No Cats Allowed

TWENTY-SIX

Sean’s knock on my open door broke through my reverie. “Hey, Dad, sorry I’m late. Last-minute stuff at the office.” He advanced into the room and took one of the chairs in front of my desk.

“I didn’t even realize you were late.” I massaged the back of my neck as I regarded him. “I was so engrossed in budget spreadsheets I lost all track of time.”

“Having fun?” he said. “I hate spreadsheets.”

“I’m not fond of them myself,” I replied. “They’re a necessary evil with budgets, along with financial statements. I’ve gone through a number of those as well.”

“Time for a break, then.” Sean crossed one booted foot over a leg and smiled at me. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? I wouldn’t hurry you, except Alex and I are having dinner with a law school classmate of hers and the classmate’s partner.”

I doubted the coming conversation would go well, but I couldn’t put it off any longer. “You’re not going to be happy about this,” I warned my son before I told him about the broken windshield.

He listened without comment until I’d finished, although his expression revealed his concern.

“When I told you I thought this job would be good for you,” he finally said, “I never considered you might be a target. That’s serious, and I don’t like it.”

“I don’t, either,” I said. “But to consider all the angles, it could be Cassandra Brownley getting back at me because I told her she basically had to behave properly or else find herself another job.”

“Does she have a history of vindictive or spiteful acts against persons who have annoyed her in the past?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Not that I’ve heard of, but I know someone who probably will know.” I started to get up from my desk, but Sean indicated that I should remain where I was.

He got up and went through to Melba’s office. She, along with Diesel, returned with Sean. Diesel padded around to head-butt my knees while Sean pulled out a chair for Melba and then resumed his seat.

“What’s up?” Melba said. “Sean said you wanted to consult me.”

I nodded. “Cassandra Brownley. Do know of any instances in the past when she has been vindictive toward anyone who has thwarted or challenged her in any way?”

“You think she smashed your windshield because you confronted her?” Melba nodded. “Yes, I can see where that would get her hopping mad. She’s the librarian that’s been at the library the longest, and she likes to think she knows everything. Let me see.” She paused to consider my question.

Sean and I waited patiently. Diesel rubbed against my legs and meowed when I stopped patting his head. He quieted when I gave him more attention.

Melba nodded as if to confirm something to herself. Finally she spoke. “Yes, I can think of two incidents when she did something nasty. Not that anyone could ever prove it was her, but nobody else had a reason to do what she did.”

“What happened?” Sean asked.

“In the first instance—and this happened, oh, maybe fifteen years ago—” Melba said, “a new librarian, pretty girl right out of library school, hadn’t been at the library long, corrected Cassandra on something in a meeting with all the librarians. From what I heard, she did it really tactfully, but Cassandra didn’t take it well.” Melba grimaced. “She’s always right about everything and can’t stand it if you prove her wrong. Pompous know-it-all witch.”

“What did she do?” I asked.

“This girl, I think her name was Betsy Fox, was terrified of spiders. Bugs of any kind, really. Well, she came into her office real early one morning—it was winter, and nobody else was there yet—and when she turned on the light, all she could see was bugs everywhere. Poor girl ran out screaming, tripped over a chair, and broke her leg and her arm.”

“They surely weren’t real bugs,” Sean said.

“No,” Melba said. “Plastic, but they looked real enough to poor Betsy, and there must have been two hundred of them in her office.”

“They never figured out who did it?” I asked.

“Nope, they sure didn’t, although everybody knew it was Cassandra,” Melba said. “Once Betsy recovered from the broken arm and leg, she found a job in another state.”

“Can’t say that I blame her,” Sean said. “Although frankly I think more should have been done to prove the identity of the prankster.”

“They really did try,” Melba said. “But Cassandra is pretty smart, I have to admit. She pulled it off, and nobody could prove it.” She frowned. “I should have thought of them sooner, but I guess I was just so caught up in my feuding with Reilly that they slipped my mind.”

“You said there were two incidents. What was the other one?” I asked.

“This one happened about five years ago,” Melba said. “Same kind of thing. One of the male reference librarians got into an argument with Cassandra over these books he wanted to order for the library, and Cassandra wouldn’t approve them. Told him they were not relevant, and she wasn’t going to waste the library’s money. He about had a stroke, from what I heard. He had a PhD in whatever the subject was, and I reckon he knew better about those books than Miss Know-It-All.” Melba snorted. “He went over her head, and Peter backed him up.”

“What did she do to get back at him?” Sean asked. “Although I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.”

“He had a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe,” Melba said. “Looked like a fishing pole on legs, but he was always eating some kind of chocolate. He also had a bad habit of helping himself to other people’s candy without asking.” She grinned. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it was kinda funny.”

I had an idea where this was going, and yes, it had its humorous aspects, but it was also dangerous.

Melba continued the story. “He found a box of chocolates that supposedly came from one of the library vendors. It didn’t have anybody’s name on it, and he took it for himself. Must have eaten half the two-pound box, and then after a while he lit out for the bathroom. Stayed in there for the next two hours is what I heard. Finally had to go to the hospital to be checked out.”

“And again, everyone suspected Cassandra,” Sean said, “but no one could prove it.”

“Exactly,” Melba said.

“Did he get another job, too?” I asked.

“Three months later, he was gone,” Melba said. “I heard he threatened to run Cassandra down in the street if she ever got near his car, but that was probably just talk.”

“Sounds like this woman is vicious when she’s crossed.” Sean frowned. “Besides your windshield, Dad, what were the pranks aimed at Reilly?”

“The petroleum jelly and Oscar the Grouch in pink lipstick on his windshield, and the letters allegedly from him, firing all three department heads.”

“They’re not the same,” Sean said. “At least, not as physically harmful as the other pranks. Unless she’s changed her methods, I’m not sure she’s responsible for these current shenanigans.”

“It would take a psychologist to sort it out,” Melba said. “But for my money, the woman is a lunatic. I think smashing a windshield is in line with the other tricks she pulled. Maybe not those letters and Reilly’s car, but putting a big rock through a windshield is vicious to me.”

“You may have a point,” I said. “There is a difference, perhaps subtle, but it’s there.”

“In that case, are you thinking Cassandra’s responsible for your car? And that the murderer pulled the other pranks?” Sean asked. “I suppose you could make a case for that line of thinking.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’d certainly rather have it simply be Cassandra getting back at me than the killer trying to warn me off. But who knows?” My headache was worse now, and I needed pain relief. “Maybe Cassandra is the murderer. It would make things less complicated.”

“It sure would,” Melba said. “And I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

“I think you should tell both Chief Ford and Kanesha what you told us,” Sean said to Melba. “It may have no bearing on the case, but they need to know anything that could possibly be related.”

Melba nodded. “You’re right. I’ll call the campus police office. If I talk to Marty Ford, he can relay everything to Kanesha.”

“That’s fine. Do you both feel reasonably secure working here with the campus police on guard duty?” Sean asked. “If you don’t, Dad needs to talk to the president about shutting this office down until the murder investigation is complete.”

“I’m fine, as long as they’re here,” Melba said, and I agreed.

“Besides,” I said, “I don’t like the idea of tucking my tail and barricading myself at home behind the security system.”

“I’m going to be Laura for a moment,” Sean said, “because I know exactly what she’d say to you, Dad. Discretion is the better part of valor.”

I shook my head. “Close, but not right.” I quoted the line properly, “‘The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have sav’d my life.’” I paused to dredge the memory banks further. “Henry the Fourth, Part One, act five, scene four. I’m pretty sure that’s where it’s from. Falstaff saved his life by pretending to be dead.”

Sean grinned in defeat. “I was always more a Chaucer man myself anyway. I could never match you and Laura when it came to Shakespeare.” He paused, and his sober expression returned. “All quoting aside, the fact is you could both be in the killer’s sights, and I would like to keep you around for a while longer.”

Melba reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. But like Charlie said, I’m not tucking my tail, either. We’ll be fine.”

Sean threw up his hands. “I’m not going to argue any longer.” He stood. “I’d better get going. Alex is waiting.” He gave Melba a quick hug and said good-bye to me and Diesel, then he was out the door.

I checked my watch. Four thirty-seven. “Do you think that buddy of yours in accounts payable is still in her office?”

“Probably,” Melba said. “She’s a strict by-the-clock kind of person. She doesn’t get off until five, and so she’s not going to leave a minute sooner.”

“Good,” I said. “Would you mind e-mailing her and asking herto pull—on Monday, of course—all library invoices from vendors for the past couple of years? I’ll go over in the afternoon”—I checked the printed schedule Melba gave me earlier—“around two, to look at them. That should give her enough time, don’t you think?”

“It ought to. She’s efficient like all get-out.” Melba frowned. “But why don’t you just ask to see the files they keep in the library? They’ll have duplicates of everything, because they have to create the purchase orders and then send everything to accounts payable.”

“I thought of that, but I think it would cause less anxiety if I go through accounts payable for what I need. Right now I don’t want to stir things up any more than I have to.”

“Good idea. We don’t want Miss K-I-A getting more riled up than she probably already is. She’s liable to burn down the building if she gets too pissed off.” Melba giggled.

“Don’t even think about such things,” I said in what I hoped was a repressive tone. Though repressive tones rarely had any effect on Melba, as I knew all too well.

Melba stood. “I’m going to be packing up to go home soon. How late are you planning to work today?”

“I won’t be much longer myself. I’d thought about coming in tomorrow but then I realized I could probably access most of what I need through the campus network from home. Especially now that they’ve got me set up to see all of Peter’s and Reilly’s files.” I rubbed my forehead. “Besides, I’ve got a headache, and sitting here staring at the screen for another hour or so isn’t going to help.”

“I’ll get you something for that.” Melba left my office at a fast pace and returned before I could do much besides gather up the personnel files and stuff them in my briefcase. I scooped up a few pens from Reilly’s desk drawer and stuck them in as well. I couldn’t seem to keep them in my desk at home because various residents kept helping themselves to any I put there.

Melba handed me a cup of water and two aspirin. “These will do the trick.”

I dutifully popped them in my mouth and washed them down with the water. I returned the cup and thanked her. “I’m going to check for last-minute e-mails, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“I’ll be ready when you are,” she said.

Diesel, who had been remarkably quiet until now, decided to join the conversation. He treated us to a combination of chirps and warbles, and I supposed he was telling us that he, too, would be ready to go. He was starving and upon the point of utter collapse, due to severe malnutrition, and I had better get him home quickly if I didn’t want an expired feline on my hands and my conscience.

That’s how I interpreted the various sounds he made, anyway, based on my past experience during mornings when I did not get out of bed soon enough to tend to his dietary requirements.

Melba laughed along with me as the feline version of a diatribe came to an end. I patted his head and assured him we wouldn’t be long.

I was relieved to see no new e-mails. I checked my briefcase to be sure I had put in it all I wanted to take home, put Diesel’s leash on, and grabbed my jacket. I paused to lock the door, and then Melba and I were ready to go.

The repairman appeared to have done the installation of the new windshield properly. Rain began to fall lightly as I was getting Diesel into the car, and I was thankful to have the glass in place.

The downpour grew slightly heavier, and I turned on the wipers and the headlights. The sky had grown darker. I’d be glad to get home before the weather got any worse.

I slowed the car as we neared the house, preparatory to making the left turn into the driveway. My heart thudded painfully in my chest when I saw not one, but two sheriff’s department cars parked on the street in front of my house.