Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

Frowning, I clicked on the e-mail. “Dear Jennifer,” it started. “Congratulations on your new position with the Chilson District Library. We’re so glad you reached out to us regarding our new and comprehensive product line. Enclosed you will find materials that will explain what we can do for—”

My phone rang. Still reading, I picked up the receiver. “This is Minnie. How can I help you?”

“Have you read your e-mail this morning?” Jennifer demanded.

I sat back. “I have, and I was just going to call you.”

“There was no reason for Dave to copy you on that e-mail,” she said. “I certainly didn’t tell him to.” She waited, but since she hadn’t asked me a question, I didn’t say anything. “I suppose you’ve read it?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“So you know why I’m trying to cut the library’s budget.”

“Not really,” I said slowly.

She blew out an annoyed breath. “If I’m going to drag this library into the twenty-first century, we need this software. It can do a wide variety of things that we can’t do now, and if we’re going to grow, we need to make this kind of capital investment.”

Absolutely it could do things we couldn’t; the question was, did we need to do them? What was the return on the investment? What would we have to sacrifice to make the purchase, and would the sacrifice be worth it?

But I’d worked with her long enough to know that if I asked those questions, she’d accuse me of throwing up roadblocks instead of finding a way to make her idea work. So instead, I said, “The library board looked at this software during the renovation. At that point they decided it wasn’t a good fit.”

“Good,” Jennifer said. “Then they’re already familiar with the company. This is a more recent product line. It’s much better than the old one. You should see all features it has!”

She sounded excited, so I sat up and started scrolling through the e-mail. Dave the sales guy, however, had made a strategic error—he’d put the price sheet first. I gasped at the five-figure number, but Jennifer was still talking.

“Once it’s up and running, it’ll save money. I’m familiar with the earlier version of this software system—the last library where I worked had invested in it and I’m sure the same thing will happen here.”

As she went on, blithely talking about all the wonderful things the new system would do for us, I started thinking about all the horrible things that could happen.

Because I wasn’t sure how spending thousands and thousands of dollars could save money.

Because we didn’t have thousands to spend.

Because to find that kind of money—and the accompanying permanent service agreements, which were in the four-figure category—more than minor cuts would have to be made.

Which meant one of two things. Either programming cuts would have to be made, or staff would be laid off.

Permanently.

• • •

It took the rest of the morning for me to shake off the foreboding that Jennifer’s call had created in me.

I considered writing a note to the library board, telling them how I felt about Jennifer’s push for the new system. I considered it so seriously that I clicked the button to create a new e-mail, but just before I started typing, I came to my senses and deleted the entire thing.

If I were director, what would I think of an employee going to the board without my knowledge? Not much. Which meant that if I wanted to object to this potential purchase, I should make my objection to Jennifer. And to do that I needed facts and figures. Which meant a fair amount of work, but it had to be done if I wanted Jennifer to listen to me.

But first, it was time for lunch.

“Anyone want something from the Round Table?” I asked at the front desk.

“Onion rings,” Donna said. “Double order.”

The fat-laden order was completely out of character. “Really?”

She sighed. “No. I brought a salad. My knee has been a little sore and I haven’t been able to do full workouts this week.”

“Five-mile runs, then, instead of ten?” I asked.

“No, I’m still doing tens. Just not doing wind sprints in the middle.”

I looked at her, but she seemed dead serious. “Right. Well, if you change your mind, I have my cell with me.” I turned and almost ran smack into Mitchell Koyne.

“Hey, Minnie,” he said. “Bianca said you stopped by. Glad you two are getting along in spite of . . .” He kicked one foot against the other. “You know.”

Many many months ago, Mitchell had asked me out on a date. My method of gently refusing him must have been confusing because he persisted in thinking that I harbored romantic feelings for him.

“She seems very nice,” I said, carefully not looking at Donna. The entire library staff had eventually learned of Mitchell’s offer and Donna was undoubtedly now grinning with great glee.

“Yeah.” Mitchell beamed. “She sure is.”

I edged toward the front door. “How’s the toy store, now that you’re the manager?”

“Yeah, the cool thing about that? I get to make the schedule. I need to work the weekends, because they’re the busiest, you know, but I can come here on my days off.” He grinned. “Especially now that I got my fines paid off.”

He had indeed. We’d taken a ceremonious photo, which I’d promptly e-mailed to Stephen, who had yet to reply. “The only sure thing in this world is change,” I said.

“What? No, I paid in bills. Mostly twenties.”

I smiled. There was no one like Mitchell.

“Of course, now that I’m working so many hours, I won’t have as much time to read.” He sent the stacks a forlorn glance. “Kind of sucks.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. My childhood daydreams of becoming a librarian so I could read all day had been dashed early on. Though I wouldn’t want to do anything else, I often wished I had more time to read the books I recommended.

Then I recognized the odd situation: Mitchell and I were commiserating about our mutual lack of free time. Wonders truly never did cease.

“You hear about Mia Lacombe?” Mitchell asked.

“She was released,” I said a little stiffly.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, you know?” He looked around then moved so close to me that I had to look almost straight up to see his face. “You working on it?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Dale Lacombe’s murder?”

Not so very long ago, Mitchell had had delusions of being a private investigator. That phase, thankfully, was over, but for some reason he continued to think that I took part in active criminal investigations at the sheriff’s office.

“Leese is a friend of mine,” I said.

“Right.” He nodded vigorously, which dislodged his baseball cap. “That’s what Bianca said. If you need help, just let me know, okay? I mean, I’m pretty busy, but I’ll do what I can.”

The idea of a helpful Mitchell was more than a little appalling. “Thanks, but I’m sure the sheriff’s office has it covered.”

“Want to know what I think?” Mitchell resettled his cap. “I bet it was some guy who used to work for Lacombe. He was one of those guys that thinks he’s always right, you know? He’d fire anyone who disagreed with him, over anything it seemed like. He was always working shorthanded. Half the time he had guys working for him that didn’t know what they were doing.”

Mitchell started telling a story about a buddy that Dale fired, and though I tried to pay attention, all I kept hearing was, “I bet it was some guy who used to work for Lacombe.”

• • •

Since the previous night’s conversation had been completely hijacked by Leese’s stepfamily, I’d texted her that, if she wanted, I would stop by that night so we could have a one-on-one conversation. Her reply had been a thumbs-up, so after work I walked back to the houseboat and fed Eddie before I headed out to Leese’s.