Chapter One — The Old Oak Table
Portsmouth, New Hampshire
The first thing Elena Cruz heard inside the Piscataqua Community Archive and Library was the metallic clatter of equipment.
Then a man’s voice.
“Easy. Keep it clear of that floorboard.”
Elena stopped just inside the entrance.
That couldn’t be right.
She shifted the tablet beneath her arm and checked the assessment schedule she’d reviewed twice over breakfast.
Her equipment delivery wasn’t due until nine. The structural team had been granted early access, but according to her instructions, historically significant furniture was supposed to be documented before relocation.
Another clatter came from somewhere beyond the entrance hall.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
She hurried towards the sound.
The library had looked magnificent from outside, despite its condition. Red brick softened by more than a century of New England weather, tall arched windows, carved stonework around the entrance, and heavy timber doors that had probably welcomed generations of readers.
Inside, it was another story.
The scent of old paper and timber polish lingered beneath something less pleasant: damp plaster.
Dust floated through shafts of late-summer sunlight. Several ceiling panels bore pale water stains, and a long crack ran diagonally above the entrance to the original reading room.
Elena had seen worse.
Much worse.
But she’d also seen what happened when buildings like this were allowed to deteriorate until demolition became the easiest answer.
That was precisely why she’d accepted the contract.
She rounded the corner.
And stopped.
Three men were gathered around an enormous oak reading table. One was positioning a padded furniture dolly beside it while another inspected the cleared route towards an adjoining room.
The third man stood at the table’s far end, one gloved hand resting against the timber.
Tall. Broad across the shoulders. Dark hair cut short enough to be practical rather than fashionable. His charcoal work shirt had been rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms marked by old scratches and the pale traces of sawdust.
He was studying the table with such concentration that he hadn’t noticed her arrival.
“Excuse me?”
All three men looked up.
The tall one straightened.
“Morning.”
Elena glanced at the table, then at the dolly.
“Are you moving that?”
He looked briefly at the equipment.
“Preparing to.”
She blinked.
Wonderful.
A comedian.
“I’m supposed to document the original furniture placement before anything gets relocated.”
“Right.”
“And that table hasn’t been recorded.”
He removed one glove.
“Then we’ve got a problem.”
“Yes, we do.”
He glanced towards the floor.
“Not quite the same problem, though.”
Elena drew a breath.
She was determined not to spend her first morning arguing with the restoration crew.
Unfortunately, that determination had lasted approximately four minutes.
“Look, I understand you’ve got your own work to do, but the building’s historical layout is part of my assessment. If you move original furniture before I’ve documented it, we lose information.”
The man’s expression remained remarkably neutral.
“Agreed.”
That stopped her.
“Agreed?”
“Original placement matters.”
“Then why are you moving it?”
He gestured towards the floorboards beside the table.
“Because I’d prefer it didn’t end up one floor lower.”
Elena looked down.
A strip of yellow safety tape had been placed across part of the reading room. Beneath the table, several floorboards appeared slightly bowed, their edges no longer sitting level.
She hadn’t noticed from the doorway.
The man crouched and pointed towards a narrow gap between two boards.
“Marcus checked this section first thing. There’s movement where there shouldn’t be. Until we’ve established what’s happening underneath, nobody’s putting additional weight on that area.”
Elena studied the floor.
“How bad?”
“Don’t know yet. Could be a localised joist problem. Could be something else. That’s what the investigation’s for.”
“Is the room safe?”
“The affected section’s restricted until we know more.”
He said it without drama, as though explaining why someone shouldn’t stand beneath a ladder.
Elena glanced back at the table.
“And moving something that heavy is safer?”
“We haven’t moved it yet. The crew’s preparing a supported route along the sound flooring. We won’t start until Marcus is satisfied we can take the load safely.”
One of the other men nodded towards the adjoining room.
“We’ve already cleared the destination.”
Elena considered the explanation.
It was reasonable.
Annoyingly reasonable.
She looked again at the yellow tape.
“All right. I missed the restriction. That’s on me.”
His expression softened slightly.
“But I still need to document the table before it goes anywhere,” she continued.
“How long?”
“Five minutes. Maybe ten.”
“From outside the restricted area?”
“Obviously.”
He glanced at her equipment.
“Then go ahead.”
Elena tilted her head.
“Do you always sound like you’re giving instructions to a particularly troublesome apprentice?”
For the first time, something changed in his expression.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
“Only when I’m dealing with one.”
One of the other men coughed suspiciously into his fist.
Elena narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, we’re going to get along wonderfully.”
“Looking forward to it.”
She couldn’t tell whether he was joking.
That was becoming irritating.
She set her bag on a nearby chair, retrieved her tablet and measuring equipment, and began documenting the table from the safe side of the room.
The man stepped aside without being asked.
At least he understood when to get out of the way.
The table itself was extraordinary.
Its surface had been worn smooth by generations of elbows, books, and restless hands. Fine scratches crossed the oak in every direction, while darker rings suggested that countless drinks had been placed on it despite what were undoubtedly generations of library rules.
Near one corner, someone had carved a pair of initials.
E.M.
A little further along, another set had been scratched into the timber.
1958.
Elena leaned closer.
“These markings need preserving.”
“They will be.”
She glanced towards him.
He was examining one of the table’s supporting joints.
“You sound certain.”
“Because I’m not removing them.”
“Some restoration contractors would sand the whole surface back.”
“Then they shouldn’t be restoring historical furniture.”
The answer came so quickly that Elena looked at him properly.
He wasn’t smiling.
For a moment, she forgot about their disagreement.
“That’s actually refreshing to hear.”
He gave a small shrug.
“Old timber tells you where it’s been. Sand everything back to perfection and you lose half its character.”
Elena regarded him thoughtfully.
She’d spent years explaining similar principles to people who believed digitisation meant cleaning up history until it became convenient, attractive, and almost unrecognisable.
Preservation wasn’t about making the past look new.
It was about allowing it to remain itself.
“Exactly,” she said.
Their eyes met.
For perhaps two seconds, they stood in unexpected agreement.
Then he glanced at her tablet.
“Can you get what you need from there?”
And the moment vanished.
“Yes,” Elena replied. “Provided nobody decides to relocate anything else before breakfast.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
She returned to work.
Five minutes became seven.
To his credit, the man didn’t hurry her.
He waited while she photographed the table, measured its position against the nearest columns, and recorded the visible markings. She also captured the surrounding room, including the damaged floor section and the safety barrier.
When she finished, she stepped back.
“All right. I’ve got the original position recorded.”
He glanced towards the crew.
“Thank you.”
The straightforward response caught her slightly off guard.
“You’re welcome.”
He put his glove back on.
“Let’s confirm the route with Marcus before we shift anything.”
The men moved away to check their preparations.
Elena used the opportunity to examine the surrounding shelves, noting where later alterations had interrupted the original timberwork.
A short while later, the crew returned.
The tall man gave a quiet instruction, and they began carefully manoeuvring the table onto the prepared dolly.
Elena watched with professional interest.
There was nothing careless about the operation. Every movement appeared considered, and when one wheel caught against an uneven joint along the cleared route, he stopped the team immediately rather than forcing it through.
They adjusted the equipment and continued.
Eventually, the table reached the adjoining room, where protective padding and supports had been prepared.
Elena released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
The man noticed.
“Still standing.”
“So I see.”
“Table too.”
“Congratulations.”
This time, she was certain he almost smiled.
She approached once the table had been safely set down.
He was kneeling beside one of its legs, examining a shallow recess beneath the frame.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Not with the joint.”
He reached into the recess and carefully extracted a small folded piece of yellowing paper.
Elena stepped closer.
“What is it?”
He examined the exposed writing without opening the fragile folds any further.
A child’s uneven handwriting covered one side.
He held it out towards her.
“Think this belongs to your department.”
Elena accepted the paper carefully.
Written across the top in crooked capital letters were the words:
OFFICIAL LIBRARY GHOST CLUB.
Underneath, three names had been listed.
Ellie.
Sam.
The Ghost.
A date in the corner read 1996.
Elena laughed.
“Oh, that’s wonderful.”
The man glanced at the paper.
“Ghost wasn’t much good at signing its own name.”
She looked up.
There it was again.
That barely visible suggestion of humour.
“No,” she said, still smiling. “Apparently not.”
She placed the note between clean protective sheets from her document kit until it could be properly assessed and stored.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“Would’ve ended up in the rubbish otherwise.”
“But you didn’t throw it away.”
He looked at her.
“Didn’t seem right.”
Something about the simplicity of the answer caught her attention.
She’d expected another sarcastic remark.
Instead, he’d said it as though there had never been another option.
A voice called from the adjoining room.
“Gav! Need you over here.”
The man turned.
“Coming.”
Elena watched him collect his tools.
“Gav?”
He looked back.
“Gavin,” he clarified. “Gavin Holt.”
Of course.
She recognised the name from the project documentation.
Architectural restoration manager. Sustainable timber specialist. Co-owner of the small restoration company contracted for the preliminary assessment.
She’d expected someone considerably older.
“I’m Elena Cruz.”
“I know.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You do?”
“Your name’s on the site schedule.”
“Oh.”
He nodded towards her tablet.
“Have a good morning, Ms Cruz.”
Then he walked away.
Elena watched him disappear through the doorway.
Ms Cruz?
Seriously?
She glanced down at the little ghost-club note.
Then back towards the room.
“Well,” she murmured, “aren’t you a bundle of sunshine.”
She returned to her equipment.
It was only her first morning.
She already suspected Gavin Holt was going to be difficult.
Unfortunately, she also suspected he was rather good at his job.
And that was going to make disliking him considerably less satisfying.
---
Gavin Holt preferred timber to people.
Timber generally told you when something was wrong.
A split grain, an unexpected knot, a weakened joint. There were signs if you knew how to look for them.
People were considerably less straightforward.
He was making a note about the oak table’s condition when Marcus Vance appeared beside him.
“Well?”
Gavin didn’t look up.
“Well, what?”
“The new archivist.”
“What about her?”
Marcus leaned against the doorway, folding his arms.
“You’ve met her, I take it?”
“Hard not to.”
“That bad?”
“Didn’t say that.”
Marcus grinned.
“Ah. Interesting.”
Gavin put his pencil down.
“What’s interesting?”
“Usually when somebody annoys you, I hear about it before they’ve finished speaking.”
“She wanted the table documented before we moved it.”
“Fair enough.”
“The floor needed clearing.”
“Also fair enough.”
Gavin gave him a look.
Marcus raised both hands.
“Don’t drag me into it. I’ve got enough problems.”
He stepped into the room and inspected the table.
“Everything come across all right?”
“Fine. Rear joint needs attention, but the timber’s sound. We’ll assess it properly once we’ve cleared some space.”
“Good.”
Marcus ran his fingers along the edge of the oak.
“Beautiful old thing.”
“Older than both of us combined.”
“Not quite. Although I appreciate the compliment.”
Gavin shook his head.
Marcus had been his closest friend for years, and his business partner long enough to develop a remarkable talent for getting under his skin.
The arrangement worked.
Mostly.
Marcus dealt with structural engineering, finances, and clients who expected every restoration project to be completed yesterday.
Gavin handled the historical construction work, timber assessments, and the clients who believed a hundred-and-fifty-year-old building could be repaired for the price of a new coat of paint.
They argued regularly.
They also trusted each other with the business they’d spent the past three years building.
Marcus glanced towards the doorway.
“So?”
Gavin sighed.
“So what?”
“Elena.”
“Opinionated.”
Marcus grinned.
“You two should get along beautifully, then.”
“She’s protective of the building.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“No.”
“Competent?”
“Seems to be.”
“Friendly?”
Gavin considered that.
“Depends how you feel about being interrogated before nine in the morning.”
Marcus laughed.
“Sounds like she made an impression.”
“She wanted her records accurate.”
“And you wanted the table safe.”
“Yes.”
“Almost sounds like you’re on the same side.”
Gavin picked up his pencil.
“Don’t get carried away.”
Marcus’s grin widened.
“All I’m saying is, if she cares half as much about this place as you do, we might actually have a chance.”
That silenced Gavin.
He glanced around the room.
The original plaster cornices were damaged. Several windows needed serious attention. The floorboards were uneven, and beneath the layers of paint and accumulated repairs, he suspected they would find decades of deferred maintenance.
The building was going to be expensive to save.
Possibly too expensive.
And if the council decided against restoration, Gavin and Marcus would lose far more than a promising contract.
They needed the work.
Not just to keep their crew employed, but to give their small business the stability it had never quite managed to recover.
Marcus seemed to recognise the change in his expression.
“Don’t start.”
Gavin looked at him.
“Start what?”
“Trying to calculate the entire restoration budget in your head before we’ve even finished the first assessment.”
“Somebody needs to.”
“Yeah. Me. Remember? I’m the one who enjoys spreadsheets.”
“Strange hobby.”
“Says the man who keeps a handwritten diary about tomatoes.”
Gavin pointed his pencil at him.
“That’s a cultivation ledger.”
Marcus burst out laughing.
“Of course it is.”
Before Gavin could respond, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
A woman appeared in the doorway, carrying a thick folder and looking as though she’d already had several difficult conversations that morning.
“Please tell me the table survived.”
Marcus straightened.
“Morning, Tori.”
Dr Tori Sterling surveyed the room.
Her eyes settled on the oak table.
Then the doorway leading towards the restricted area.
“Good. One fewer thing for the council to blame me for.”
Gavin stood.
“Temporary relocation went smoothly. The affected flooring is cordoned off pending further investigation.”
“Marcus?”
Marcus nodded.
“I’ve recorded the movement and restricted access. The initial indications suggest a localised floor-support issue, but we won’t know the extent until we’ve inspected it properly.”
“Any reason to suspect wider movement?”
“Nothing confirmed. I’ll review the existing drawings and arrange the appropriate investigation.”
Tori nodded.
“Keep me informed. I want that room restricted until we have a documented assessment.”
“Already done.”
“Excellent.”
She glanced at her watch.
“Conference room. Ten minutes. Both of you.”
Marcus gave a theatrical sigh.
“Do we get coffee?”
“You may purchase coffee.”
“Very generous.”
“Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“Ten minutes.”
She disappeared.
Marcus watched the empty doorway.
“Lovely woman.”
Gavin collected his notes.
“She’s keeping us employed.”
“Still terrifying.”
“Only if you’re late.”
Marcus looked at his watch.
“Right, then. We’d better move.”
---
The conference room had once been a smaller reading area.
Gavin could tell by the height of the windows and the old timber shelving still fixed along one wall.
A long table occupied the centre of the room. Architectural plans had been spread across one end, while several laptops and document folders occupied the other.
Elena Cruz was already there.
She stood beside the windows, examining a large historical floor plan.
Her dark hair had been pinned up, though a few loose strands had escaped around her face.
She wore a dark green blouse beneath a light jacket and appeared to have brought enough equipment to establish a small command centre.
Gavin noticed his survey folder sitting beside her tablet.
She glanced up as he entered.
“Mr Holt.”
He paused.
So that was how it was going to be.
“Ms Cruz.”
Marcus looked between them.
Then smiled to himself.
Gavin ignored him.
Tori entered moments later and closed the door.
“All right. Everyone, let’s get started.”
She placed her folder on the table.
“I know you’ve all read the project brief, but I want us absolutely clear about what we’ve been hired to do.”
Gavin took a seat.
Elena sat opposite him.
Tori opened the folder.
“The Piscataqua Community Archive and Library has served this community in one form or another for more than a century. Unfortunately, its historical significance hasn’t protected it from years of neglected maintenance.”
She looked around the room.
“The city owns the property. The council is divided over its future. Some want restoration. Others believe redevelopment would be a better use of public funds.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“And the developer’s offer?”
“Still under consideration.”
Tori turned a page.
“The proposal would replace the existing building with a residential development. There are legitimate financial arguments in its favour, which means sentiment alone isn’t going to save this place.”
Gavin glanced towards the window.
He’d read the proposal.
Luxury apartments, smart-building systems, retail space on the ground floor.
Everything new.
Everything efficient.
Everything that could be measured in projected revenue.
The old library had been reduced to a line in the demolition estimate.
Tori continued.
“The council has authorised a limited preliminary assessment. We are not undertaking the restoration itself. Our job is to determine whether a responsible, financially credible preservation option exists.”
She looked directly at Gavin.
“That means I need more than a craftsman’s assurance that the building deserves saving.”
“You’ll have it.”
“I know. But I also need the figures.”
Marcus tapped his notebook.
“Structural investigation, phased repair options, preliminary costs, and recommendations for restricted access or specialist assessment. We’ll identify anything requiring immediate attention.”
“Good.”
Tori turned towards Elena.
“Elena, your work covers the historical documentation and digital record. The rooms, relevant architectural features, and collections. I also want us to demonstrate how the material can be made accessible to people who may never physically enter this building.”
Elena nodded.
“The digital survey can help with the preservation assessment too. Once we’ve established the safe areas for capture, we can compare the existing layouts with older plans and identify alterations that aren’t properly recorded.”
Marcus looked interested.
“That could be useful.”
“Very,” Elena said. “Especially where previous renovations have hidden original features.”
Gavin considered that.
She was right.
Historical drawings rarely told the complete story. Buildings changed over time, and a record of what existed now could save hours of unnecessary exploratory work.
He looked across the table.
Elena noticed.
“Something wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He added, “That could help us.”
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
“Well,” she said, “that’s encouraging.”
Marcus made a small noise beside him.
Gavin ignored it.
Tori tapped the table.
“Which brings me to cooperation.”
She looked from Elena to Gavin.
“I’ve already heard about this morning’s table disagreement.”
Elena closed her eyes briefly.
Marcus suddenly became very interested in his notebook.
Gavin sat back.
“That was quick.”
“It’s a small team, Gavin.”
Tori gave him a patient look.
“I don’t want historically significant material moved without proper documentation and coordination.”
“Agreed,” Elena said.
“And I don’t want anyone entering restricted areas or delaying necessary safety measures.”
“Also agreed,” Gavin replied.
“Wonderful. Progress before lunchtime.”
Marcus chuckled.
Tori turned another page.
“For efficiency, the two of you will be sharing the old coordinator’s office upstairs. It’s the largest suitable workspace we’ve got available without interfering with the survey areas.”
Elena looked up.
“Sharing?”
“Yes.”
“With Gavin?”
Tori glanced at him.
“Unless there’s another restoration manager hiding somewhere.”
Gavin folded his arms.
“How large is this office?”
“Large enough.”
“That’s not a measurement.”
“Neither is ‘I’ll have those figures for you soon,’ but you’ve been using that one since Monday.”
Marcus laughed openly.
Gavin gave him a warning look.
Elena pressed her lips together.
He noticed.
And for some reason, that was almost as irritating as the laughter.
Tori closed her folder.
“Now. There’s one final point.”
Her expression became serious.
“The council hasn’t given us an open-ended opportunity to make our case. There won’t be unlimited extensions while we decide which parts of this building are worth saving.”
She placed a single sheet in the centre of the table.
“Sixty days.”
Nobody spoke.
“Sixty calendar days to produce a credible assessment and recommendations. After that, the council decides what happens next.”
Gavin looked at the paper.
Sixty days.
A little under nine weeks to understand a building that had spent more than a century accumulating problems.
Marcus exhaled slowly.
Elena studied the schedule.
Tori looked around the room.
“I’m not expecting miracles. I am expecting honesty, cooperation, and work that can withstand professional scrutiny.”
She gathered her papers.
“If this building can be saved responsibly, we need to prove it. If it can’t, we need to be honest about that too.”
Gavin disliked the second possibility.
But he understood why she’d said it.
Tori paused at the door.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll work through the full assessment schedule. For today, establish your workspaces, coordinate site access, and tell me immediately if you encounter anything unsafe.”
She looked towards Gavin and Elena.
“And do try not to kill each other before Friday.”
Then she left.
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Marcus stood and collected his notebook.
“Well. This should be fun.”
Gavin looked at him.
Marcus grinned.
“Sixty days with the two of you sharing an office? I’m almost disappointed I’ll miss most of it.”
“Go inspect something,” Gavin muttered.
“With pleasure.”
Marcus headed towards the door.
Elena began gathering her equipment.
Gavin reached for his folder.
He paused.
“Ms Cruz.”
She looked up.
“Yes, Mr Holt?”
He nodded towards the architectural drawings.
“Those digital comparisons you mentioned. Can you actually align them with the existing structure?”
“Within the limits of the available records and survey accuracy, yes.”
“Even where the original plans have missing measurements?”
“We’ll have to document the uncertainty rather than invent precision. But we should still be able to identify meaningful differences.”
Gavin considered her answer.
It was careful.
Practical.
Not the empty promise of someone selling a clever piece of technology.
“Could be useful,” he said.
Elena smiled faintly.
“That’s twice you’ve admitted that.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She lifted her tablet.
“Though, for the record, Mr Holt, my work involves quite a bit more than taking photographs.”
“I gathered.”
“Good.”
She moved towards the door.
Then stopped.
“Oh, and Gavin?”
He looked up.
“Yes?”
“That table?”
“What about it?”
“Thank you for looking after it.”
He regarded her for a moment.
“That’s what we’re here for.”
Elena nodded.
“Exactly.”
Then she left.
Gavin remained beside the table, listening to her footsteps fade along the corridor.
She was opinionated.
Persistent.
And clearly determined to make sure everyone understood the importance of her work.
But she was also thorough, competent, and willing to listen when the situation required it.
He could work with that.
Probably.
He glanced at the sixty-day schedule Tori had left behind.
There was an extraordinary amount to accomplish.
Sixty days to determine whether the old library could be saved.
Sixty days working alongside Elena Cruz.
Gavin picked up his folder and headed towards the stairs.
Considering their morning’s introduction, he sincerely hoped the shared office had two doors.
