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Closing
In Paperback: 274 pages
Publisher: Covenant Communications Inc
ISBN: 1591560128
Published: June 2002
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Libby James, the new
librarian for Alma Elementary School, has come to the small, quirky town of
Amen, Arizona to spend her life in solitude. But is she hiding from more
than an outside world she finds painful and unforgiving? David Rogers thinks
so.
As a new semester begins at Alma Elementary, Captain Rogers, a dashing young
naval officer and former astronaut, arrives to teach sixth grade, courtesy
of a government grant to impoverished school districts. At least that’s his
story. He’s actually been sent undercover to find out all he can about the
woman who calls herself Libby James, but is in reality Elisabeth Jamison,
one of the richest women in the world…and a suspected spy.
David quickly learns that
while Libby probably isn’t selling classified defense information to Middle
Eastern terrorists, she probably is next on the list of whoever’s
guilty—and is systematically eliminating the people who get in their way.
“Thank you for writing such
entertaining, excellent LDS fiction…I really enjoyed the humor and
characters in Closing In. Another aspect that I really liked was the
quotes at the beginning of each chapter and the many allusions to Andersen’s
fairy tales. They added so much depth to the story.”
Rachelle, Phoenix, AZ – from a letter
Chapter
One
He
formed many different words, but there was one word he never could manage to
form, although he wished it very much. It was the word ETERNITY.
The
Snow Queen, Story the Seventh: The Palace of the Snow Queen & What Happened
There At Last, 1845
“’Pay careful heed to the beginning of this story,’” Libby James
read aloud, “’for when we get to the end of it we shall know more than we do
now about love and greed and the ice that can freeze in our hearts.’”
She read The Snow Queen, but Libby’s voice was like sunshine, sparkling
with a promise of romance and mystery that most of the children in this shabby
library would discover only in the pages of the books she brought to life. The
kids seated cross-legged on the worn, wooden floor were sixth graders, and
though most of them thought they were too old for Hans Christian Andersen’s
fairy tales, they leaned forward eagerly, basking in the warmth of Libby’s
voice and the radiant luster in her wide, pewter eyes.
But nobody in the room paid closer attention than their teacher, David
Rogers, because nobody had more interest in how a story about greed would turn
out. He was a newcomer to this small, predominantly Mormon town, and though he
claimed to have come to teach, he had actually been sent to learn—learn what
beautiful bibliophile “Libby James” was up to.
David
crossed his arms and leaned one broad shoulder against a bookcase as his gaze
slid from the librarian’s sleek, honey-colored ponytail down her tanned legs
to her sandal-clad feet. Her dress showed taste and style and subtle curves. Her
toenails were unpainted, he noted, as were her fingernails and lips. Not that
she needed make-up. The glow that the
Arizona
sun had lent her delicate features was more complimentary than any cosmetic.
Though
in person she scarcely resembled the stylish woman in the photographs, David
knew that she was the suspect from his case files. This Libby James was really
Elisabeth Jamison, one of the richest, most powerful women in corporate
America
. Moreover, she was suspected of selling missile designs to terrorists.
“The
story begins with a wicked hobgoblin,” Libby told the children in a hushed,
mysterious voice. “He was the worst. And he only came out from hiding when he
wanted to cause mischief.”
Which
was, ironically, the opposite of what she’d done, David thought. The
“mischief” at Jamison Enterprises—in the form of yet another sale of
classified technology-laden microchips to
Iran
—had coincided too perfectly with Libby’s anonymous arrival in Amen to be
much of a coincidence. No matter how she told that story, the theme was treason.
“Another
character in the story is the Snow Queen.” Libby cast David a look cool enough
to remove his eyes from her legs, at least for the moment. “Though she was
made of ice, she was fair and beautiful and her eyes sparkled like bright
stars.”
She
had that part down. Try as he might, it took more self-control than David
possessed not to stare at Libby. She was an attractive traitor to her country;
he’d have to grant her that.
But
Captain Rogers didn’t like traitors. It was that prejudice that had initiated
his departure from NASA, where he had been a shuttle pilot, to this undercover
assignment at a godforsaken place near the suburbs of obscurity. He looked over
his ragtag class and shook his head ruefully. Sure, he’d taken a sacred oath
to protect and serve the
United States of America
—and he’d meant every word of it—but who’d have guessed he’d be asked
to do it this way? Babysitting pre-adolescents while spying on a turncoat with
the legs of a goddess and the face of a saint. It was downright funny when he
thought about it.
“One
day, when he was in a merry mood,” Libby read, “the hobgoblin made a
looking-glass which had the power of making everything beautiful that was
reflected in it look hideous. The loveliest landscapes looked like boiled
spinach and people? —well, even one freckle on the nose appeared to spread
over the whole of the face.”
The
children giggled at the face Libby made, and even David grinned.
“This
is what?” a man’s voice asked quietly from behind. “A hob—? Hob-gob-lin?
You might tell me, please?”
Omar.
David identified the man without looking.
Who
else? David had been in town for only a day and a half and already he knew
that Amen was not what it seemed. Sure, it looked like a little town dying in the foothills outside of
Phoenix
, but it was actually more like a thriving desert island inside the Bermuda
Triangle. There must be some cosmic undercurrent of weirdness to account for all the
miss-fits who’d washed up here—like this new Egyptian PE coach, for
instance.
David
turned. “A hobgoblin is a, a…” What
the heck is a hobgoblin, anyway?
Fairy tales hadn’t been part of his curriculum at
Annapolis
.
It
didn’t matter that David didn’t know. Omar had turned away to listen
intently to Libby’s story. And no wonder, David thought. The century-old words rolled naturally
from her tongue and her expressive face told more than the words. She was a
natural storyteller. No wonder she was so good at covering her tracks.
“As
the clock in the church tower struck twelve,” she read, “the boy Kay said,
‘Oh! Something has struck my eye!’ Sweet Gerda put her arm around his neck,
and looked into his eyes, but she could see nothing. ‘I think it is gone,’
she said. But she was wrong. It was not gone.”
Libby’s
expressive face clouded as she continued, “’It was one of those bits of the
evil looking-glass. Poor little Kay had received a small grain in his eye, and
another in his heart, which very quickly turned to a lump of ice. He felt no
more pain, but the glass was there still.’” She closed the book slowly and
smiled when the children groaned in disappointment. “It’s almost
three o’clock
,” she said, tapping the watch on her slender wrist. “Time to go home.”
“But
what happens next?” asked a red-headed girl.
“Kay
is bewitched by the wicked Snow Queen,” Libby replied. “We’ll read that
chapter when you come back to the library on Wednesday.”
The
girl’s pigtails swung out from her head as she turned toward David. “Can’t
you read the rest of the story to us in class tomorrow?”
Other
kids joined in with “Yeah!” and “Please, Captain Rogers?”
David
smiled. No way could he compete with Scheherazade up there, but he could
read, and he’d had a heck of a time today figuring out how to fill all those
hours he was supposed to be teaching. He’d killed most of the time telling
stories about NASA, but he hadn’t told them well. David was an ace pilot and a
passable secret agent, but he was a lousy public speaker. Lecturing, even to
eleven-year-olds, unnerved him. The girl’s suggestion was a godsend. “Sure,
we’ll read the story,” he told the class. To Libby he said, “Can I use
your book?”
Her
fingers tightened around the dog-eared pages. At last she said, “You may check
it out, I suppose.”
Right,
David thought as she rose to place the book on her desk, you
worry about me stealing fairy tales and I’ll worry about you stealing
government secrets. Still, he couldn’t help but admire the way Libby
formed his class into an orderly line at the door. A line was a novel concept;
he’d taken the class to lunch and the library in a mob. When the dismissal
bell sounded, the children scattered to the seven winds.
David
watched them go from the open doorway and let out an involuntary sigh of relief.
Anybody who thought that NASA’s infamous altitude chamber was the worst place
you could spend a day had never been in charge of a sixth-grade classroom. He
glanced at his watch and when he looked up he realized that the seven winds
hadn’t carried the children off after all. Instead, they’d been blown back
toward the library with all their little brothers and sisters.
“He
is an astronaut!” Calvin, a
freckle-faced boy at the front of the pack, declared. He peered around David
into the library for an unimpeachable witness. “Tell them, Miss James! Captain
Rogers is too an astronaut, ain’t he?”
Isn’t
he,” Libby corrected automatically. “Well, he says
he is.”
David
started in surprise. Then he relaxed. No way was Elisabeth Jamison on to him.
Even if she’d had him checked out, and there was no indication from
headquarters to indicate that she had—at least not yet—his cover was
flawless. He was an astronaut for
crying out loud; he had the scars to prove it.
“I’ve
flown the Atlantis and the Endeavor,”
he told the little girl. “Orbited the earth. Walked in space. The whole nine
yards.”
“He
showed us pictures!” the boy exclaimed. “Let’s go show ‘em your
pictures, Captain Rogers!”
If
Calvin had pictures to back him up, the children were willing to believe. One
little girl tugged on David’s pant leg. “Can I ask you a question about
outer space?”
David
looked down into the dirty, eager face and smiled. “Sure you can. What do you
want to know?”
“Where
do you go to the bathroom?”
The
group giggled. Behind his back, he heard Libby repeat the question for Omar.
Suddenly, he felt his face warm without benefit of the afternoon sun. “We, er,
well, the…facilities…are like a vacuum cleaner kind of thing and you take
the hose and—” The laughter increased in volume and David regretted the
graphic nature of his explanation. He was grateful to see principal Max Wheeler,
a shaggy gray bear of a man, ambling toward the library for the faculty meeting.
As one, the children stepped back to let the principal pass.
“This
the organizational meeting of your fan club, Captain?” Before David could
respond, a smile lit the older man’s craggy features and he added, “Sign me
up. Not every school can claim to have a real Buck Rogers on their staff.”
David
returned the smile as though he hadn’t been called “Buck Rogers of the 21st
Century” at least once a week since he got his pilot’s license at the age of
twelve. He was twenty-eight now, so he’d heard it—what—eight hundred
times? Nine hundred? Probably more like a thousand, he thought, but, hey, something that
clever never gets old. “I’ll, uh, show you guys the pictures
tomorrow,” he told the children as he turned to follow Max back into the
library.
“Your
book,” Libby said when he paused at her desk. The way she extended the volume
of fairy tales was clearly designed to push him away.
David
didn’t budge. Instead he flashed his killer grin—the one reserved for NASA
Public Affairs photographers and female senators on the Space Committee.
He knew he was attractive, and he wasn’t above using his good looks to
his advantage. He didn’t mind that saving the Free World called for a little
flirtation when the flirtee was as lovely as Libby James. He leaned confidently
across her desk. “What I’d really like to check out is the librarian.”
The
look she gave him suggested there was more space between his ears than he’d
see in a lifetime at NASA.
Okay,
he thought, so it wasn’t a great
come-on. He turned the charm up another notch. “What I mean is, can I take
you to dinner tonight?”
“No.”
The
suggestion, he realized at once, was worse than the come-on. There was only one
diner in town—The Garden of Eaten—and it had taken David less than two
minutes to determine that what its cook lacked in olfactory senses she made up
for in poor hygiene. Nobody would want to eat there. He tried again. “Can I
take you to a movie this weekend?”
“No.”
“You’ve
probably seen it.” There was only one theater in town, too, and it was showing
Camelot. With his charm already on
“high,” and his ego on the line, David wondered what would
be appealing to a woman like Elisabeth Jamison. Then he remembered where they
were: Amen,
Arizona
, where the brightest light of the big city was the 60-watt street light in
front of town hall. No
ballet. No symphony. No museum. Heck, there isn’t even a bowling alley. What
do people here do?
“Can
I walk you to church?” he asked finally. There were two of those. A new chapel
anchored
Main Street
, and an old adobe house of worship—built by the pioneers Brigham Young had
first sent to settle Amen—fell to ruin on the edge of town.
“No,”
Libby said.
So
much for flirtation. Not only was he not above it, he wasn’t good at it.
“Okay, then.” He tucked the book under his arm. “Maybe I’ll see you
around school.” He retreated before she could say “no” to that, too.
As
the other six teachers filed in for the meeting, David pulled out a chair next
to the PE coach, dropped the book of fairy tales on the table and frowned at its
cover. “You want to know who the real Snow
Queen is?” he asked Omar under his breath. “It’s Libby James over
there.”
Words
spoken in haste are often lamented in leisure. That was the lesson Captain David
Rogers would best remember from his first day at
Alma
Elementary School
.
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