With Cruel Intent (7 page)

5’ 4” and certainly no more than 120 lbs

soaking wet. She searched for a word to

describe him in her mind and all she could

come up with was ‘cute’. Yes, he was

probably 50 years old with a receding

hairline, a face that was deeply tanned and

grooved, his nose and ears were showing

those middle aged signs of continued

growth. Blanche made a mental note: ‘find

out if only a man’s cartilage continues to

grow until death or if women are equally

affected,’ and she filed it in her mental

‘Night’ box. He was wearing a pair of

coveralls that covered him from neck to

ankles and then a bit more, with a patch

above the pocket on his right side that

said, ‘Marcus’.

She knew instantly without the

least bit of hesitation that Marcus was a

man who could be trusted. He met her

inquisitive gaze with his own and saw

within her blue eyes a spark of recognition

and acceptance.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, um,

ah, I’m sorry, was it Barbara?” he

stammered.

“No, it’s my pleasure and it’s

Blanche,” she said, with a broad smile on

her face, not really understanding what it

was about him that made her feel so good.

His smile was liberating and she

felt like they’d been friends for years.

“Most round here call me Mr.

Marcus, but I’ll answer to just about

anything. You need to use the facility? I

can wait a few minutes and guard the door

fer ya,” he said, moving toward the

entrance.

“Oh, no, not at all. I was just

looking to make sure things were in order

and I can see that you have this totally

under control. So you just do whatever

you do and I’ll leave you to it,” she said,

once again unable to explain why it was

that being in his presence almost made her

feel euphoric.

“I shouldn’t be too long; maybe I

should put a sign out or something ‘til I’m

done.”

“I

think

that

would

be

appropriate.” She backed to the door,

gave a quick wave and headed to the

Sciences - Anatomy book section of the

library.

Six o’clock came quickly with the

triage boxes empty including the ‘Never’

stuff, leaving Blanche to do what she

loved most about working in a library, the

ability to read. While at work she avoided

her true favorite genre, the adventure

romance, but she loved to learn new things

so she explored a different section at

every opportunity. Today Blanche had

picked up a couple of books on real estate

in hopes of learning some tricks before

making a purchase. Before settling in for

the last few hours of her shift, which she

expected to be quieter than during the day,

she said goodnight to the balance of the

staff as they exited the building.

The teenagers were always happy

when

their

volunteer

hours

were

completed and Ester and Marcus departed

at the same time, stopping at the desk to

exchange pleasantries before leaving for

the night.

“Well, I guess it’s just me and you

tonight,” she said, looking at the books she

had rounded up and placed on the desk.

Flipping to page one she began to read.

Outside, Jared, one of the teen

volunteers, was unchaining his bike from

the rack when he saw Seymour running

down the street toward the library.

“Yo Seymour, what’s up man?”

the cheerful Jared shouted.

“Hey Jared, I’m late for work,

Ester’s gonna be pissed,” Seymour

managed to get out, taking in big gulps of

air.

“Don’t sweat it, Mrs. Anderson’s

gone for the night already. The new

librarian is calling the shots tonight. You

haven’t met her yet?”

“No, guess this is my first shift

with her,” Seymour responded.

“You really ain’t seen Ms.

Blanche Double D, dude?”

“Show some respect man, she’s

my boss,” he said, tilting his head and

raising a brow.

“No, dude, those are really her

initials. We’ve been calling her that all

week, at least the guys in the back and not

to her face. She is built, but tries to hide it

with her ‘librarian’ clothes,” the younger

man excitedly declared.

“Ok, ok, I get the picture. Is she

nice and all that?” Seymour further

inquired.

“Yeah, she’s great, eats lunch with

us and is real anxious to make a good

impression. Maybe you could score a few

brownie points with her, if you know what

I mean,” Jared said.

“Not if I’m late on my first day,

I’m not,” and with the exchange over he

bounded up the steps and through the front

door of the library.

Sitting on a chair that lifted her

torso above the height of the desk was the

most beautiful woman Seymour had ever

seen. She was obviously engrossed in

what she was looking at and didn’t even

bother to acknowledge his entrance

through the doors. Her head was tipped

down, both hands on either side of her

head covering her ears only moving one

periodically to turn the page, returning her

hand to her head. He dared not interrupt

her as she seemed so picturesque and was

so pleasing to look at. He moved closer in

an effort to get a better view. With her

head down, the angle provided a bird’s

eye view down her blouse. He couldn’t

help but blush getting such a view without

her even knowing it, at least until she

lifted her eyes and noted him taking in the

sights.

“Like what you see?” she said

with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t want to

disturb you. Looked like you were deep in

thought.”

“Uh huh,” she replied straightening

herself up and pulling the top of her

blouse together. “Can I help you with

something?”

“No, I mean yeah, I think you’re

my new boss.”

“You must be Seymour then,” she

surmised, reaching her hand across the

desk to take his in a firm shake.

In doing so the scent of her

perfume wafted across the distance

between them and filled Seymour’s

nostrils with the aroma of what he could

not identify, other than to note that it must

have been heaven sent. Her hand was soft,

smooth, petite, but with strength he had not

expected. He stood mesmerized, holding

her hand and staring directly into her

hypnotic blue eyes.

“Well, ok then, I think that will do

for introductions," she said, having to

wrench her hand from his. "I’m Ms.

Delaney but you can call me Blanche, as

long as we don’t have patrons around.”

She had to admit inwardly that she

loved it when she had this effect on men,

mostly seemed to be the young ones, as the

older men always tried to play it cool,

like they really knew the score, even

though most were clueless.

“So, what’s on the agenda for the

evening. Should I just do the normal

stuff?” Seymour asked.

“Well, Seymour, I guess that

depends on what the ‘normal stuff’ is?”

she said, smiling at the young man and

trying to make him feel at ease.

“Mrs. Anderson usually has me

tidy the place up, you know, take the

books off the tables and shelve them. Put

the newspapers away and throw away any

garbage that might be left behind from the

day and stuff like that. Then before we

close I need to run the vacuum around to

make sure the carpets look good for

tomorrow morning,” he said, pointing to

the areas that were carpeted.

“That sounds like a good start.

Yeah, go ahead and do your thing and let

me know if there’s anything I can do to

help. There are still a few visitors over

there (pointing), so try not to disturb

them,” Blanche said.

“All right, I’ll get started, was

really nice to meet you and I’m looking

forward to having you,” he said, tripping

over his tongue. “Having you to look at.

Oh crap! That’s not what I meant either.

What I’m trying to say is, I’m really

looking forward to getting to know you

and working with you. Thanks for being so

understanding about me being a few

minutes late,” he finally managed to get

out.

“Late, were you late? Hadn’t

noticed, please try to be prompt if you

want to stay in my good books. Got that

young man?” she jokingly said, pointing a

delicate finger at him.

“Yes ma’am, I mean no ma’am you

won’t see me coming in late again,

thanks,” Seymour said, turning and

tripping on the edge of the carpet

propelling him into a bookshelf almost

toppling it over. “Whew, that was a close

call,” he said, looking back over his

shoulder to see the blonde beauty back at

her book studying intently.

“Well, I’m sure that little episode

left quite an impression with her,” he

thought, making himself busy with the

evenings chores. He did note that she kept

a close eye on him throughout the evening.

“Must be one of those micro manager

types,” he said to himself, each time he

passed the desk and she looked up to see

what he was up to. Always had a smile on

her face though as if not seeing him but

seeing through him, seemed kind of weird.

For Blanche, the day had been

nicer than expected. She had made some

new friends in Beverly and Marcus, and

this new guy, Seymour, kind of intrigued

her. He was too young to amount to

anything romantic, but what a polite,

pleasant young man. Couldn’t be any

cuter; strong hands, and she’d paid special

attention to his forearms when he’d

clutched her hand in his.

“Must work out or do a lot of

lifting to have forearms so built,” she’d

thought. "Might not be so bad to have

some ‘eye candy’ to help pass the hours

on the quiet night shifts."

“Ten o’clock already?” Seymour

asked, as he saw Blanche rounding up her

things and getting her umbrella from the

back room.

“Have you done a walk through to

make sure everyone is out of the library?”

Blanche asked.

“Yup, last ones left about 30

minutes ago, couple a kids that were

making out behind the mystery section. So

we should be good to lock ‘er up.”

“Great, let’s get the lights and go

home,” she said.

Seymour walked Blanche to the

bus stop, his heart in his throat the whole

time and his feet gliding a foot above the

ground. Blanche’s bus arrived before his,

so they exchanged goodbyes and then their

eyes met again, not unusually long but long

enough to know that there was more to the

look than just the usual farewell. Then she

was gone.

CHAPTER FIVE

Latex covered hands assorted the

pictures on the desk before him, he

arranged them first by content then,

changing his mind, put them in order of

preference. Taking his time to look over

each image carefully, appreciating the

nuances of each grainy photo.

“Wish I could have used a flash, at

least on the ones in the bedroom,” he

thought, reflecting back on the exhilaration

he’d felt as he’d taken pictures of his

‘victim’, so still, so unsuspecting and

totally at his mercy.

The pictures taken in the living

room were much better, he’d felt safe

enough to turn on a small lamp so the

picture quality was significantly enhanced,

however, he kept going back to the lower

quality, dimmer images taken of Thelma.

On a pad to his right he carefully wrote

under a header he had already scrawled

and underlined across the top that read:

Next Outing

extra Polaroid film and camera

(disable flash)

small

digital

camera