Twelve Angry Librarians

“He’s got a sassy mouth on him.” Melba had grinned at me as I eased out of her office to head to the parking lot behind the building.

The drive back to campus would take all of seven or eight minutes, and I had plenty of time to look for Randi and Marisue before I needed to leave.

I glanced around the room, searching for them. I had hoped they would come find me, but at the moment I didn’t see them anywhere. I also hadn’t spotted Gavin Fong, and that was fine with me. The longer I went without contact with the toad, the happier I would be.

“Hi, there, Mr. Harris.”

I turned to see a tall, willowy blonde approach me. She appeared to be in her midsixties and wore a tailored suit in a shade of aquamarine that suited her figure and coloring admirably. I had never seen her before that I could recall.

She extended a hand, and I took it. “Good afternoon.” I smiled. “I must apologize. If we have met before, I’m afraid I don’t remember it.”

The stranger laughed, a pleasant, throaty sound. “No need to apologize. We’ve not met before. I’m Nancy Dunlap. I’m director of the library at a school in Louisiana. I was hoping to meet you, and to meet that wonderful Maine Coon cat of yours. I’ve heard about him, you see.”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t do well in large crowds,” I replied. “He’s back in the office with my administrative assistant. He’s quite friendly, but too many people at once tend to overwhelm him.”

Nancy Dunlap inclined her head. “Of course, and I should have realized that had I given it much thought. I was excited about the opportunity. Both of you are apparently rather well-known here in Athena.”

Oh dear, I thought. She’s heard about the murders I’ve been involved in and is going to pump me for details.

I must have betrayed my dismay in my expression. She waved a hand in my direction. “No, no, not to worry. I’m not going to ask about anything to do with murder. Not my cup of tea.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I must admit to being curious as to how you heard about Diesel.”

She laughed again. “One of my dearest friends lives here in Athena. Has done for many years. I don’t imagine you know her. Sandra Wallesch. We exchange letters regularly, and she’s written about you and your cat.”

I searched my memory, but I couldn’t recall ever having met the woman.

Nancy Dunlap continued before I could reply. “I believe she is a friend of a friend of yours. A woman named Melba Gilley.”

I smiled. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met your friend, though Melba might have mentioned her to me at some point. I’ve known Melba since childhood, and she has so many friends it’s impossible to keep track of them all.”

I was about to continue with an invitation for Nancy Dunlap to drop by my office tomorrow morning, but before I could get the words out, she scowled. What had I done to offend her?

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said in a rush of words. “I see someone coming toward us that I have no desire whatsoever to talk to. I’m sure I’ll run into you again.”

With that she turned and hurried away. I glanced in the direction she had been looking before her departure, and I spotted Gavin Fong loping toward me.

I was tempted to walk off as if I hadn’t seen him, but I was too late. Seconds later he halted about two feet from me. He was as reed thin as he was the last time I saw him, over twenty-five years ago. He blinked at me through thick glasses, and his hair, once jet-black, was now threaded with gray. His skin looked sallow and unhealthy, and his shoulders hunched forward like those of a much older man. His neck and head jutted forward as though he were a turtle. I had to look down to meet his gaze. He seemed to have shrunk a couple of inches since I’d last seen him. Maybe it was the atrocious posture, probably the result of too many hours spent peering at a computer screen. He had been more interested in computers than in his fellow human beings back when I knew him, and I doubted that had changed in the years since.

His baleful gaze didn’t bother me. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a middle finger. I wanted to roll my eyes at such a childish display, but I refrained. I waited for him to speak.

“Where’s your wife? I figured she’d be here with you.” His voice still sounded high and whiny.

“Dead.”

That disconcerted him. Either his acting had improved significantly, or he honestly hadn’t been aware of Jackie’s death several years ago.

“Uh, sorry.” Then Gavin mumbled for a moment, and I couldn’t make out the words.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said.

Gavin shrugged. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Had he said a brief prayer? I wondered. Or was he responding to a voice in his head?

I started to edge away from him, and he held out a hand, almost—but not quite—touching my arm. “Hang on,” he said.