Twelve Angry Librarians

“Of course not,” Virginia snapped. “We were sitting a couple of tables away from him, and he didn’t look like—or move like—a man who’d been beaten, did he?”

“I already said he didn’t, Virginia,” Ada Lou said. “I wish you wouldn’t keep on at me like that. My eyesight is better than yours. I could see that table a lot better than you, in fact. I was looking straight at him most of the time, and that man who was sitting next to him. You’re the one who complained that there was a real big head in the way when you tried to look.”

“Well, there was a big head,” Virginia said. “You were sitting right there. Surely you could see a head that big for yourself, if your eyesight is as good as you keep saying it is.”

By now several people had paused to eavesdrop on this peculiar conversation, and I was ready to move on before it became even more bizarre. While Virginia and Ada Lou continued to bicker, apparently having forgotten about me, I sidled away. I was curious about why Virginia hated Gavin Fong enough to want to shake my hand, but for the moment, I decided, finding that out could wait. I could always track them down later. In a group this size it shouldn’t be that hard.

Perhaps my encounter with Virginia and Ada Lou had made me abnormally sensitive, but as I continued to make my way through the exhibits and speak occasionally to vendors, I felt the weight of numerous gazes directed my way. Was I imagining this, or were the starers all thinking I killed Gavin Fong?

I probably had Maxine Muller to thank for this, I decided. I recalled that she had accused me of murder to Kanesha Berry. She must have been busy spreading the word at the conference. I grew increasingly uncomfortable in the exhibit hall and decided I’d had enough.

I walked out of the ballroom into the foyer and found a secluded spot behind a pillar near a wall. A check of my watch informed me that I had twenty minutes before my panel started. I debated whether to abandon it and head home for the rest of the day. I knew Lisa Krause would be disappointed in me, not to mention angry, for doing so, and I told myself I had to tough it out.

Being the center of attention had never appealed to me, although a few times I had done stupid things that briefly put me right in the limelight. The two times I knocked down Gavin Fong were prime examples. I wouldn’t describe myself as self-effacing, exactly, but neither did I seek out attention for the sake of being noticed and puffing up my ego. I preferred getting on with my life without most of the world around me paying any attention.

Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself. This will all pass over as soon as Kanesha solves the case, and all these people will forget who you are. I could almost hear my late wife, Jackie, and my aunt Dottie telling me that in unison.

Still, I continued to feel a bit nervous. After a brief visit to the restroom I made my way to the room where my panel on cataloging would start in about five minutes. The previous session ended at ten fifteen, but people lingered near the front of the room. I went around the chairs on one side of the room and reached the front. A young man took away the name cards on the table and replaced them with those of the members of the cataloging panel.

I felt a slight jolt when I spotted one with Gavin Fong’s name on it. Evidently the young man didn’t realize Fong wouldn’t be attending. I wondered whether I should remove it but decided that I would let someone else do it if they wanted to. Even without a name card I knew Gavin’s presence would probably be felt. Given the incendiary tenor of the opening remarks to his keynote speech yesterday, I felt reasonably sure he would have expressed opinions on cataloging that would have angered the audience today. Had he lived long enough to finish his remarks at the luncheon, he likely would have faced a roomful of angry librarians.

As I waited for the other members of the panel to make themselves known, I speculated whether Gavin’s attitude toward his profession could have anything to do with his murder. I didn’t take it seriously as a motive, but it could be a contributing factor, of a sort. Maybe when I got home later this afternoon I would do a little digging, check out some of Gavin’s publications, to find out whether he had expressed these provocative opinions in professional journals.

I emerged from my woolgathering and looked at my watch. The panel should have started seven minutes ago. I also noticed that the room was nearly empty. I counted three other people besides myself.

What was going on? Where were the other members of the panel?

Moments later a harassed-looking Lisa Krause hurried into the room. Her expression forewarned me of bad news.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Am I in the wrong room for the cataloging panel?”