Maid of Murder

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning at Ryan Memorial Library began with a staff meeting and with Jefferson Island complaining about the Dewey Decimal System. Even when I was in top librarian form, I wasn’t up to hearing one of Jefferson’s cataloging speeches, and with events of the previous day still fresh in my mind, I wanted to run screaming from the room.

“If Martin College is going to transform itself into a university within the next ten years, it is imperative that we find another way to organize our resources that allows for growth,” Jefferson said.

It was a diatribe we’d heard countless times before.

Lasha interrupted him, “We will consider your recommendation, Dixie. Are there any other issues that should be brought in front of the entire group?”

Jefferson frowned. “I made a slideshow to illustrate my argument.”

Lasha’s expression looked pained. “I think it would be best to email it to the staff, so each librarian can review it as he or she has time.”

Beside me Bobby snickered. I bet he wasn’t going to be watching Jefferson’s slideshow.

“Well if you think that that’s best. However—”

“Excellent, I think this meeting’s over, people,” Lasha declared and rose.

“But,” Jefferson began. “I brought it with me . . .”

However, it was too late—the room emptied before he could boot up his laptop.

Behind the reference counter, Bobby slipped into one of the high chairs.

I took the other. Seeking a distraction from my thoughts, I studied Bobby’s get-up. “What’s with the suit, Bob-o? Have an afternoon dalliance planned in the stacks?”

Bobby adjusted his perfectly straight collar. “Regrettably, no, but thank you for the idea. I’m having lunch with Bree and have to exude some level of professionalism.”

“Really?”

Bobby gave me a sideways glance, “Yes.” He paused. “I’m sorry about Olivia.”

“How’d you hear?” I asked. I slapped my forehead in mock surprise. “Duh, Bree told you. Over breakfast, maybe?”

Bobby ignored my acid tone. “She called me after they removed life support yesterday morning. She was with the family and Kirk when they made the difficult decision. It’s been hard for her.”

“I’m sure. I’m glad you’re there for her.”

I booted up my computer and logged on to the library’s email account. There were a couple of messages from professors with research requests and the College president’s secretary reminding us to renew the president’s overdue books.

“She doesn’t know anyone here. She’s from Virginia and only here for the wedding.” He paused. “Now, for the funeral.”

“Wow, and here I was only thinking about myself, having heard about my friend’s death from police hours after it happened.” I said as I renewed the president’s books. “But I have plenty of people in this town to comfort me, don’t I?”

Bobby’s brow wrinkled. “Would you stop playing with your mouse and look at me?”

I shut the email account and turned my chair to face him. He looked confused and a little hurt. I felt a twinge of guilt for mistreating him. I knew that I should feel sorry for Bree. Her closest friend had been murdered, and now she was stuck in a strange town miles from home. Despite knowing this, I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for her. I hadn’t liked how she’d fawned over Olivia at the picnic, nor did I like that she had moved Bobby’s sympathy from my family to her and the Blockens. I knew from dealing with Bobby and his past girlfriends that he would repeat anything I said to his current love, so she had effectively stolen my best friend when I needed him most.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

Before Bobby could answer, Nasia, Lasha’s thirteen-year-old daughter, sashayed to the desk. She wore a skimpy tank top and shorts covered by her mother’s mammoth red cardigan. Lasha had mentioned that Nasia was in a “rapper’s hoochy mama” stage.

“Good morning, India,” she greeted, adding a sophisticated tone to her still-juvenile voice.

Lasha and her daughter lived just off campus, so Nasia was a frequent visitor to the library during the summer, especially when there wasn’t anything good to watch on television, or so she said.

“Hi, Looker,” she said, using her mother’s pet name for Bobby.

“Good morning, Nasia,” Bobby said reservedly. He looked panicky.

She batted her blue false eyelashes in response.

Lord, I thought.

Nasia batted her eyelashes again. A stray lash poked her in the left eye. She winced and looked away as if she spotted something else of interest. She oh-so-casually rubbed her eye. Bobby shot me a pleading look. I hopped off my chair and walked around the counter, situating myself in between Bobby and Nasia. She rubbed her eye furiously.

“Nasia, I want to show you something in my office,” I said.

She nodded and let me steer her toward the back room. I glanced back at Bobby. He flashed an appreciative grin.

In the staff bathroom, I dampened a paper towel and handed it to Nasia. “You are going to have to take those ridiculous things off.”

Nasia sniffled. “Do you think he saw?”

“Who?” I asked, handing her a second paper towel.

“Bobby. I’m soooo embarrassed.”

“Bobby? Naw,” I lied. “He was too busy reading his horoscope on the computer.”

“Really?” She met my eyes with one-and-a-half of hers.

“You know, Nasia, Bobby’s a little old for you.”

She bristled. “I was just practicing for eighth grade.”

“I went to Stripling Middle School for eighth grade too, and I know, for a fact, that you won’t be allowed to walk through that door dressed like this.”

“Times have changed.” She patted her hair. “And how would you know what it’s like there, anyway? You’re old.”

Ouch.

After I parked Nasia in front of a computer terminal where she immediately logged onto her online profile and would be happily entertained for hours, I lost the rest of the morning helping a tearful August graduate with a paper on The Fall of the House of Usher. I gave the senior every book relating to, critical of, and written by Poe in reference to the short story. Her thin arms strained under the weight of the texts, and I helped her carry them to the checkout desk where Erin stood.

“I can’t thank you enough,” the girl gushed. “You really saved me. I wasn’t finding anything.”

I smiled, feeling quite smug.

The student added, “If I hadn’t gone to college, I think I would really have liked to be a librarian too,” the student said.

I glanced at Erin, who smirked.

I had returned to the reference desk when Bree walked in.