No Cats Allowed

FOUR

Diesel meowed loudly several times and pulled against his leash, and I realized I still stood in the center of the sidewalk, oblivious to what was happening around me. I heard a loud “Excuse me,” and I hastily stepped to one side. Diesel, clever boy, moved nimbly with me so that the woman and her two stuffed canvas bags passed us without further fuss.

Led by my cat, I headed homeward again, a distance now of only about three blocks. My thoughts reverted to Melba and the problem of the pink lipstick. I grimaced at the words; they sounded like the title of a Golden Age detective story by John Dickson Carr. But this situation was happening in the present. I knew there were other women besides Melba who wore pink lipstick, but the coincidence struck me as worrisome.

How to approach the subject with Melba—that was the question plaguing me as I fished out my keys to unlock the front door. Diesel darted inside the moment the door opened wide enough. I knew the quick entry meant he was eager to visit the litter box.

While my hands coped with the fastenings of the cat’s leash and harness, I thought about Melba. I couldn’t blame her if she had played that prank on Oscar Reilly. His behavior toward her was inexcusable, and I knew when she had her dander up, she could be a bit unpredictable.

The trouble was, the tenor of this particular prank seemed more like something an undergrad would do, not a woman of Melba’s age and experience. If Melba wanted to get her own revenge against Oscar, I figured she would come up with a far subtler, and in the end more devastating, plan.

In the kitchen I headed right for the fridge and helped myself to a glass of ice-cold water. I thought more about Melba and the lipstick. I could just call her and tell her about the scene I had unwillingly witnessed and gauge her reaction. No, upon reflection, I decided it would be better to wait until we were face-to-face again. The direct approach was best.

Loud crunching noises emanated from the nearby utility room. Diesel did enjoy his dry food, though I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started campaigning for his nightly serving of wet food. He often had tidbits from the dinner table as well, but I tried to ration them carefully. I also tried to make sure that none of the ingredients of the people food he ate were harmful to cats.

Moments later my gentle giant of a feline ambled purring into the kitchen. That loud noise, the source of his name, always made me feel better. He rubbed his head against my knee for a moment before he stretched out under the table near my feet.

My thoughts shifted to a different topic, though one still connected to the odious Oscar Reilly. What would I do if he persisted in his attempts to keep me from bringing Diesel to work at the archive? I could quit, as I’d reasoned earlier, because I didn’t absolutely need the money from the job, helpful though it was. I would certainly miss the work I did there, though, because I loved it.

Or, I thought, I could take a leave of absence until the college found a new full-time director of the library. Oscar Reilly was only temporary, after all. And the more temporary the better.

That sounded like the superior option, I decided. First, though, I had to find out whether part-time employees could actually take a leave of absence. I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. Thirteen minutes to five, so perhaps Penny Sisson was still in her office. I had a good memory for phone numbers, and I punched in her number after only a few moments’ thought.

As the phone rang several times, I figured I had missed her after all, but then she answered.

When I identified myself, she said, “I’m glad you called, Charlie. I was going to call you first thing tomorrow morning anyway.”

“Do you have some news for me?” I asked, a bit surprised.

“Yes, and I don’t think you’ll be happy with it.” I could hear the tension in her voice. “I spoke with Mr. Reilly and passed along your message about proof of allergies and your lawyer’s name. Mr. Reilly said he’d be happy to provide proof. He needs time to get in touch with his physician back East, though.”

“How much time?” I asked, dismayed by the news. I really expected Reilly to back down after I called his bluff.

“It might take as much as a week, according to him,” Penny said.

“In the meantime, do I have to leave Diesel at home when I go in to work?”

Penny sighed. “That would be best. I know it’s annoying, but I don’t think you should antagonize Mr. Reilly.”

“I’ve been thinking about taking a leave of absence from the archive,” I said. “Are part-time employees allowed to do that?”

“Yes, provided that you have the approval of your supervisor,” Penny said. “Do you think Mr. Reilly would approve your request?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Frankly, I doubted he would, simply to be difficult.

“It can’t hurt to ask,” Penny said. “There’s a form in the faculty and staff handbook. Fill it out and give it to him. Let me know the outcome.”

“I’ll do that,” I said and told her good-bye.

I put the phone on the table and looked down at my cat. Diesel stared up at me with his trusting, loving eyes, and I knew whatever decision I made about the job, I would consider his best interests first and foremost. After all the years of taking him along with me everywhere I went—except to church, the grocery store, and the occasional visit to my doctor—I couldn’t suddenly start leaving him at home. Azalea wouldn’t mind looking after him, though she pretended half the time that he was a pest and got in her way. The rest of the time she sneaked him bites of bacon and sang gospel music to him. Despite his newfound friendship with my housekeeper, I knew Diesel would be unhappy without me. I would certainly be unhappy at work, worrying about him.

Thoughts of Azalea reminded me to check to see what she’d left for my dinner. I checked the fridge and found the casserole dish I had overlooked earlier. Resting atop the plastic wrap that covered the food was a note from Azalea with instructions on reheating the food. She went on to say that there was a bowl of salad as well, along with a freshly made jar of her homemade Thousand Island dressing.

Diesel and I would dine alone tonight. My son, Sean, would be with his fiancée and law partner, Alexandra Pendergrast. He still claimed my house as his home in Athena, but he spent most of his nights with Alexandra at her place. Though engaged, they had not yet set a firm wedding date. I fretted about that, wishing they would finalize things, but my son was every bit as hardheaded as I was, and I knew it was useless to discuss the matter with him.

One of my boarders, Justin Wardlaw, now in his junior year at Athena College, was in England for the semester. I knew from his occasional e-mails that he was having a wonderful time there, but I did miss his cheerful, albeit at times rambunctious, presence in the house.

My other boarder, Stewart Delacorte, did not often dine with me. He spent any spare moment he had with his boyfriend, Haskell Bates, the taciturn sheriff’s deputy, whenever Bates was off duty. I had thought Stewart might move in with him, but for now he seemed content to remain in his suite on the third floor.

After deciding that it was too early for dinner, I headed for the den and my laptop computer. I might as well find the necessary form and submit my request for a leave of absence. If Oscar refused, then I would simply hand in my resignation. I didn’t want to have to deal with him any more than I had to.

Diesel hopped on the couch beside me while I waited for the computer to boot up. He nestled his head against my thigh, and I rubbed along his spine. He rewarded me with loud purring and the occasional warble.

I hadn’t had much call before now to consult the Athena College employee handbook, but it took me only a moment to find it on the website. I downloaded the form I needed, then exited the browser. The form didn’t require much work, but I did have to think carefully about what I entered under the reason for the request. I couldn’t say what I really wanted to, that I didn’t want to deal with a jerk of a boss. Instead, I finally settled on the vague statement that I had urgent personal matters that needed my complete attention. In the blank for amount of time requested, I put six months. Surely by then, I hoped, there would be a new library director. The search had started right after Peter Vanderkeller left, and that was a couple of months ago.

Once the form was done, I attached it to an e-mail message to Oscar Reilly, and I copied Penny Sisson. I clicked on the Send button and stared at the screen for a moment. I had an odd feeling, as if having crossed a personal Rubicon, but I was glad I had done it.

I set the laptop aside and regarded the dozing cat lying next to me. There were no doubt many who would question my decision, separating myself from a job I loved because of a household pet. Those who would question, however, were not people I particularly cared to know. Diesel was as much a member of my family as my children, their partners, and my own dear friend, Helen Louise Brady.

The front doorbell chimed, and Diesel perked up at once. He hopped down from the couch and trotted out of the room. I followed more slowly, thanks to legs and a back that stiffened up while I sat on the couch.

The bell chimed a second time before I could get to the door. “Coming,” I called out loudly. Diesel already waited beside the door. He chirped to let me know he wanted the door open.

“I know, boy, I know,” I muttered. I unlocked and opened the door.

Lisa Krause, the head of circulation and reference at the Athena College Library, stood on the doorstep, her expression one of mixed anger and anxiety.

“Thank goodness you’re home, Charlie,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind my coming by without calling first, but I’m just so upset I had to talk to someone I could trust.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Come on in.”

Lisa stepped in far enough for me to close the door, and Diesel warbled for her. Her face cleared a little as she regarded the friendly cat. She rubbed his head for a moment and then began to smile.

“He really is good at making me feel better.” Lisa took a steadying breath. “I don’t suppose you’d let me borrow him for a couple of days?” She smiled.

“I’m afraid he’s a noncirculating item most of the time,” I said, and she rolled her eyes at the intentionally bad pun. “Come on in the kitchen, and let me get you something to drink. Tea, coffee, a soft drink? What would you like?”

“A bottle of bourbon,” Lisa said as she followed me. “But a soft drink will do.”

“That bad, eh?” I asked as I motioned for her to take a seat at the table.

“It’s so ridiculous I still can’t believe it happened.” Lisa dropped her purse on the table and plopped into the chair. “I swear, Charlie, if you hear that someone ran down Oscar Reilly in the street, you can bet it was me.”