The Street Magician and the Librarian: Unlikely Love, #3

By Irene Onorato

Carolyn Lambert leaves Las Vegas and her mother's scandalous past behind and moves to the quiet seaside town of Seaville, South Carolina. She accepts a position as a librarian and, except for a noisy neighbor, finds peace and refreshing friendships.

A chance encounter with a street magician throws her a curve ball. What starts as a friendly attraction for the winsome and irresistible Eric Sinclair and his magic tricks turns into a bond Carolyn isn't expecting. She's experienced firsthand her mother's trail of bad choices, and the last thing she wants is a relationship built on pure enchantment alone.

Eric isn't just a street magician but an undercover detective whose job is to expose a drug cartel running their goods through the port of Seaville. The need to maintain his cover creates difficulty as he struggles between allegiance to his career and a deepening affection for the beautiful, charming librarian. But how will Eric's investigation affect Carolyn as she becomes a suspect in part of the drug ring? Will their relationship survive the intense challenges ahead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Irene Onorato
• Release date: Feb 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224662357

Irene Onorato

Irene Onorato was born and raised in Bronx, New York. Her father, a first-generation American whose parents were born in Italy, was an Army veteran who had served with the 178th combat engineers during WWII. He told numerous stories of battles, hardships, tragedies and triumphs. The glimpses he gave into the hearts of many American warriors would later become the inspiration for much of Irene’s writings.   In 1972, a few months after graduating high school, Irene met James Onorato, a soldier who had just returned from Vietnam. After dating two weeks, they married, raised three children, and are still happily married today.   Irene and James, both radiation protection technicians, retired from the nuclear power industry in 2014 and now reside in Louisiana. Readers can visit Irene’s website at ireneonorato.com, and find her on Facebook.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Screeeeeech! Bam!

Carolyn Lambert woke with a start, threw off the covers, and raced to the bedroom window. Parting the slats of the blind, she glimpsed the back end of a pickup as it sped out of the townhouse complex parking lot with the left-side taillight hanging by a wire, its license plate a blur. Across the way, her partying neighbors were still going strong at one a.m. If it weren’t for double-paned windows, she wouldn’t get any sleep on Friday and Saturday nights.

Below her second-floor window, the carport canopy obscured all but the tip of her car’s front bumper, and black tire marks behind the vehicle gave indication that maybe, just maybe, the pickup had hit her back end.

Oh, no. Please let it not be so.

She peeled off her thigh-length nighty and slipped into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Cell phone in hand, she loped down the carpeted stairs. Last thing I need is another dent in the old beast.

Parking lot lights merged with the one that burned all night outside the back door. Still, shadows remained under the corrugated roof of the canopy. She turned on her phone’s flashlight, walked around the driver’s side of her aging Toyota Camry, and turned at the back bumper.

"Tsk. Not again. Will you just look at that?" She shook her head, shoulders deflating. The V-shaped dent couldn’t have been more centered on the rear end if someone had mapped it out. The trunk lock sat dead center in the V, pushed in a few inches along with her bumper.

Carolyn gaped at the reveler’s townhouse though squinted eyes. It would be fruitless to go over and complain. Every time Mr. England left town on business, his jobless, no-account thirty-something-year-old son threw wild parties. When he came back and she told him about it, his pat answer was always, Boys will be boys.

No use calling the police. She knew the drill. They’d come and take a look, then file a report stating an unidentified vehicle struck hers. End of story. Her insurance company wouldn’t care. Or pay a dime.

Sleep. That’s what she needed. After tomorrow’s shift at the Seaville library, she’d have Sunday and Monday off. Sleeping in would be glorious. Especially after tonight.

She paused at the back door and breathed a lungful of sea air. The noise across the way came to an abrupt stop, and the sound of the surf kissed the welcome hush of the night. Living on Sliver Island was sheer bliss.

Boom, shakka lakka lakka, boom!

Except for that awful music and the party animals who seemed to enjoy it.

Shoulders raised in an attempt to block the racket, Carolyn went inside, locked up, and trudged upstairs. Chop, chop. Timber! Without changing back into the nightgown, she fell headlong into the bed and flicked the covers on top of herself. Morning would come quickly.

Okay, I’ll do it one more time. Watch closely. Detective Eric Sinclair put the ping-pong ball back underneath the upside-down cup in the center of three such cups, then shuffled them round and round. Onlookers stared with riveted eyes. Place your bets, gentlemen. The winner takes⁠—

"Ahem. Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." Police Chief Wiley’s impressive form filled the squad room’s open doorway and stopped as if giving everyone inside a heads-up. His phony cough gave time for Eric to stack the cups and pocket the ball.

The room quieted as detectives and uniforms took their seats.

Wiley walked in with another man trailing. Guys, I would like you to meet Chief Kendrick from the Seaville PD.

Murmurs of mumbled greetings went around the room.

Wiley made his way to the front. I’m sure you’re all wondering why Chief Kendrick is here, so I’ll cut to the chase and let him do the talking.

Hello, everyone. Kendrick stood tall, shoulders square, and gave Eric the distinct impression the man was former military. As you know, there are several counties between here and Seaville.

The thought had crossed Eric’s mind. He’d been to Seaville on a few occasions. Nice town. South Carolina had many such touristy destinations.

Seaville is right on the ocean. Why is that important? Because the Coast Guard has intercepted large shipments of drugs apparently originating from one or more of our harbors. Oddly enough, the intel came in a roundabout way from a now-deceased street performer.

Officer Johnson raised his hand. No offense, sir, but what’s that got to do with us, and how can we possibly help in this situation?

We’d like to put someone undercover to get a closer look inside the rather-closed community of acrobats, buskers, and other seasonal entertainers. The visitor smiled. It’s come to our department’s attention that you have a former street magician on the roster here in Oak Village.

All eyes turned toward Eric.

CHAPTER 2

The bedroom blinds glowed with morning sun as the nightstand alarm blared its annoying get-up call. All right, already. Enough with the noise. Squinting against the brightness, Carolyn swatted twice before finally hitting and silencing the buzzer.

With a flick, she cast off the covers, sat up, and yawned. A gentle ding from the kitchen below indicated the coffee pot she’d set up the night before had finished brewing and was in the process of squeezing its final drip into the glass decanter. The delicious aroma tantalized and gave something to look forward to.

She rounded the bed and straightened the sheets and coverlet. Bed made, the whole room looked rather tidy. Just the way she liked it.

In the kitchen moments later, she prepared her coffee with a splash of cream and brought the cup back up to the bedroom where today’s attire was set aside, ready to be put on. Ah, the joys of order and preparation. Others might be satisfied to throw things together haphazardly, but that wasn’t her style. The library she worked in had its Dewy decimal system, and she had her organizational ways and methods. Everything neat and in order.

Except her car.

Carolyn winced. Sure, the interior of the Camry was spotless. But the exterior? Well, there was nothing she could do about that. It wasn’t as if she’d driven into anything. Every ding, scrape, and dent had happened when it was at a standstill; either parked, or while stopped at a light. She had to be the unluckiest motorist on the face of the earth.

Now dressed, she grabbed her cup of joe and entered the bathroom to do her hair and makeup. She brushed her straight, naturally golden tresses into a ponytail of sorts, gave a twist, and secured the updo with a decorative spring clip. Next, she unscrewed the mascara wand and leaned across the counter, close to the mirror.

Carrie, I want you to meet Mr. Bryson Jones. Her mother’s voice broke in from the not-too-distant past, and she could practically smell the man’s old-fashioned cologne as Mom made the introductions.

Carolyn’s breath caught.

Middle-aged, expensively dressed, with well-tanned hands displaying a white ring on his left hand where a wedding band had recently been removed, Mr. Jones, though she doubted he’d given his real name, stood ogling Carolyn from head to toe. The vision was as real as the day it had happened, and the remembrance of the stranger’s ravenous eyes still frightened her.

No! She wasn’t going to entertain those horrible last moments with her mom. Moments where good parenting and greed for monetary gain collided and clouded her mother’s judgement.

This wasn’t Las Vegas, her mother was no longer a popular showgirl, and Carolyn wasn’t a candidate for escort service, as her mother had illogically and selfishly hoped or presumed. Their dire financial situation had been the direct result of Mom’s addictions. To expect Carolyn to sell her body and soul to make ends meet was the ax that severed their relationship.

Eyes squeezed shut, she squelched impending tears. She would not cry. In the six months that transpired between now and when she left home in Vegas, she’d committed her mother’s physical and spiritual wellbeing to God. What else could she do? Stay and watch Mom’s booze and drug-induced decline, or move on? Her decision to accept the librarian position here in Seaville had been a good one.

The door of communication was still open if Mom wanted help. But only if she was willing to commit to changing nearly every aspect of her downward-spiraling existence.

Some might say the life Carolyn had carved for herself in South Carolina was small and insignificant. Maybe so. But it was peaceful, quiet for the most part, and above all, decent. Everything about it was better than what she’d had back in Nevada. With Mom…

Eric jammed clothes into his largest suitcase, flipped the lid and pushed hard to zip it all the way around. With a finger, he poked protruding T-shirt fabric back in and pulled the zipper closed the last few inches. Ta-da! Not exactly magical, but certainly he’d managed to put in more things than the piece of luggage was designed to hold.

He slid a second bag from the closet. This one remained packed and ready with supplies for his magic trade—decks of cards, miscellaneous props, and an eighteen by eighteen-inch board covered in black velvet he used for tabletop illusions.

Yesterday’s demonstration of a few coin and card tricks in the squad room had wowed his fellow officers and left the Seaville police chief’s jaw dangling.

Like a wide-eyed kid, his own chief had asked to see the cups and ball demo, then rubbed his chin, shook his head, and laughed when the ball finally disappeared from underneath the cups altogether. I don’t know how you did it, and I watched like a hawk. The chief turned to his Seaville counterpart. Told you he was an ace magician.

There was nothing magic about it. Countless hours of practice, much of it in front of a mirror, had honed Eric’s sleight-of-hand skills to perfection.

He loaded a ditty bag with bathroom items. Almost forgetting, he turned back into the room, opened the vanity drawer and grabbed his hair gel. Great for spiking and adding a greasy-looking shine, it added a little something extra to his fast-talking persona while performing his acts.

Eric loaded everything into his Jeep Wrangler, locked the apartment, and started on the two-plus hour trip to the coast. Details of his undercover duties would be revealed when he arrived in Seaville, but one thing was certain. He was well-able to blend into the world of street entertainers and play the part with ease. And what better place to be sent than a seaside town in early summer?

His blinker ticked a steady cadence as he merged onto an east-bound highway. Yup, without a doubt, this was going to be a good gig.

CHAPTER 3

Carolyn swiveled in the driver’s seat and looked out the rear window while backing out of the covered carport.

Carrie, wait! Colby England descended the concrete steps from his back door, beer bottle in hand, and approached as she curved into the parking lot and prepared to move forward.

She lowered the window. What do you want, Cole? She’d ask what he was doing up so early, but apparently, the nocturnal reveler had been partying all night.

I noticed your back end is bashed in. You have an accident or something? His brows furrowed with what could pass for genuine concern.

Or something. A light-colored pickup crashed into it in the wee hours. Don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?

He shook his head. No, but if I find out who did it, I’ll let you know.

Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.

Colby leaned on the window frame. Why are you so angry with me all the time? Chill out. Pretty girl like you ought to let her hair down once in a while. You know my offer still stands, right? His attempt at making sultry eyes looked ridiculous.

The offer to go out with you? Thanks, but no thanks. Remove your hand from my car, would you, please? I’ve got to get to work. Perhaps you should consider seeking gainful employment and join the adult population. Instead of mooching off of Daddy.

The air must be awfully thin up there where your nose is. Colby stepped back from the car. But you’re beautiful just the same. Have a nice day, gorgeous.

She eased forward toward the chassis-rattling speed bump that brought curses out of even the saintliest residents. No amount of complaining to management seemed to make a difference.

Front wheels? Easy does it. Clear. Back end? Slow and easy… Clear.

Pop! Eeeek.

Huh? In the rearview mirror, the lid of her trunk was partially open and bobbing slightly. What in the world?

With the gearshift in park, she flung open the door and rushed to the rear of the car. The lock and latching connections appeared to be undamaged, but what did she know about such things? Besides being pushed inward, the upper and lower gizmos looked like they lined up perfectly.

She shrugged and pushed the lid down. No luck. Metal kissed metal, and the trunk gapped opened a few inches.

Need help, little lady?

Carolyn didn’t need to look to identify Colby’s voice as his flip-flopped footfalls shuffled toward her. She slammed the trunk lid hard then gave a few taps, but it didn’t pop open again. Turning, she came face to face with beer breath. Why, oh why, did he always feel compelled to violate her personal space? And if she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes dipped for an attempted peek into her button-down blouse. She pressed the neckline to her chest and stepped back. I’m good, thanks.

In the car seconds later, she took aim for the bridge at the south end of the island and glimpsed one last time in the mirror.

Colby England remained near the speed bump looking in her direction. Sleazebag. If she hadn’t immediately moved from his proximity, there was no doubt he’d find a way to innocently put a hand on her. Mr. Touchy-Feely. His overall creepiness overshadowed and erased his moderately nice-looking exterior. And, living off Daddy’s dime had to be a surefire turnoff for any sane woman.

At the end of Sliver Island, Carolyn crossed the bridge, turned left at the light, and drove half a mile. She turned into the employee parking lot behind the library and pulled into her slot.

A delivery truck sat parked next to the side door of the neighboring pizza shop with its rollup door wide open. Joey Rizzo jumped out, clapped flour off his hands, brushed some from his hair, and smiled as Carolyn got out of the Camry. G’morning. Gonna be a beautiful day, no? He looked up at the sky, his too-tight T-shirt showing off ripped abs and rock-solid biceps.

Sure looks like it, she said as a white haze wafted out from the open door. Did a flour bomb go off in the truck?

Yeah. I held my breath and took a quick look. Sure enough, there’s a busted bag lying on the floor. Must not have been properly secured on the side shelves. The delivery guy went around the corner for coffee and a donut. Figured we’d give it a few minutes to settle before unloading my order.

Good idea. You wouldn’t want to breathe too much of⁠—

Pop! Eeeek.

Carolyn spun around. Gapped open a few inches, the trunk may as well have been trying to stick its tongue out at her. "Not again! Tsk." She scuffed her shoe on the pavement.

Joey walked with her to the car and ran a hand over the V-shaped dent. He let out a whistle. Wow, when did this happen?

Last night. Now the trunk doesn’t want to stay closed. This morning, on the way here, it opened when I crawled over a speed bump at a snail’s pace.

Bending for a look, Joey examined the locking mechanisms. "I can rig it so it stays shut, but you’re going to have to have a body shop fix the damage and probably put in a new lock.

She moaned. Sounds expensive.

Joey went over and opened the pizza shop’s side door. Hey, Dominic, he shouted into the restaurant kitchen. Do me a favor and bring me a metal coat hanger. Should be a couple on the hook in the storeroom.

A minute passed, and Joey’s younger cousin came outside. Here ya go, Joe. He laughed. Look at me. I’m a poet. Hi Carolyn. You doin’ okay?

Yeah, except for my poor car.

He looked over to where Joey had squatted to secure the trunk with the hanger. Whoa. Bummer. Somebody rear-end you?

Hit and run during the night.

Crash ’n dash, eh? Crazy people. This have anything to do with the neighborhood party animals you mentioned the other day?

I’m sure, though I can’t prove it.

Joey rose from behind the car. That ought to hold it for a while. I’ll get a pair of snips and cut off the excess wire.

Thanks, guys.

A coworker’s SUV pulled in, reminding her of the time.

I’d better go inside before I end up clocking in late. Thanks again, fellas.

Dominic had turned to go, but Joey stood smiling, accentuating his killer Italian good looks as she fell into step with Mindy, the effervescent children’s section librarian.

She gave one last wave before entering the building and mouthed, Bye.

That hunky guy has had his eye on you since his dad bought the shop a few months back. Has he asked you out yet? Mindy punched her time card and put it back in its slot on the rack.

Nah, we’re just parking lot friends. Seems the only place we bump into each other. Carolyn picked up her card, smiled, and let out a sigh. But one can hope, right?

CHAPTER 4

The phone rang as Eric slipped behind the wheel and started the Jeep. Caller ID painted Big Kahuna on the screen. The Oak Village police chief deserved the distinction. He tapped to accept the call. Hey, Boss. What’s up?

I think we finally got payroll to straighten things out with you being on loan to Seaville.

Good. Guess we don’t do this often enough to make it routine for them.

Probably. So, how’s it going?

I’ve had two days of clandestine meetings with a local detective and the Seaville police chief. Eric chuckled to himself, remembering how he now had Little Kahuna programed as a contact for his temporary boss. I’ve got a good sense of what the department hopes to accomplish with this undercover assignment. Been driving around in my free time, scoping out the town and reacquainting myself to the lay of the land.

It helped that he’d visited several times before, once renting a snazzy house facing the beach on Sliver Island for a weekend with a couple of buddies.

I’ve never been over that way. Maybe I ought to take the wife there someday. Is it nice?

Yeah, it’s definitely a place you and your missus would enjoy.

"Speaking of… I promised to take her out to dinner tonight. Gotta go. Keep in touch and let me know