Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

Diesel added to the mirth with a few warbles, and that set Melba and me off again. By the time we both sobered, we were wiping tears from our eyes.

“I know you’re not happy, being shunted off to the philosophy department,” I said, “but I daresay you won’t be there long.”

“I darn well better not be.” Melba drained her mug and set it aside. “Thanks, Charlie, you’ve made me feel a lot better. I’m still peeved as all get-out with Reilly, but I just might not run him over if he crosses the street in front of me, thanks to you.”

“Good,” I replied. “I don’t know if I have enough money for bail if you did run him down.”

Melba stood. “Reckon I ought to go on home now, get out of your hair.” She picked up her purse, then paused as if struck by a thought. “You never did tell me why I had so much trouble getting ahold of you earlier.”

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “I didn’t get much of a chance.”

She rolled her eyes at that.

“You’d better sit back down,” I said. She rolled her eyes again. “Okay, have it your way. I was at a wedding. Sean and Alex got married today.”

Melba sank into her chair, her mouth open. “Married? What on earth?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Alex is having a baby, isn’t she?”

I nodded. There was no point in dodging the truth.

“Congratulations, Grandpa.” Melba got up again and came over to give me a hug. “Two grandchildren, just think of that. Do they know yet whether it’s a girl or a boy?”

“No, I don’t think Alex is far enough along yet,” I said.

“Probably not,” Melba said. “Oh, I can’t wait to see you with those grandbabies. You’re going to spoil them rotten, I know.”

Diesel chirped excitedly, as if he understood our conversation. Melba chuckled and scratched his head while he rubbed against her legs. “Diesel can be their godfather. How about that?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, though the idea was amusing. “I don’t think the parents would go for it. Though Laura might.” My daughter really adored my cat.

I showed Melba out the front door and was glad to see her stride down the walk in her usual confident fashion. She would survive this, as would I.

Diesel and I wandered back into the kitchen, and I heard a key in the lock. Azalea came in with grocery bags in one hand, and I hurried to help her finish unloading the car. That much she allowed me. She insisted on putting away all the groceries, and I had learned long ago not to argue.

We chatted for a moment about the morning’s events, and then I remembered my abandoned cell phone. I should retrieve it, in case there were any messages.

Diesel stayed in the kitchen with Azalea while I hurried up to my bedroom. The phone lay right where I’d left it, on the nightstand beside my bed. I checked for voice mail, and sure enough, I had one.

I listened to the message.

“Hello, Charlie, Penny Sisson. I need to talk to you ASAP.” She paused, and I thought I detected a sigh. “I’m afraid it’s not good news.” The message ended.

FOURTEEN

I stared at my phone for a moment. I suspected what the bad news was, thanks to Melba’s revelations. No doubt I was being let go as part of Reilly’s plan to sell off the rare books. I sank down on the bed and thought about that.

I had already told myself I was willing to quit, rather than deal with Reilly any longer. That, however, would have been my decision, and I’d thought I would be leaving the rare book collection and the archives intact. With Reilly apparently unchecked, though, I was probably about to be fired, and the collections to which I had devoted several years of work were to be dismantled.

Did I really believe that the rare books and archives would be sacrificed to make up the library budget deficit? No, as I continued to think about it, I didn’t believe they would. A significant portion of the archive’s contents had been given by families who still wielded influence. In other words, they were alumni with deep pockets, like the Ducotes.

No, Reilly wouldn’t succeed with that part of the plan.

But he had succeeded, I had no doubt, in firing me. The president had thrown Melba and me under the bus—perhaps along with a few other library staff—thanks to the combined efforts of Peter Vanderkeller and Oscar Reilly.

Might as well get it over with , I told myself. I returned Penny Sisson’s call, and she answered right away. I identified myself and said, “I’m pretty sure I know what your bad news is.”

“I’m really sorry, Charlie,” Penny said, and I appreciated her sincerely rueful tone. “Your department is being closed, effective immediately. There are no other openings, either, or else you might have been reassigned.”

“I understand,” I replied. “Frankly, there isn’t anywhere else in the library that I’d care to work.”

“I don’t blame you,” Penny said. “And please don’t repeat this, but I thought there would be quite a different outcome to the situation that’s been brewing in the library.”

“I thought there would be, too,” I said. “But that’s neither here nor there. When can I go in and clean out my office?”

“Would tomorrow morning work for you?” Penny asked. “You’ll need to come to my office first. There are a few things we have to go over, and I should have everything ready then. You’ll get a small severance package.” She paused for a moment. “Then a campus police officer will escort you to your office and stay with you while you pack your things. It’s standard procedure.”

I bit back the sarcastic comment I wanted to make about how being treated like a potential criminal who had to be spied on was the cherry on top. Penny wasn’t its target anyway. I might sit down in a few days and pen a pointed letter to the president of the college and the board of trustees about all this. I wouldn’t go as quietly as Reilly probably hoped I would.

“Yes, tomorrow morning is fine,” I said. “How about nine or nine thirty? Would either of those times work for you?”

We agreed on nine thirty, and I ended the call. I set the phone down on the nightstand and flopped backward, my feet still on the floor. I stared at the ceiling. Had I been given to cursing, I would have indulged in an extensive session of it, casting aspersions on the ancestry of Reilly and the college president. Peter Vanderkeller would receive his share, too.

The bed shook as a thirty-six-pound cat landed on it near my head. Diesel stared down at me, looking anxious, and trilled.

“I’m okay, sweet boy, only a little angry,” I said. “Nothing to worry about.” I pushed myself to a sitting-up position again, and Diesel moved closer, his body now against my side. I put my arm around him, and he rubbed his head against my chest and warbled.

Tomorrow morning, I decided, I should probably leave him at home. I would have a couple of boxes to deal with, and I wouldn’t be in the best of moods. Diesel was better off staying with Azalea while I packed up my things. I had a sudden, sickening thought. I hoped I didn’t see Reilly tomorrow when I cleared out my office. I might not be able to restrain my occasionally unruly tongue if I did.

I decided I need not explain to Azalea why I would now be home instead of going to work until tomorrow morning. Right now I didn’t feel like talking about it with anyone. Helen Louise was the exception to that, but I’d have to wait until tonight to share my news with her.

I caught a glimpse of the bedside clock and realized it was past my usual lunchtime. I didn’t feel particularly hungry, but I probably ought to eat something. “Come on, Diesel,” I said. “Let’s go downstairs and find lunch.”

Diesel meowed and jumped to the floor. I remembered to pick up my cell phone this time and stuck it in my pocket before we left the bedroom.