Миранда Джеймс: No Cats Allowed

Reilly cut loose with a string of obscenities, but I simply stared at him. I really shouldn’t have tried to goad him, but I was still furious with the man. When the flow trickled to a halt, I said coolly, “If you are asking whether I know who did this, the answer is no, I don’t.”

Reilly took a step forward, right hand curled into a fist, and I thought he was about to strike me. Before the scene degenerated further, however, a voice interrupted.

“Step back, Reilly. Now.”

My erstwhile attacker faltered, no doubt startled by the commanding tone. He turned to see who had spoken.

I had already recognized the voice. The chief of campus police and a retired marine, Martin Ford brooked no nonsense, student, staff, or faculty. Relieved to see him, I stepped away from the still-glowering Reilly, making sure Diesel stayed by my side.

“Look at my car.” Reilly gestured imperiously. “What are you going to do about that?”

Chief Ford approached the car and examined the windshield. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. Looks like lipstick and petroleum jelly.” He turned to Reilly. “When was the last time you used your car?”

“When I came back from lunch,” Reilly said. “Around one.”

Ford checked his watch. “Ten to four. That’s well over two hours, say two and a half, for someone to do this.” He gestured toward the windshield. “Any idea why you’re being targeted like this? Third incident, right?”

“Yes, it’s the third practical joke.” Reilly rubbed his forehead. “Why haven’t you caught the jackass who’s doing this?”

“It would help,” Ford responded in a mild tone, “if I had an idea about why these things are happening to you. I repeat, any idea why you’re being targeted?”

I figured I could have thrown in a few cents’ worth of reasons, but I kept my mouth shut. I was curious to hear what Reilly had to say.

“None of this happened before I took over administration of the library.” Reilly’s fists clenched. “I’m simply trying to do the job I was asked to do by the president, but obviously some jerk doesn’t like what I’m doing. I haven’t done anything to provoke this kind of juvenile behavior, I can assure you.”

“I see.” Ford pulled out his phone and took several pictures of Reilly’s windshield. “Probably the work of a student you’ve somehow annoyed.” He put the phone back in its holster on his belt. “We’ll keep looking into these incidents, and eventually we’ll track down whoever is responsible.”

“That’s what you told me two days ago,” Reilly said, obviously angry. “And yet it’s happened again. The president isn’t going to be happy when I report this to him.”

Ford appeared unruffled by the threat. “I’m not happy, either, Reilly. Don’t blow this out of proportion. I told you, we’re working on it.”

Reilly stared at the chief for a moment, then turned and strode to the back of the library administration building. Moments later, the back door slammed behind him.

Ford turned to me. “Afternoon, Mr. Harris. And you, too, Diesel.”

I returned the chief’s greeting, and Diesel emerged from behind my legs to let Ford rub his head.

“Any idea what’s going on here?” Ford asked.

I shrugged. “He’s not popular with the library staff. He has no idea how to run a library, and the staff resent him. I didn’t know about the practical jokes, but I guess someone is trying to get back at him for being such a jerk.”

Ford arched an eyebrow. “Pretty strong words coming from you. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak that way about anyone.”

“I haven’t had much cause to, I guess.” I grinned. “But Reilly brings out the worst in everybody.” I was tempted to share the story of Reilly’s complaint about Diesel, but I realized that wasn’t a good idea.

Ford grimaced. “I want to catch whoever’s behind this and put a stop to it before it escalates any further. Right now it’s pretty harmless, but it could get ugly if it’s unchecked.”

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.” Despite the fact that I found the current prank amusing, I knew Ford was right. This behavior had to be stopped before someone got hurt.

Ford nodded as he left. Diesel and I continued on our way home. I thought about the words in pink lipstick on Reilly’s windshield. They were innocuous enough, but the prankster had to be pretty annoyed to go to such lengths.

Could Melba have done it? I wondered. She was certainly angry, but surely she wouldn’t do something so childish. I could picture her as she was earlier, ranting about Reilly to me.

I stopped suddenly, and Diesel chirped in surprise.

Pink lipstick.

Melba was wearing pink lipstick today.

FOUR

Diesel meowed loudly several times and pulled against his leash, and I realized I still stood in the center of the sidewalk, oblivious to what was happening around me. I heard a loud “Excuse me,” and I hastily stepped to one side. Diesel, clever boy, moved nimbly with me so that the woman and her two stuffed canvas bags passed us without further fuss.

Led by my cat, I headed homeward again, a distance now of only about three blocks. My thoughts reverted to Melba and the problem of the pink lipstick. I grimaced at the words; they sounded like the title of a Golden Age detective story by John Dickson Carr. But this situation was happening in the present. I knew there were other women besides Melba who wore pink lipstick, but the coincidence struck me as worrisome.

How to approach the subject with Melba—that was the question plaguing me as I fished out my keys to unlock the front door. Diesel darted inside the moment the door opened wide enough. I knew the quick entry meant he was eager to visit the litter box.

While my hands coped with the fastenings of the cat’s leash and harness, I thought about Melba. I couldn’t blame her if she had played that prank on Oscar Reilly. His behavior toward her was inexcusable, and I knew when she had her dander up, she could be a bit unpredictable.

The trouble was, the tenor of this particular prank seemed more like something an undergrad would do, not a woman of Melba’s age and experience. If Melba wanted to get her own revenge against Oscar, I figured she would come up with a far subtler, and in the end more devastating, plan.

In the kitchen I headed right for the fridge and helped myself to a glass of ice-cold water. I thought more about Melba and the lipstick. I could just call her and tell her about the scene I had unwillingly witnessed and gauge her reaction. No, upon reflection, I decided it would be better to wait until we were face-to-face again. The direct approach was best.

Loud crunching noises emanated from the nearby utility room. Diesel did enjoy his dry food, though I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started campaigning for his nightly serving of wet food. He often had tidbits from the dinner table as well, but I tried to ration them carefully. I also tried to make sure that none of the ingredients of the people food he ate were harmful to cats.

Moments later my gentle giant of a feline ambled purring into the kitchen. That loud noise, the source of his name, always made me feel better. He rubbed his head against my knee for a moment before he stretched out under the table near my feet.

My thoughts shifted to a different topic, though one still connected to the odious Oscar Reilly. What would I do if he persisted in his attempts to keep me from bringing Diesel to work at the archive? I could quit, as I’d reasoned earlier, because I didn’t absolutely need the money from the job, helpful though it was. I would certainly miss the work I did there, though, because I loved it.

Or, I thought, I could take a leave of absence until the college found a new full-time director of the library. Oscar Reilly was only temporary, after all. And the more temporary the better.