1 Killer Librarian by Mary Lou Kirwin Page B

comfortable to walk in. In honor of the occasion, I had lined my eyes with a soft black pencil and dabbed on concealer to hide the worst of my shadows. My hair I had washed and set loosely on rollers and now it was curling around my ears. All this was very nice and I looked completely presentable.
    Then I brought out the shawl. With my eyes closed, I wrapped it around my shoulders, felt its warmth embrace me.
    When I opened my eyes, the transformation was complete. Another woman stood before me. Someone who didn’t wear a watch. Someone who knew how to have a good time. Someone who might even drink champagne if it were offered.
    I dabbed my lips with a color that came close to the warm red of the shawl. Even better.
    I was ready to go.
    As I descended the stairs, I felt like I was going to prom, an event I had never taken part in. My junior year I had not been invited; my senior year a fellow intellectual who worked on the school paper asked me out to see Woodstock . It was my second time seeing the movie and his third. No way would we condescend to go to such a bourgeois event as prom. But I have forever missed being given the opportunity to wear a frothy confection of a dress.
    Unbeknownst to me, the Tweedles awaited. They came out from the sitting room and looked me up and down. Caldwell was not yet in sight.
    “My oh my. Are you going to be warm enough?” one of them asked.
    “And those shoes look a little high. You be careful or you’ll twist your ankle in those. Betty and I insiston wearing our walking shoes no matter what the affair. Don’t we, Betty?”
    “Absolutely. I’d hate to have to deal with the British health system. You’d probably have to wait days to be seen. And miss all that time on your vacation.”
    I looked down at myself. The shawl was awfully lightweight and the shoes were a little higher than I was accustomed to. Had I made a mistake?
    Right then Caldwell walked out from the kitchen. He was saying to the Tweedles, “You can’t miss it. It’s right at the end of the road and it has a huge banner. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your meal.”
    He stopped when he saw me. At first he didn’t say anything, but the warmth in his eyes was enough.
    Finally he said, “You are a vision. Perfectly perfect.”
    No one had ever used the word perfect to describe me before, even though it was something I constantly strived to be.
    Caldwell was wearing a dark navy blazer over a dark sweater with a paisley silk scarf. To my eye, he looked very European. Debonair in a way that American men rarely dared to be.
    *   *   *
    We took Caldwell’s Smart car, which I had never seen before. It looked like it would fold up and fitinto a purse. I loved it. Because it took up just half a parking space, he managed to tuck it into a spot that was only a few blocks away from the Globe.
    When we stepped out on the sidewalk, he took my arm and tucked it under his. While the air was chilly, I was completely warm.
    “How do you feel about Macbeth ?” he asked as we walked.
    “While I think it’s an important play,” I said. “It’s not my favorite of the tragedies.”
    “What is?”
    “Depends on the day.”
    He laughed. “I know what you mean. On this day, which is your favorite?”
    “I’m not sure, but it’s always between Othello and Lear. Othello is more romantic but Lear seems to me to be a truer tragedy. An unavoidable one.”
    “How so?”
    “We all grow old. We all fear we are not loved.”
    He patted my hand. “How did you get to be this wise?”
    “I just sound like I know what I’m talking about. It comes with the territory,” I said, thinking of my job, answering questions about books all day long.
    “What territory?” he asked.
    I realized I had slipped, but it could be fixed. “You know, sounding smart and authorial.”
    “Of course.”
    We rounded a corner and stopped.
    There stood the Globe, an almost exact duplicate of the theater in which Shakespeare’s plays had first been