The Magic Misfits - Neil Patrick Harris Page 0,23

one by one, not looking anything like they had when they’d entered. Ridley kept a lookout for anyone who might be spying on them, waiting until the whole group blended into the pedestrians on Main Street.

Mineral Wells Public Library—a wide single-story brick building with a steeply pitched slate roof—was only a few blocks from the town hall. Overgrown evergreen shrubs grew up before many of the library’s tall, thin windows.

(Never underestimate seemingly irrelevant areas of foliage, my friends. An overgrown evergreen shrub makes an excellent hiding place, if you don’t mind a few pokes here and there!)

Ten minutes after Ridley had started her countdown, the entire crew had gathered in the library’s lobby. “Did anyone see you?” she asked.

“I am positive many people saw us,” said Theo. “But I do not believe they were paying attention.”

“Excellent,” said Leila. “Okay, now how do we want to handle this?”

“I’ll track down the librarian at her office,” said Ridley. “You guys stay out of sight but be ready to help.”

“I will stand just outside the office doorway,” said Theo. “None of us should do this completely alone.”

Ridley nodded, then headed past the checkout desk and into the stacks. Theo walked beside her while the others separated into different aisles. The two made quite a pair—he in a conductor’s uniform, she wrapped in fabulous fabric—but Ridley wasn’t thinking about that. Her heart pounded as she imagined confronting the woman who had destroyed her project. What if the librarian had held on to that strange shovel and was keeping it under her desk in case Ridley showed up? What if she was still mesmerized?

Ridley approached the door. A name was marked in gold leaf on the rippled glass: Iris Maloney—Librarian. As she knocked, Ridley glanced at Theo, who nodded encouragement. She felt safer knowing the others were behind her, hidden by the shelves.

“Yes?” came a voice from inside the office. “Who is it?”

Ridley cringed and pushed open the door. At her desk, the librarian glanced up from a ledger. When she saw Ridley in the doorway, she gasped.

“Ridley,” the librarian whispered, as if she were seeing a ghost. Clearly her disguise wasn’t working. “What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Maloney. Hello.” Nervous, Ridley lifted the thick lenses and propped them on her head. “I came to ask you some questions.”

Mrs. Maloney stood. “Of course, sweetheart. Come in. I’m so sorry about what happened.… Can you forgive me?”

“I think I need to understand what happened a little better before we can get there.” A worried look flashed behind the woman’s cat-eye frames. “Why were you at the college yesterday?”

Mrs. Maloney answered immediately. “I was visiting my granddaughter. Lauren’s a freshman, studying fine arts. She thought it would be fun for us to check out the projects at the inventors’ fair.” Mrs. Maloney’s eyes darted up and to the right—a sign, Ridley had read, that someone was lying. Before Ridley could confront her, the librarian went on, “I’d had a headache that morning, and by the time we made it to the fair I was feeling dizzy. I don’t even remember approaching you. I especially don’t remember… doing what I did.”

Ridley decided to play Mrs. Maloney’s game. “You looked pretty out of it,” she said. Mrs. Maloney’s pink cheeks turned red. “Do you remember what you were saying just before you attacked me?”

“The police told me it was something like, ‘What am I doing?’” The librarian’s eyes darted up again like those of a liar.

She was starting to make Ridley’s skin itch with anger. “What have I done,” said Ridley. “Those were the exact words.”

“Oh. Yes. Right.”

“Did someone tell you to say that to me? Did someone tell you to pick up that shovel and ruin my project?”

Mrs. Maloney shook her head. “I—I don’t think so.” Eyes up and to the right. “I had a headache.”

Ridley set her jaw. “Have you ever been hypnotized?”

“Pardon me?”

“Mesmerized. Hypnotized. Are you susceptible to suggestion?”

Eyes up. “I don’t understand.”

Ridley had had it. “Kilroy Kalagan told you to attack me. Didn’t he?”

“Who? What?” Mrs. Maloney’s voice dried into a squeak.

“Kalagan. A man dressed in a dark cloak and a top hat. Did he approach you at the fair?”

“No, I would have remembered—”

“What about a woman in an argyle sweater-vest and a long wool skirt?” Mrs. Maloney shook her head. “You don’t know Helena Parkly?”

“Maybe… Doesn’t she live here in town? I remember signing up someone with that name for a new library card sometime within the past few months.” After a moment, she