Page 7 of Library or Lattes?

I looked up to see some guy, early twenties maybe, all in black and wearing glasses, crouched down in front of the library with a sketchbook balanced on his knee. When he wasn’t glaring at me, he was muttering to himself, clearly frustrated.

A gust of wind blew onto his page.

“Dammit!” he said.

I should have kept walking. But I didn’t. I went into small talk mode, like I was still at work or something.

“Yeah, the wind’s pretty bad today,” I said. “Not sure where it came from, it wasn’t like this earlier.” I even smiled.

He didn’t even look at me, just made another few marks on his page. “Uneven heating of the earth creates differences in air pressure. Hence, wind.”

I blinked. What? “Um, thanks for the science lesson?”

“You’re welcome.” He still wasn’t looking at me, just studying the library’s façade, his pencil moving quickly across the paper.

“You’re drawing the library?”

“You’re very observant.” Deadpan. Then he sighed before glancing at me for a split second. “It’s the only building worth drawing in this place. Everything else is just generic small-town America. I mean, it’s fine if you like that sort of thing. And the whole aesthetic is quaint, I suppose, the decorations, the people, the … plaid epidemic.”

He actually gave me a once-over then, before picking up his stupid sketchbook and adding some more details. Meanwhile, I was about to explode. How dare he!

“Generic?” My face was red-hot. Matching my plaid shirt …

“Historically derivative. No original design elements.”

“I know what—” I stopped myself and took a breath, even though my rage was burning. “Enjoy your drawing and have a great evening.” I had never had to force myself so hard to be polite. Then I walked away, with my hair whipping all around me.

From behind me, I could hear him mutter, “Unbelievable.” Like I was the rude one.

Note to self: Avoid all-black-wearing, pencil-wielding jerks for the foreseeable future. Maybe Lennie had the right idea after all. Send all the tourists down the highway to the “other” Oak Falls. Let them be someone else’s problem.

By the time I got home I’d (mostly) erased the awful tourist from my mind. I walked through the door just as Pop was heating up leftover Chinese food. I thanked myself for having already eaten pizza with Lennie.

“Some mail on the table for you, honey,” Pop called out like that was a normal thing.

There it was: a formal-looking white envelope with a New York postmark and two pieces of paper inside. One typed letter and one handwritten.

Subject: Estate of Ms. Lisa May Vaughn

Dear Ms. Taylor,

Please find enclosed the letter from your aunt, the contents of which I outlined in my email correspondence.

Please contact my office at your earliest convenience in order to arrange completion of the necessary paperwork.

Sincerely,

Fred Ray, Esq.

Ray & Black Associates

I hadn’t given the email another thought once I’d decided it was a scam. But now my hands were shaking as I read the letter. The letter that proved that it wasn’t a scam at all.

My Dearest Willa,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and Fred has done his job. I hope he wasn’t too formal with you. He means well, but he does love his legalese.

I’m not going to spend this letter being sad or pretending we had some close relationship we didn’t.