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Sarabeth Conley. I was Sarabeth Norris back then.” She chuckled. “Your two favorite songs were ‘My Favorite Things’ and ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ as I recall.”
    I blushed. When she babysat me Sarabeth was a pretty young girl, maybe fifteen, and I loved sitting next to her in my dad’s old armchair while she sang.
    Now Sarabeth was sixtyish, and I’d describe her plump face as more handsome than pretty. The odor of lavender seemed stronger now, and I recalled snuggling close to Sarabeth as she read to me, her perfume a light but pleasant presence in my nose.
    “I’m the department administrator,” Sarabeth said. “Have been for the past twenty-five years. You work in the library, don’t you?”
    I nodded. “I’m the archivist and rare book cataloger. Part-time, and I volunteer at the public library several days a month.” As I conversed with Sarabeth I darted quick glances at the doorway. I hoped Connor Lawton wouldn’t come back.
    “I visited the public library all the time when I was a girl.” Her tone sounded wistful. “These days I don’t ever have time to read like I did back then.”
    “That’s too bad,” I said. “I’m lucky, I guess, to have a fair amount of time to read. I love mysteries especially.” I paused. “When you have time, what do you like to read?”
    A faint tinge of red brightened her cheeks. “Romances, Regencies in particular. Mostly I end up rereading my Georgette Heyer novels.” Her fingers moved restlessly in her lap.
    “Heyer is wonderful, isn’t she?” I chuckled. “I have to confess, I love a good historical romance novel occasionally myself, and there’s nobody better than Heyer. I like to reread her, too.”
    Sarabeth perked up at my response, and I figured she was embarrassed—as some readers are—to admit to reading romance novels. A good book is a good book, I’ve always thought, whatever the genre. I had no patience for snobbery when it came to fiction reading.
    I made a casual sweep of the room and began to breathe easier. Still no sign of Connor Lawton.
    Sarabeth and I discussed some mutual favorites for a few minutes—Barbara Metzger, Mary Jo Putney, Meredith Duran, Roberta Gellis, among others—and then the conversation veered away from fiction entirely.
    “Your daughter is causing a stir.” Sarabeth laughed and gestured toward the other sofa. “Like ducks on a june bug, the men here tonight. And not just the straight ones. She’s a knockout.”
    “Thank you,” I said. “She’s quite an accomplished actress. I’m proud of her.”
    “I read her résumé.” Sarabeth nodded. “All her theater work is great for our program, and her exposure on television is advantageous, too. We’re delighted to have her for the semester.”
    “I am, too.” I laughed. “But it was quite a surprise. I didn’t find out about it until yesterday.”
    “I’m sure you’re glad to have her home for a few months.” Sarabeth glanced away. “It’s hard not being able to see them when you want.”
    I detected a note of pain in her voice, and when I spoke my tone was gentle. “Do you have children?”
    “No, not really.” Sarabeth’s gaze remained fixed away from me. “A much-younger brother who is more like a son, but that’s all.” Some private sorrow seemed to engulf her.
    I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so I picked up on an earlier remark. “Laura living in California is tough,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy the semester here, but then she’ll be off to Hollywood again.” Where Connor Lawton would return eventually, and that thought unsettled me.
    Sarabeth faced me again. “How well does she know Connor Lawton?”
    I was taken aback by the question. For a moment I thought she’d read my mind. “They’re friends,” I said in a cautious tone. I wasn’t about to discuss my daughter’s private life with a relative stranger. “They’ve worked together in Los Angeles.”
    Sarabeth cocked an eyebrow. “Judging from