Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

After reminding her to set the alarm once we left, Diesel and I headed back to the office.

The windshield repairman was due by two, and it was a few minutes after one thirty now. I cast an anxious glance at the sky. The clouds looked threatening again. Perhaps I should try to find plastic or a tarp to cover the breakage with. I didn’t want the inside of the car soaked.

I picked up the pace, and Diesel trotted along with me. We both could use the exercise, though I didn’t want to push either of us too hard. We arrived at the library administration building in record time, but instead of going in the front, we continued along the sidewalk to the back parking lot.

As promised, Chief Ford had an officer on duty, an obvious presence in the police car parked in the lot close to the street. I approached my car and was surprised and gratified to see the windshield already covered with a tarp. Either Ford or perhaps Melba must have arranged it.

I acknowledged the officer in the patrol car, and Diesel and I entered the building through the back door. A new officer was on duty by the front door. We stopped to say hello, then heeded Melba’s summons to come into her office.

“Chief Ford told me what happened to your car,” she said. “I’ll tell you right now, if it weren’t for the campus police on guard duty here and outside, I’d be home locked up like Fort Knox.”

“I can’t blame you,” I said. “Chief Ford advised me to use my alarm system at home, and I’m going to. Can’t take any chances until this thing is settled.”

“No, we can’t.” Melba shivered. “I got a guy I know in physical facilities to cover your windshield. It was looking like rain, and I didn’t know when you would get it repaired.”

I told her the arrangements I had made earlier. I handed her my car keys. “If the repairman needs them, would you mind giving them to him? When he’s done, I’ll write him a check.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she said. “You go on. I know you’re anxious to get back to work.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at the cat, standing next to Melba and rubbing against her legs. “I think he may want to stay with you for a while.”

“That’s fine with me.” She patted his head. “He can be my extra guard-kitty.” Diesel meowed, and we both smiled.

In my office I shed my jacket and went to work at the computer. I found the master budget spreadsheets for the current and past three fiscal years and began going through them, looking for anything suspicious or unusual.

The only time during the next three hours that I wasn’t going through budgets was the few minutes I spent writing a check to the glass company. I thanked the repairman, stretched my shoulders, arms, and neck for a moment, and was soon back at the computer.

Finally, I had to quit. My shoulders and my head ached, and my eyes felt like I had sprung the socket muscles. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Cells of numbers danced in my tired brain.

After all that intense concentration, I hadn’t found anything that stood out as questionable. Every line item looked okay—other than the overages okayed by Peter Vanderkeller, that is. I didn’t see how Peter’s mistakes in judgment were connected to this, other than the fact that his abrupt resignation and disappearance had made it necessary for another person to take over. That person being the first murder victim was only tangentially related, surely.

I would go through it all again, though, before I was completely satisfied. Still, I was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that the motive for Reilly’s murder had nothing to do with the library’s finances.

TWENTY-SIX

Sean’s knock on my open door broke through my reverie. “Hey, Dad, sorry I’m late. Last-minute stuff at the office.” He advanced into the room and took one of the chairs in front of my desk.

“I didn’t even realize you were late.” I massaged the back of my neck as I regarded him. “I was so engrossed in budget spreadsheets I lost all track of time.”

“Having fun?” he said. “I hate spreadsheets.”

“I’m not fond of them myself,” I replied. “They’re a necessary evil with budgets, along with financial statements. I’ve gone through a number of those as well.”

“Time for a break, then.” Sean crossed one booted foot over a leg and smiled at me. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? I wouldn’t hurry you, except Alex and I are having dinner with a law school classmate of hers and the classmate’s partner.”

I doubted the coming conversation would go well, but I couldn’t put it off any longer. “You’re not going to be happy about this,” I warned my son before I told him about the broken windshield.

He listened without comment until I’d finished, although his expression revealed his concern.

“When I told you I thought this job would be good for you,” he finally said, “I never considered you might be a target. That’s serious, and I don’t like it.”

“I don’t, either,” I said. “But to consider all the angles, it could be Cassandra Brownley getting back at me because I told her she basically had to behave properly or else find herself another job.”

“Does she have a history of vindictive or spiteful acts against persons who have annoyed her in the past?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Not that I’ve heard of, but I know someone who probably will know.” I started to get up from my desk, but Sean indicated that I should remain where I was.

He got up and went through to Melba’s office. She, along with Diesel, returned with Sean. Diesel padded around to head-butt my knees while Sean pulled out a chair for Melba and then resumed his seat.

“What’s up?” Melba said. “Sean said you wanted to consult me.”

I nodded. “Cassandra Brownley. Do know of any instances in the past when she has been vindictive toward anyone who has thwarted or challenged her in any way?”

“You think she smashed your windshield because you confronted her?” Melba nodded. “Yes, I can see where that would get her hopping mad. She’s the librarian that’s been at the library the longest, and she likes to think she knows everything. Let me see.” She paused to consider my question.

Sean and I waited patiently. Diesel rubbed against my legs and meowed when I stopped patting his head. He quieted when I gave him more attention.

Melba nodded as if to confirm something to herself. Finally she spoke. “Yes, I can think of two incidents when she did something nasty. Not that anyone could ever prove it was her, but nobody else had a reason to do what she did.”

“What happened?” Sean asked.

“In the first instance—and this happened, oh, maybe fifteen years ago—” Melba said, “a new librarian, pretty girl right out of library school, hadn’t been at the library long, corrected Cassandra on something in a meeting with all the librarians. From what I heard, she did it really tactfully, but Cassandra didn’t take it well.” Melba grimaced. “She’s always right about everything and can’t stand it if you prove her wrong. Pompous know-it-all witch.”

“What did she do?” I asked.

“This girl, I think her name was Betsy Fox, was terrified of spiders. Bugs of any kind, really. Well, she came into her office real early one morning—it was winter, and nobody else was there yet—and when she turned on the light, all she could see was bugs everywhere. Poor girl ran out screaming, tripped over a chair, and broke her leg and her arm.”

“They surely weren’t real bugs,” Sean said.

“No,” Melba said. “Plastic, but they looked real enough to poor Betsy, and there must have been two hundred of them in her office.”

“They never figured out who did it?” I asked.