Миранда Джеймс - Twelve Angry Librarians

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I said. “I’ve been called to a meeting first thing in the morning with Forrest Wyatt, and I have no doubt what it’s about.”

“He’s certainly not going to fire you over this,” Lisa said. “At least, I don’t think he would. I’ll be happy to tell Dr. Wyatt what an absolute jerk Gavin Fong is.”

“I don’t know that Forrest would consider that a mitigating factor,” I replied. “And, really, it isn’t. I am the one at fault, and I’ll simply have to deal with the consequences.” I shrugged. “Now, enough about that. How is everything else going, these annoyances aside?”

“Fine as far as I can tell,” Lisa said. “Of course there really isn’t much going on this evening other than the reception. When the presentations and everything start tomorrow, that will be the test. I’m always sure I’ve overlooked something, but the committee is great, and everyone is working hard to make sure things run smoothly.”

While Lisa and I were talking, people continued to come into the ballroom foyer. The noise level rose steadily as people chatted, and the room grew more and more crowded.

“I’m sure it will be a great conference.” I checked my watch. A few minutes before seven. “I guess the doors will be opening soon.”

Lisa nodded. “Donna went in to have a last check. She’s a stickler for the schedule, so I don’t have to worry about complaints that the reception started late. You know how librarians are about their free food.”

We shared a laugh over that. We both knew all the attendees would be on tight expense budgets, and any meal they could get for free was all to the good. Institutional travel budgets had been cut way back in recent years, and most librarians were lucky to receive funding to attend one professional meeting a year.

The ballroom doors opened promptly at seven, as Lisa predicted. People began flowing inside. Lisa and I held back for a moment to let the crowd spread out before we entered.

The catering staff had set up five stations around the room where attendees could line up to fill their plates, and there were three bar stations as well. The vendors exhibiting at the meeting contributed to the expenses for this reception, and I spotted a couple of the sales representatives I had met since taking over the interim director job.

Lisa excused herself to circulate through the crowd. I knew she wanted to make sure the attendees were happy with the food and drink on offer. I joined the line at one of the food stations, picked up a plate, napkin, and plastic fork, and surveyed the options on the table. There were several kinds of hors d’oeuvres, and I loaded my plate with enough to sate my appetite for the next hour or so. Next I went to one of the cash bars and bought myself an expensive glass of diet soda. I found a spot next to the wall with a table in front of it, set down my drink, and prepared to nosh.

I polished off about half the plateful before I heard a voice call my name above the muted roar of conversation in the ballroom. I glanced around in an effort to spot the person trying to hail me, and after a moment there emerged through the crowd two women, one short with white blond hair, the other of average height with brown curls streaked with blond highlights.

I set down my plate, wiped my hands quickly, then stepped forward to enfold Marisue Pickard and Randi Grant in a hug. After a moment I released them and stepped back. Marisue, the shorter of the two and as rake thin as ever, wore a severely tailored navy skirt and jacket, relieved only by a crisp white blouse. This look was a far cry from the casual hippie style she had favored in graduate school. Randi, taller and plumper than Marisue, sported more relaxed attire, a peasant-style skirt and blouse, a large-beaded necklace, and numerous bracelets on each wrist.

“It’s wonderful to see you both,” I said. “I’m surprised I didn’t see you earlier, though, at the welcome. Still, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Marisue and Randi exchanged a glance and laughed. “We’ve been to enough of those welcome to our fair city things,” Randi said airily. “Frankly, I was more interested in a nap after we drove nearly eight hours to get here.”

“I don’t blame you.” I patted her arm. “I hate driving long distances these days.”

Marisue snorted. “Don’t let her kid you, Charlie. I did all the driving. When she wasn’t snacking or talking, she was dozing in the passenger seat.”

Randi tossed her head. “Not my fault if you’re so obsessive about driving that you won’t let anyone else behind the wheel.”

I laughed. “I see you two haven’t changed that much, after all. Still bickering just like you used to in grad school.”

“If you can’t give your best friend a hard time, then you’d have to take it out on some unsuspecting person instead, right?” Marisue grinned.

“Right,” Randi said. “Besides, she’s a tough broad. She can take it.”

“I’d say you are both pretty tough broads,” I said.

They both laughed, then Marisue said, “Sorry to change the subject, but we overheard a few people talking a little while ago. They were saying something about two men getting into a brawl earlier this afternoon. Know anything about that?” She and Randi watched me closely.

I felt my face redden. “Come off it, you two. You know perfectly well it was me and Gavin.” I managed a laugh.

Randi shot me an impish grin. “Sorry, kiddo, we couldn’t resist roasting you a little. Tell me, did you blast him a good one?”

“You’re even more bloodthirsty than I remember.” I shook my head. “I hit him hard enough for him to go down on his bum, I suppose. I don’t think I really hurt him, though.”

“Probably more damage to his dignity than anything.” Marisue nodded. “With him that’s worse than physical pain.”

“I’m glad you did it, whatever the reason,” Randi said. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to do it when I worked with him. But of course I couldn’t—couldn’t afford to lose my job, and he wasn’t worth that.”

“Same here,” Marisue said. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone so self-involved, and so impressed with his own so-called intellect .”

“Why he’s not six feet under pushing up daisies already, I don’t know.” Randi sniffed. “If anybody was ever asking to be murdered, it’s Gavin Fong.”

EIGHT

I felt a sudden, brief chill at Randi’s jesting words. Surely no one would actually murder Gavin Fong. I didn’t want to go through all that again.

Marisue snorted with laughter. “The police would never be able to solve it. Too many suspects.”

Randi nodded. “Yeah, way too many. Every single person who ever went to school with him or worked with him.”

“I grant you he’s a colossal annoyance most of the time,” I said. “But what has he done that would make someone see killing him as a solution?”

Marisue shot Randi a pointed glance. “Tell you what, you fill Charlie in while I go get us some wine. If I’m going to talk about Gavin, I need fortification.” With that, she turned to make her way through the crowd toward one of the bar stations.

Randi eyed the nearly empty glass of diet soda I picked up. “Sure you don’t want something stronger yourself?”

“No, I’m fine with this. I have to drive home. I’m not staying in the hotel, and I presume you two are.” I downed the rest of my drink and set the glass down on the table.

“We are,” Randi said. “We’re sharing a room the way we always do. I have to say, this is a lovely old hotel. Dripping with Southern charm that makes this California girl feel like she ought to be seeing Scarlett O’Hara come sweeping around the corner just any little ole minute now.” She grinned when I winced at her attempt at a Southern accent on those last few words.