yellow lettering. “Agatha Christie. The Enigma Room, of course.” He pointed south, and a sly grin spread across his face. “Let me know if you need any help.”
Lucy giggled, then pulled out her phone and ran a quick internet search.
Entering the unoccupied Enigma Room, she located the famous collection of black hardbacks in the far corner. The results of her search listed the eighty-one volumes in order, noting book eight as The A.B.C. Murders. Retrieving the gold-embossed book from the shelf, she noticed a hint of scarlet peeking from its pages. Lucy removed the slip of paper.
Read the letter, page four. Substitute “Mr. Hercule Poirot” with your name. Replace “British” with your nationality and the Andover quote with Ruby Room, Stack Forty-Seven, then proceed to book twenty-four.
Lucy followed the instructions, summarizing the letter aloud. “Basically, a criminal thinks Mr. Poirot—I mean I—am a pridefully clever American who solves mysteries and outwits the police but assures me I will never catch this criminal.”
She repeated the last four words of the letter to herself. “The twenty-first of the month.”
She snapped her fingers. “This book club must meet every month on the twenty-first, honoring the Queen of Crime. That’s today.”
Her list revealed the next clue would be found in And Then There Were None. She fanned the book’s pages until she found the flash of crimson.
Chapter one, section IV. Following “Dear Miss Brent,” count seventy-seven words, then read eleven. Finish with the ninety-eighth through hundredth word, then proceed to book nine.
Counting aloud, Lucy reached word seventy-seven of the letter, then read the entire clue.
“‘I shall be very glad if you could see your way… as my guest.’”
Wheels creaked behind Lucy, and she startled.
“Enjoying your adventure?” Samuel asked.
“Immensely.” She held up the paper. “I’ve just been invited to something.”
“Which book next?”
“Nine.”
“Murder on the Orient Express.” He stroked his chin. “I’m impressed you figured out the clues so quickly. I’ll leave you to it.” He started to leave, then looked back and smiled. “Oh, and Lucy, I really hope you solve the mystery.”
Lucy’s heart fluttered, and she quickly found the next clue.
This paragraph starts with an icy breeze. Choose the string of four words with doubled numbers to discover the time. She scanned the page, finding a paragraph beginning with “A cold wind.”
She reread the clue. “‘Five minutes to five.’ That must be the time they start the book club,” she muttered aloud to herself. She checked the time on her phone: 4:55 p.m. “I’ve got to find Stack Forty-Seven. They’re starting.”
Checking both ends of the nearby shelving, she located a small tag numbered Twenty-One. “It must be upstairs,” she whispered aloud. Lucy rushed to the elevator and ascended to the second floor. Weaving briskly through the rows, she located the designated number and a door labeled The Ruby Room.
Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle. An elegant, crimson-coated room, filled with gold-rimmed tables and blood-red velvet chairs, met her eye.
Five people were already seated, and at the head of the room, beside a dry-erase board, stood Samuel, looking directly at her. “Welcome to the Murder Mystery Book Club.”
***
After the meeting, Samuel approached her. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
Lucy beamed. “This was the most fun I’ve had in years.”
“Speaking of fun…” Samuel adjusted his vest. “May I take you to dinner on Friday?”
Lucy bounced onto her toes. “Yes, please.”
Samuel slipped her a red piece of paper. “You’ll find the time between the pages.”
A thrill shot from the bottom of Lucy’s feet to the tips of her fingers. “I guess that means I’ll have to stop by the library after work tomorrow.”
Samuel leaned in. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
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That is such a cute story! I wish my library did that, I’d be all in for sure.
Such a fun book club. So glad you enjoyed my story!
I can’t wait for the next clue!
Watch for a hint of scarlet peeking from the pages.
As the club’s discussion wends deeper into the details of Christie’s works, the quiet dude in the back grows more and more frustrated. “Doesn’t anybody here want to murder Mr. Ebook? Isn’t that why we’re all here??”
Book club members questioned, one by one… And Then There Were None. 😂
I wish I was in the library right now following the clues!
Love you short stories
Great imagination