Chapter Three

      Getting ready for book club on Thursday night, Evy glanced at the clock more than once. And for the fifth time, she made a minute adjustment to the way the tablecloth hung on the refreshment table. As if Charlie Pruitt would care.

      The ladies—if not Charles Everett Pruitt the Third—should have been here by now. Everyone must be running late.

      She plucked a pillow from the sofa in the circle of armchairs. Despite their tête-à-tête over Chinese food, she didn’t think Charlie would actually show up to book club. But as she counted down the minutes, the dread—and anticipation—mounted. Her gaze flitted to the clock again.

      Evy’s parents had no idea what she was up to when she accepted the librarian position. Would never have envisioned their timid Evy bold enough to seek out answers to long-held questions. Would have been shocked and amazed—not to mention dismayed—at her covert attempts to learn the truth. Evy had shocked herself with her uncharacteristic behavior.

      Pacing, she punched the pillow with her fist. This was so ridiculous. So high school, so—

      “Hey, Evy.”

      She yelped and whirled. The pillow plopped onto the rug.

      Arms folded across his uniformed chest, Charlie leaned against the threshold of the meeting room tucked behind the library staircase. Minus the hat for once, he grinned at her.

      Her heart did a funny sort of cartwheel, so she scowled at him. She bent to retrieve the pillow at the same moment Charlie—

      Their foreheads collided. She fell onto the sofa. He ricocheted into the wall.

      “Ow!” She massaged her temples. “You’ve got a hard head, Deputy Pruitt.”

      “I’m not the only one.” He frowned. “And I thought we’d moved past Deputy.” His eyes brightened at the sight of the refreshment table. “You didn’t tell me there’d be food.”

      He loped past Evy. “I skipped dinner for the club tonight. Can I go ahead and eat, or should I wait for the others?” His eyes scanned the room. “Where are the other ladies?”

      She handed him a plate. “They’re on their way with more food. Be my guest, though. Go ahead.”

      “How...dainty.” He held a small cake square between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s this? Cake for a baby?”

      “Mrs. Davenport dropped those off this afternoon.” Evy fanned the paper napkins on the table. “It’s called a petit four, Charlie. It’s meant to be small.”

      “French.” He grinned. “I’m quick like that, huh?”

      “You’re quick like something, all right...”

      Heels clicked against the hardwood floor of the library foyer.

      “Yoo-hoo!” Dixie, the waitress from the Sandpiper Café, tottered into the room bearing a platter of sandwich triangles. She stuttered to a stop. “Am I interrupting something, sugar?”

      Evy took a step back. She’d not realized how close she’d been standing to the deputy. “You’re interrupting nothing, Dixie.”

      Charlie winked at Evy. “You assume Dixie was talking to you.”

      And he rested his gun-clad hip against the edge of the table. As if implying that he—as if they... Did the man never stand up straight?

      She took the tray from Dixie. “Deputy Pruitt wanted to join our book club tonight.”

      Dixie clapped her hands together. “How fun! I had no idea the book club was going coed. Can I bring Bernie next time?”

      Bernie was Dixie’s husband. “Doesn’t his reading tend to favor spy thrillers?”

      “True. He probably wouldn’t care for Jane Austen.” Dixie sighed. “Because of his work with NASA at Wallop’s Island, his literary tastes run toward the cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

      Charlie snagged a pimento cheese sandwich off the platter. “It takes a special man like moi to truly enjoy the classics of literature.”

      He helped himself to another sandwich as the other ladies arrived with additional refreshments. Evy made sure to give a special welcome to Ashley, a stay-at-home mom with three energetic children. The book club and church on Wednesday were her only nights out with grown-ups. Yet when Charlie’s shoulder brushed against hers, Evy quivered.

      “I caught your attempt at French, Deputy. My, my, you are quick-witted.”

      He pretended to tip his imaginary hat. “We deputies aim to please.”

      Why did Charlie Pruitt make her want to laugh?

      She moved beyond him, careful not to make further contact. “Welcome, everyone.”

      Evy couldn’t help noticing how Charlie worked the room. He greeted every lady, who ranged in age from ninety-year-old Mrs. Evans to a thirtysomething Coastie wife. And he let them know he’d skipped supper. Evy hid her smile as she helped Reverend Parks’s wife serve the punch.

      The women—young and old—fell over themselves plying Charlie with food. She needn’t have worried about how the ladies would receive his male intrusion into their girls’ club. He was like a rooster in the proverbial henhouse. And they were loving every minute of it.

      “And the petits fours?” Charlie made sure he had Evy’s attention as he lifted the cake square off the plate, pinkie finger extended. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mrs. Davenport.”

      Evy almost choked on her chicken-salad sandwich. He’d mimicked the French pronunciation exactly.

      “You dear boy.” Mrs. Davenport fluttered her bejeweled hands like a schoolgirl. “How wonderful you know what a petit four is.”

      “I guess I’m just smart like that. And what they are is delicious.” Charlie popped the bite-size square into his mouth.

      “Let me get you another, Deputy.” Mrs. Davenport, also known as the grapevine of Kiptohanock, scurried toward the table.

      Charlie waggled his eyebrows at Evy. She glared. Was the man never serious? Surely a deputy sheriff had to be more sober-minded than the likes of Charlie Pruitt.

      But a smile played on her lips. He did know his way around a food table, she’d give him that. Around the ladies, too. Mr. Charming. Not her type at all. Not that Evy had a type to speak of.

      At that not-so-happy thought,