Twelve Angry Librarians

I was so caught up in my fantasy of playing Hercule Poirot, bringing all the suspects together in the drawing room for the big revelation scene, that I hadn’t really paid attention to one crucial point that finally forced its way to the forefront of my consciousness.

Well, make that two crucial points.

First, one of the people in my house would be someone who had already killed twice. Someone who might still have cyanide in his or her possession.

Second, that person could easily decide to kill again, and who would be the most likely choice to play the victim?

Hercule Poirot, that’s who—otherwise known as Charlie Harris.

Sobered by these thoughts, I rapidly lost enthusiasm for my grandiose idea.

Perhaps if Kanesha and one or two deputies were on hand, that would greatly lessen the chance that the killer would strike again.

I brightened momentarily at that idea, but I realized Kanesha would never go for it. Too dangerous, she would say, and I couldn’t disagree.

So much for my big idea. I deleted the notes I’d made on the app and decided I might as well listen to the presentation going on at the front of the midsize room.

There were about forty people in a room that probably held roughly sixty, I estimated. I checked my program to see who the presenters were and what institutions they represented. I almost dropped my program when I read the names.

The one man among the three was none other than Mitch Handler, the librarian-writer Marisue and Randi had told me about earlier. Now that I finally focused on the presenters, I realized I had met one of the women two days ago. Cathleen Matera, who was talking now, had come up to me after the incident with Gavin on Thursday. She had offered to serve as a witness for me. The other woman wasn’t anyone I knew.

Cathleen Matera seemed to be nearing the end of her part of the presentation when I tuned in.

“So you can see that’s how we make the program function with a group of only five reference librarians. With the help of our colleagues from technical services—four additional librarians, as I stated earlier—we manage to make sure each academic department has a contact person within the library. Now I will turn the program over to my colleague, Mitch Handler.” She closed her presentation on the large screen on the wall and handed a device to Mitch Handler when he reached her. She sat, and Handler busied himself at the podium getting his part of the presentation up on the screen.

I thought about what Cathleen Matera said moments before about each department at her institution having a contact person in the library. Turn that around, and all the librarians had contacts in various departments at their universities.

For example, a contact in the chemistry department, where one of the chemicals kept in stock could be cyanide.

The liaison librarian might even have an undergraduate degree in the sciences, perhaps even chemistry. That was not an unusual scenario. One of the reference librarians at Athena had a bachelor’s degree in biology, for example. Not all librarians were English or history majors, unlike what many people thought.

I knew Kanesha was having background checks done on people, and I was pretty sure she would be focusing primarily on the guests at Gavin Fong’s Thursday night party. I certainly would.

I couldn’t stand it. I had to go do a bit of background checking myself. I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on any presentations until I knew for myself more about the backgrounds of the party attendees.

I sent Melba a text to let her know that I would soon be at her place to pick up Diesel. I would have the quiet I needed at home, and I was more than ready to have my feline pal by my side again. I was so used to having him with me all day, and now that I hadn’t seen him in several hours, I wanted to spend time with him. Even though I knew Melba would never let any harm come to him, I still would feel better when I had Diesel in my sight again.

The main reason I liked sitting at the back of the room for occasions like a conference session was that I could get out quickly and with little fuss. I did so now and made my way downstairs and out to the parking lot behind the hotel in less than two minutes.

Melba responded to my text with a simple OK. When she opened her front door, Diesel stood a few inches behind her. The moment he saw me he started talking. From the slightly indignant tone, I figured I was being scolded for disappearing for such a long time. He loved Melba, but he didn’t like not knowing where I was for more than a few minutes at a time, usually.

“I’m sorry, boy, but we’re going home now, okay?” I reached out to pat his head, and to Melba’s amusement and mine, he drew back and gave me a look loaded with disdain. He didn’t turn his back on me, but he made it clear that I wasn’t forgiven yet.

He did deign to follow me to the car after I thanked Melba for looking after him.