Twelve Angry Librarians

I chatted with Melba a moment while Diesel disappeared quickly into the house. He had been here before, and I had no doubt he headed straight to Melba’s sofa. I passed over the harness and leash in case she wanted to run an errand while she babysat.

The conference started at nine this morning, and I made it to the hotel about ten minutes before nine. I paused in the lobby to scan the program. Nothing in the nine o’clock session appealed to me, and my panel started at half past ten. Might as well visit the vendor exhibits.

Because the SALA conference was a relatively small meeting, the exhibits occupied only half the ballroom. I remembered the exhibitors’ hall at the Texas Library Association Annual Meetings, held in convention centers, and the vast space it covered. I could easily make my way around these exhibits in under an hour unless I stopped to chat with vendors at each booth. I did want to speak with salespeople from our chief subscription agent and introduce myself. In case I decided to accept the director’s job, I knew I shouldn’t pass up an opportunity to acquaint myself with these people.

I quickly found the booth I sought and introduced myself to one of the salespeople, a curly-headed young woman whose name tag read Carol Seiler. We soon discovered that we had mutual librarian friends in Texas and chatted away. She introduced me to several of her coworkers, and we discussed some of the particulars of the Athena College account.

While we talked I became aware of two women, both strangers who appeared to be in their late seventies, at least. They stood nearby, perhaps seven or eight feet away, staring at me. I glanced sideways several times and saw them whispering to each other, and twice one of the women pointed in my direction. I realized I had lost the thread of the conversation with Carol and her coworkers and made an effort to ignore the women.

Why were they staring and pointing at me? I wondered while I listened to Carol’s remarks about a new product. Different visitors to the booth claimed the other salespeople’s attention, but Carol continued her conversation with me. I made an effort to listen and comment intelligently, but at the back of my mind I was stewing over the behavior of those two women.

When I allowed myself a quick sideways glance in their direction, I saw that they were no longer nearby. I wanted to turn around and look for them, but I couldn’t be that rude. Carol, however, noticed my distraction.

“Is everything all right?” she asked. “Something seems to be bothering you.”

I hesitated before I answered. “Well, actually, there is. Did you happen to notice those two women who hovered nearby for a few minutes? They seemed to be staring and pointing at me, and I don’t know why.”

Carol shook her head. “No, sorry, I didn’t notice them. Perhaps they were waiting to speak with you but didn’t want to interrupt.”

I shrugged. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose they’ll track me down at some point.” I thanked her for her time, and she gave me her business card. I tucked it into my jacket pocket, wished her a good day, and wandered down the row to survey the other booths.

At the end of the row I paused at the exhibitor’s table and picked up a brochure that touted their databases, all designed for general academic libraries. I asked a few questions, received a free thumb drive and a couple more brochures, then rounded the corner to go down the next aisle.

I ran right into the two women who only a little while ago had been watching me and whispering to each other. “Sorry,” I said with a brief smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

One of the women uttered a muted shriek and stepped back, while the other stared at me with avid interest. I would have sworn she licked her lips before she said, “If you’re the one who killed that obnoxious Gavin Fong, I’d like to shake your hand.”

EIGHTEEN

For a moment I was too taken aback to do anything other than stare blankly at the two women. Then the bizarre nature of the situation struck my often quirky sense of humor, and I was hard put not to laugh.

Instead I said, “Ma’am, I’d be happy to shake your hand, but it would be under false pretenses. I didn’t kill Gavin Fong.”

The woman who shrieked a moment ago eyed me with suspicion. When she spoke, her voice came out in a hoarse whisper, and I had to strain to hear her. “Are you sure? I could have sworn someone told me you were the man who beat him up Thursday and nearly put him in the hospital.”

The woman who had offered to shake my hand glared at her companion. “What idiot told you that, Ada Lou? You saw that jerk Fong at the luncheon yesterday. Did he look like he’d been beaten up anywhere near bad enough to be in the hospital?”

“Well, no, Virginia, I guess not.” Ada Lou looked confused.