No Cats Allowed

THREE

I hadn’t given much thought to the incident at the time, but now that I reconsidered it, I figured it had to be the source of Oscar Reilly’s petty-minded attempt to get rid of me.

The occasion was the first senior staff meeting held after Reilly stepped into the suddenly vacant position. He opened the meeting by giving us a short sketch of his background, chiefly as a financial administrator in various university positions. Having grown up poor in New England, he had worked hard to save money and to earn scholarships to put himself through school, although he had taken a couple of years longer than usual because he had to drop out at one point to work several jobs to help pay for his mother’s hospital bills. I thought the level of personal detail unnecessary in the situation, and it made me a bit uncomfortable.

After he finished the story of his life before Athena, he stated twice how important the library was to the college’s reputation and accreditation and mentioned that he personally made great use of the online resources. He looked forward, he told us with an ingratiating smile, to working with the university’s board of trustees to raise money for a much-needed library addition. In particular, he said, he enjoyed working closely with the Ducote sisters, Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce, and gushed about how gracious and generous they were.

The Ducote sisters had been trustees for many years and were always involved in fund-raising efforts, so I had no doubt Reilly had encountered them. But he mispronounced their surname, giving it two syllables rather than three. He did it several times, and after the meeting ended, I decided I had better tip him off to the fact that the sisters got annoyed when people didn’t get their name right.

“Oscar”—he insisted that we address him by his given name—“if you have a moment,” I said as we rose from the table, “I need a quick word with you.”

“Certainly, Charlie,” he said, offering me an expansive smile.

I waited until the room was clear before I explained why I wanted to talk to him. He frowned when I told him the sisters’ preferred pronunciation of Ducote (du-COH-tee). I smiled when I finished and added, “I know you wouldn’t want to offend them.”

Reilly shook his head. “Certainly not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting.” He turned and strode from the room.

At the time I thought his manner and abrupt departure merely rude, but now I wondered whether he had also been angry because I caught him in a mistake and dared to correct him. At least, I reflected, I hadn’t done it in front of the group. He wasn’t particularly friendly after that incident, but I never suspected he would act maliciously or vindictively against me because of it.

I could, of course, be letting my imagination run a bit too wild with this, but I couldn’t come up with any other reason or explanation for Reilly’s making a frivolous complaint.

“I don’t know, Diesel.” I rubbed the cat a few more times before I stood. “Come on, boy, let’s go home.” We resumed our walk across campus but took a different route this time, one that would take us by the main library building. I remembered I had a book to return, and I could put it in the book drop by the sidewalk in front.

As we approached the book drop, I glanced past it and noticed Oscar Reilly in the small parking area between the antebellum home that housed our mutual offices and the main library. He was talking on his cell phone, holding it to his left ear, while his right arm gesticulated wildly. He didn’t look happy, I decided as I put my book in the drop. He stood in front of his car, a late-model Mercedes, and he kept looking at the windshield while he talked and gestured.

“Come on, Diesel, let’s cross the street here.” I looked down at the cat, who blinked at me a couple of times and meowed. I wanted to avoid Reilly, and thus far I didn’t think he had seen me and my cat. I was curious about what had him so worked up, but I didn’t care enough to go find out.

When Diesel and I reached the sidewalk across the street, we walked a bit faster than usual. I wanted to be out of Reilly’s sight quickly. I didn’t trust my temper if I had to talk to him right now.

“Harris.”

My name boomed out at me from across the street, and with great reluctance I halted and turned. Reilly beckoned with his free hand.

“Get over here. Now.”

My blood pressure rose rapidly. For a moment I stayed where I was, furious at the peremptory summons. Diesel scuttled behind me and huddled against my legs. I tightened my grip on his leash. The last thing I needed was for him to bolt in fear.

“It’s okay, boy,” I told him, though it took great effort to speak in a calm tone. “We’ll go see what he wants, and then we’ll go home.” I stepped forward. “Come on, now. It will be okay.”

Diesel responded with a plaintive meow but came docilely enough behind me. I checked the street for traffic before we crossed. Reilly waited beside his car, his phone now put away.

“What is it you want?” I asked, my tone barely civil.

Reilly glared at me, his face flushed with anger. He pointed to the windshield of his car. “What do you know about this?”

I almost laughed when I saw what had infuriated him. The windshield bore the slogan Oscar the Grouch in large, lurid pink lettering. The words took up the center portion of the glass. The rest of it was covered with what looked like petroleum jelly.

I turned back to Reilly. “I believe that refers to a character from Sesame Street.”

Reilly cut loose with a string of obscenities, but I simply stared at him. I really shouldn’t have tried to goad him, but I was still furious with the man. When the flow trickled to a halt, I said coolly, “If you are asking whether I know who did this, the answer is no, I don’t.”

Reilly took a step forward, right hand curled into a fist, and I thought he was about to strike me. Before the scene degenerated further, however, a voice interrupted.

“Step back, Reilly. Now.”

My erstwhile attacker faltered, no doubt startled by the commanding tone. He turned to see who had spoken.

I had already recognized the voice. The chief of campus police and a retired marine, Martin Ford brooked no nonsense, student, staff, or faculty. Relieved to see him, I stepped away from the still-glowering Reilly, making sure Diesel stayed by my side.

“Look at my car.” Reilly gestured imperiously. “What are you going to do about that?”

Chief Ford approached the car and examined the windshield. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. Looks like lipstick and petroleum jelly.” He turned to Reilly. “When was the last time you used your car?”

“When I came back from lunch,” Reilly said. “Around one.”

Ford checked his watch. “Ten to four. That’s well over two hours, say two and a half, for someone to do this.” He gestured toward the windshield. “Any idea why you’re being targeted like this? Third incident, right?”

“Yes, it’s the third practical joke.” Reilly rubbed his forehead. “Why haven’t you caught the jackass who’s doing this?”

“It would help,” Ford responded in a mild tone, “if I had an idea about why these things are happening to you. I repeat, any idea why you’re being targeted?”

I figured I could have thrown in a few cents’ worth of reasons, but I kept my mouth shut. I was curious to hear what Reilly had to say.

“None of this happened before I took over administration of the library.” Reilly’s fists clenched. “I’m simply trying to do the job I was asked to do by the president, but obviously some jerk doesn’t like what I’m doing. I haven’t done anything to provoke this kind of juvenile behavior, I can assure you.”

“I see.” Ford pulled out his phone and took several pictures of Reilly’s windshield. “Probably the work of a student you’ve somehow annoyed.” He put the phone back in its holster on his belt. “We’ll keep looking into these incidents, and eventually we’ll track down whoever is responsible.”

“That’s what you told me two days ago,” Reilly said, obviously angry. “And yet it’s happened again. The president isn’t going to be happy when I report this to him.”

Ford appeared unruffled by the threat. “I’m not happy, either, Reilly. Don’t blow this out of proportion. I told you, we’re working on it.”

Reilly stared at the chief for a moment, then turned and strode to the back of the library administration building. Moments later, the back door slammed behind him.

Ford turned to me. “Afternoon, Mr. Harris. And you, too, Diesel.”

I returned the chief’s greeting, and Diesel emerged from behind my legs to let Ford rub his head.

“Any idea what’s going on here?” Ford asked.

I shrugged. “He’s not popular with the library staff. He has no idea how to run a library, and the staff resent him. I didn’t know about the practical jokes, but I guess someone is trying to get back at him for being such a jerk.”

Ford arched an eyebrow. “Pretty strong words coming from you. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak that way about anyone.”

“I haven’t had much cause to, I guess.” I grinned. “But Reilly brings out the worst in everybody.” I was tempted to share the story of Reilly’s complaint about Diesel, but I realized that wasn’t a good idea.

Ford grimaced. “I want to catch whoever’s behind this and put a stop to it before it escalates any further. Right now it’s pretty harmless, but it could get ugly if it’s unchecked.”

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.” Despite the fact that I found the current prank amusing, I knew Ford was right. This behavior had to be stopped before someone got hurt.

Ford nodded as he left. Diesel and I continued on our way home. I thought about the words in pink lipstick on Reilly’s windshield. They were innocuous enough, but the prankster had to be pretty annoyed to go to such lengths.

Could Melba have done it? I wondered. She was certainly angry, but surely she wouldn’t do something so childish. I could picture her as she was earlier, ranting about Reilly to me.

I stopped suddenly, and Diesel chirped in surprise.

Pink lipstick.

Melba was wearing pink lipstick today.