The Silence Of The Library

FIVE

Three days later, on Friday afternoon, Diesel and I worked our usual volunteer shift at the Athena Public Library. He lounged by my feet as I manned the reference desk. Two of his library friends worked nearby, Lizzie Hayes at the circulation counter, and Bronwyn Forster at a computer terminal helping a patron. From time to time, Diesel evidently decided a change of person was in order, and he made a regular circuit every ten or fifteen minutes, going from Lizzie to Bronwyn and back to me. He was really soaking up the attention today.

The library was quiet this afternoon. School wouldn’t be out for another hour, and then we would get a small flood of students dropping in to do homework or check out books. A few would wait here until a parent or elder sibling came by to pick them up for a ride home. I loved seeing young people in the library, though on occasion they could get a bit rambunctious.

The front door opened, and I watched as a plump woman who appeared to be in her sixties, perhaps a decade older than I, stepped inside. She removed her sunglasses and tucked them into her purse. After a cursory glance around, she made a beeline for me.

“Good afternoon,” I said as she reached the desk. “How may I help you?”

She repeated my greeting. “I’m here to see the library director, if she’s not too busy. It’s about the event you’re planning to have with Electra Barnes Cartwright.” She smiled good-naturedly, and I had a feeling I had seen her before, but where I wasn’t sure. She wore her thick gray hair braided in a coronet around her head. Her jewelry consisted of a gold wedding ring and a pearl necklace. She looked every inch the society matron come to take afternoon tea. All that was missing were a hat and gloves.

“I’ll be happy to check with her. What name shall I give her?” I picked up the phone as I punched in Teresa’s extension.

“Mrs. Carrie Taylor,” the woman responded. “I’m president of the EBC Fan Club.”

That stirred a faint memory as I waited for Teresa to answer the phone. When she picked up, I told her she had a visitor and explained who it was.

“She’ll be right out,” I said as I hung up the phone.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Taylor smiled and wandered a few feet away from the desk to examine a nearby bulletin board that listed the library’s upcoming events.

Diesel, ever curious, stood and stretched before he sauntered around the desk and over to where Mrs. Taylor stood. He sniffed at the hem of her midlength cotton dress. He chirped and evidently startled her because she stepped back as she gazed down at him. Then she smiled. “Who are you?” She bent slightly to scratch his head, and he warbled for her.

“His name is Diesel,” I said. The memory finally surfaced. I’d seen her several months ago at the Atheneum, our local independent bookstore. She’d been talking about children’s mysteries with the owner, Jordan Thompson. I thought at the time she sounded quite knowledgeable as she and Jordan discussed the various incarnations of Nancy Drew.

“He’s a Maine Coon, isn’t he? Melba Gilley has told me about him. You must be Charlie Harris.”

I acknowledged that I was. I had gone to school with Melba, and now she worked as administrative assistant to the head of the Athena College Library.

Mrs. Taylor beamed at me. “What a handsome fellow he is. But isn’t he rather large even for his breed?”

“Yes, he weighs in around thirty-six pounds, definitely on the large side for a Maine Coon. He’s a gentle giant, though.” I smiled as I watched her continue to interact with my cat. Diesel obviously approved of her, to judge by the purring.

Teresa approached and introduced herself. Mrs. Taylor greeted her, and the two women went to the director’s office. Diesel trailed after them.

I wondered what Mrs. Taylor wanted to discuss. Obviously something to do with Electra Barnes Cartwright, but that was as far as I could figure. Teresa would fill me in when she had a chance.

Ten minutes later a tall, lanky young man—thirty at most, I judged—entered the library. He stopped in the doorway to look around. When he spotted me, he walked over, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. He sported cowboy boots that looked like ostrich hide, a silver belt buckle the size of a goose egg, and a deep crimson dress shirt emblazoned with the monogram GB. His raven hair was close-cropped, as was his beard. He stopped in front of the desk and stared at me. His close-set eyes, shamrock green, blinked like they were still adjusting to the inside light.

“How may I help you?”

“Is it true what I read on your website?” He had a flat Midwestern accent. “You’re going to have Electra Barnes Cartwright here soon?”

“Yes, she’s going to take part in our celebrations for National Library Week. We’re very excited about that.”

“I have to meet her.” He placed his hands on the edge of the desk, and I could see them tremble.

“You’ll have a chance to do that on the day she is here for her public interview. The schedule approved by Mrs. Cartwright is on the website, and I can give you a flyer with everything listed, if you like.”

He shook his head. “I can’t wait that long. I need to see her like today. She’s so old she might croak at any minute, and I’ve got a collection of books for her to sign.” He gripped the desk harder.

I didn’t like the arrogance of his tone, and my own turned frosty when I responded. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Mrs. Cartwright won’t be available until the date scheduled. We’ll have to see, on the day, whether she’s up to signing books.”

“Have you met her?”

I wanted to answer in the negative, but I couldn’t lie. “I have.”

“Then I’ll bet you know where she lives.” He glared at me. “Come on, just tell me. I’ll make it worth your while.” He reached in his right front pocket and pulled out a small wad of cash. He stripped off five bills, all hundreds, and thrust them at me.

I stared at him, aghast. What kind of moron was he? Trying to bribe me, all for the sake of getting his books signed?

“Absolutely not.” I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him, the way I used to do at Sean and Laura when they behaved badly.

He slapped down the five hundred dollars and then peeled off another five and added them to the stack. “Come on, that ought to be enough for anybody. What’s it to you anyway? I’m being really generous here.”

“Not to mention unbelievably offensive. Pick up that money, and stuff it back in your pocket.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this angry.

By now both Lizzie and Bronwyn had caught on that there was an incident brewing at the desk, and they came up on either side of me. “Do I need to call the police?” Bronwyn spoke in an undertone.

The strange young man glowered at the three of us. “For crying out loud, don’t call the cops. You hillbillies don’t know a good thing when you see it.” He snatched up the money and stowed it in his pocket. “Should have expected something like this in such a hick town.” He turned and stomped over to the door and out of the library.

“What was his problem?” Lizzie frowned. “I didn’t hear what he wanted. I can’t imagine what would be worth trying to bribe you for, Charlie.”

I shook my head. “In all my years working in libraries, that was a first. I have no idea who that young man is, but he is a complete and utter jerk.” I started to explain what he wanted from me, but the voice of Carrie Taylor interrupted me.

“His name is Gordon Betts, and he’s got more money than he knows what to do with.” She grimaced. “If he’s here, then the other nutcases can’t be far behind.”