Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

Evidently startled, the man whipped his head in my direction, his expression confused at first. Confusion quickly turned to blandness, however. “Good morning to you, and to your companion. Yes, it is a beautiful day.” He leaned back against the car and crossed his arms over his chest. He continued to regard Diesel and me—warily, I thought—as we moved to within five feet of him.

Closer up, I realized the stranger—clearly a Yankee, by his accent—had to be at least six foot seven. I felt a bit puny in contrast, though I was by no means a small man. The stranger had broad, muscular shoulders, with upper arms that strained against the tight fabric of his cotton shirt. He had a vaguely menacing air about him, though I couldn’t determine why I felt that way. Perhaps it was simply his size. I had seldom seen so big a man in the flesh.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around campus before,” I said in my best chatty manner. I thought giving him the impression of a dotty Southerner might disarm him enough to let something slip. “I work in the building right there, but today is one of my days off.”

I caught the direction of his gaze and went on. “This is my Maine Coon, Diesel. He goes to work with me. Actually, I take him with me almost everywhere. Do you like cats?”

Startled, the man raised his eyes to mine. “Not so much. I’m more of a dog person, I guess. He’s really big. Shouldn’t he be on a diet?”

“No, he isn’t overweight. Well, maybe only a pound or two,” I admitted. “Maine Coons are big cats, although Diesel is much bigger than the average male.”

The object of the conversation remained by my leg. His usual practice was to approach a stranger and sniff, then wait to be petted. When he hung back like this, I knew it meant there was something about the person that put him off. My cat was an excellent judge of character, and I decided I should heed his judgment.

“So am I.” The stranger guffawed. “Bigger than the average male, I mean.” He flexed his shoulders and stared down at me.

Was that meant as a warning? Or was he simply showing off his superior size and musculature?

He had made no attempt to answer my question, I realized, so I created another opportunity.

“If you’ve never been on campus before,” I said in a fatuously pleasant tone, “Diesel and I would be happy to show you around. In addition to working here, I’m also an alumnus.” I held out a hand. “I’m Charlie Harris.”

The stranger eyed me for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “Porter Stanley. Thanks, but I don’t need a tour.”

That’s something , I thought. At least I have a name .

Then Stanley appeared to reconsider. “Tell you what, though, I wouldn’t mind seeing inside that building.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated the administration building. “I really like antebellum architecture, and I never pass up the chance to see inside old places like this.”

“I’ll be happy to show you.” I wondered how Melba would react when she saw me bringing her mysterious and menacing stranger into the building. “Come on, Diesel, let’s show the nice man where we work.” I turned toward the building and didn’t wait to see whether Stanley followed me.

I launched into a history of the building as I headed up the steps to the verandah. I felt Stanley’s presence beside me. I paused on the verandah to point out a few features before I opened the front door and motioned for him to precede the cat and me. He had to duck his head to enter, and his massive frame filled the doorway.

Inside I chattered away about the staircase, the antique carpets and furniture in the entrance, and the hallway. I saw that the door to Melba’s office stood open, as usual, though she wasn’t there. Then I remembered she had an appointment this morning with Penny Sisson, to file her complaint. I really would have liked to see her reaction to Porter Stanley, but there might be another opportunity.

Stanley nodded now and then during my peroration on the house, and to my surprise he didn’t look bored. He appeared to be taking in the details with considerable interest. Perhaps he really was fascinated by antebellum architecture.

Diesel remained silent. He made a couple of attempts to go up the stairs but I called him back. “Our office is upstairs,” I said. “He thinks we’re here to work today, but it’s actually my day off.”

Stanley nodded. He pointed toward Melba’s door. “What’s in there?”

“The outer part of it is the office of the administrative assistant to the library director,” I said. “She must be off from work today. She and Diesel are big buddies, and she would have been out here to see him the moment she spotted us.”

Stanley didn’t respond to that. “What else? Another office in there?”

I nodded. “Yes, the library director’s office is there, too. The room next to it.” I wasn’t eager to see Oscar myself, but I was too curious to see Stanley’s reaction if the two men did meet. “He’s probably in his office. Would you like to meet him?”

Stanley shrugged. “Why not?” He appeared not to be particularly interested in Oscar, but I still wondered.

“Let’s go knock on his door,” I said. “Come on, Diesel.” We headed into Melba’s office, and the cat sniffed and looked around for his friend. The door into Oscar’s office stood slightly ajar. As we moved nearer, I heard voices emanating from it. I heard Oscar’s usual rumble, followed by the strident tones of a voice I recognized all too well.

The head of the library’s collection development and acquisitions unit, Cassandra—“Don’t ever call me Cass”—Brownley rarely spoke in anything other than an irritable tone. I had never known anyone who always appeared to be annoyed at something, but Cassandra invariably seemed to be. I wasn’t in the least surprised to hear her arguing with Oscar.

I turned to Stanley with an apologetic expression. “I think we should continue our tour and come back a bit later. The director appears to be in a meeting.” Diesel had shrunk back against me. He hated arguments, especially one as loud and apparently rancorous as this one. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell Cassandra was mighty upset over something.

“Okay,” Stanley said with a speculative glance toward Oscar’s door.

Before we had moved three feet toward the hallway, I heard Oscar’s door bang against the wall. I turned to see Cassandra storming out. She did not acknowledge the fact that two men and a cat were in the room. She pushed past us in an apparent fury, and seconds later I heard the front door open and then slam.

Stanley quirked one eyebrow at me. “Looks like he’s free now.”

He seemed intent on meeting Oscar. I wasn’t keen on seeing my boss right after such a tempestuous meeting, but I was curious to see what happened when the two men met. “Sure, let’s go in.”

I headed back toward Oscar’s office, a reluctant Diesel in tow. Stanley followed right behind us. I walked into the room to see Oscar smiling broadly. That smile vanished the moment he saw me. Then his eyes moved past me and focused on the larger man behind me.

Oscar paled and stood on shaky legs. “What the hell are you doing here, Porter?”

EIGHT

I wasn’t sure what I had really expected from bringing Porter Stanley and Oscar together, but I didn’t think Oscar would react as though he was terrified.

Stanley moved past me to approach Oscar’s desk. Though Stanley paused about three feet away, Oscar backed up against the built-in bookshelves behind him as if he were trying to climb into the wall to get away.

I moved back a couple of paces, making sure Diesel was behind me. Then I pulled out my cell phone in case I needed to call the campus police. I was afraid Stanley might attack Oscar by the way my boss had reacted.