Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

She was sitting at her large desk, staring fixedly at the computer monitor. Either she was ignoring me or hadn’t heard my knock. I was trying to figure out which it was, when I suddenly noticed that though her redecorated office didn’t fit in Chilson, it did match something. It matched her.

Jennifer suddenly looked up. “Minnie,” she said. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“I am?” The back of my neck stiffened even as I tried to relax. Because surely there was some reasonable reason that she wanted to see me. Maybe she wanted my opinion on the best place to eat. Or a favorite place to watch the sunset. Or—

“You’re here to present today’s update, correct?”

It took everything in me not to gape at her like a hooked fish. The daily update. I’d forgotten all about it. Completely and totally forgotten. But before I could panic and run, a stroke of genius burst into my brain, saving me from doom. “Since you haven’t given me parameters,” I said smoothly, “I thought we could talk about budgets this time. Have you had a chance to study the revised bookmobile budget I sent last week?”

“Next on my list,” she said just as smoothly, leaving me to wonder if she was making up stuff as much as I was. She leaned forward, put her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin on her fingertips. “In the future, I’d prefer to get your daily reports late in the afternoon. That will give me time to make corrections if we’re going in the wrong direction.”

It seemed ridiculous to me. After all, how wrong a direction could a small library possibly go in one day? But I nodded and kept my thoughts—and facial expressions—to myself.

“So,” she said. “What else do you have to report?”

Right then and there, I decided to make my report full of the things I wanted her to know. If she wanted something different, she’d have to tell me. “Well,” I said cheerfully, “this morning . . .” And I launched into stories of the little things that filled our days. The sad things: the stoic bravery of an elderly woman who had asked for books about dealing with a spouse’s death. The inspirational things: a teenager who’d asked for advice on how to get accepted into law school. And the funny things: how Reva Shomin’s youngest had wanted to take home a stack of books taller than he was.

Jennifer’s fingertips started to tap together faster and faster, so I wrapped up my tales with a few facts about the numbers of books checked out and computer use. These were numbers I’d always studied every single day; I didn’t need an update duty to force me to look at data.

Finally, I said, “So the current checkout trends are down, but that’s still in line with averages over the past years. The only checkout numbers up are the bookmobile’s.”

“Interesting,” Jennifer said.

At least that’s what she said, but I wasn’t sure she actually meant it. I suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that she was well aware of the numbers and was just testing my knowledge. Anger flared, but I did my best to tamp it down. Suspicion was not anything close to proof. Just ask Detective Inwood.

“There’s one other thing,” I said. “There have been a number of patrons who have told me they aren’t interested in visiting the library any longer. I wondered if you might have some opinions about that.”

“Me?” Jennifer’s eyebrows went up. “It’s your responsibility to communicate patron discontent to me. You should be explaining the whys to me, not asking for an explanation yourself.”

My polite smile grew fixed. “Right. I have a few ideas about that. For instance—”

“Hold that thought.” Jennifer pointed a finger at me. “I want to run this past you before the board makes its final decision. As I’m sure you know, there are a number of rare books owned by this library that haven’t been viewed in years. My proposal is to increase revenues by selling off a number of them.”

“You . . . what?”

“There’s no reason to hang on to volumes that aren’t being accessed by the public,” she said in a “Duh” tone of voice. “Why should we allocate shelf space for books that haven’t been opened in three years?”

I could think of all sorts of reasons. Jennifer, however, clearly wasn’t interested in hearing anything I had to say.

“I’ve talked to each of the board members individually,” she went on, “and I’m confident a majority favors moving in this direction. According to my calculations, selling off the unused volumes will raise nearly enough revenue to pay for our new software. Providential, wouldn’t you say?”

What I wanted to say wasn’t fit to be heard by human ears. My mouth opened and shut a few times and I finally asked, “When will the board decide?” Maybe I could talk to Otis, the board president. Call the vice president. Cling to the feet of the board treasurer and beg her not to sell our irreplaceable assets in exchange for a system we didn’t need.

“Tuesday. I’ve called a special meeting.” She smiled with clear satisfaction. “I’ll need your help to move into action afterward.”

I couldn’t find it in me to say a single word that wouldn’t create a potentially dangerous situation for one or both of us, so I simply nodded. My thoughts the first steps back down the stairs were full of internal shouting.

What? How in the name of all that is holy could she think this makes sense? We’d be like a museum selling artwork! What is she thinking? This is nuts!

After a few more steps, the shrieking thoughts started to calm down to a manageable level, but it wasn’t until I reached the landing and made the U-turn that would take me to the main floor that I understood the impact of what Jennifer had told me.

She had the library board’s support.

Which meant that speaking to them about Jennifer would gain me nothing. On the contrary, talking about their new hire in less than glowing terms would likely get me labeled as a malcontent, a troublemaker, and someone who wasn’t willing to work with the board.

But how long would I be able to stay silent?

How long could I stand by and do nothing while the library changed underneath me?

All of which led me straight to a big and frightening question that I’d never before asked myself: How long was I going to be welcome at the Chilson District Library?

On the walk home that evening, I kicked at the leaves fallen on the sidewalk and tried to think happy thoughts. The sun wouldn’t officially set until a quarter to seven, but the streetlights were on full force at a few minutes past six and not making much of a dent against the thick clouds. A cold wind blew down my neck and I could feel rain start to fall.

“Bleah,” I muttered, zipping my jacket all the way up and wishing I’d worn my winter coat.

None of that was helping me shift to a positive mind-set, however. I debated whistling a favorite song, but I wasn’t sure I would have been able to hear it over the noise of the blowing leaves. I considered singing, something that always lifted my spirits even if I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but as I mentally scrolled through possible songs, the only songs that came to mind were Christmas carols and it was far too early for that.

But dire straits called for dire measures. Thankfully, just as I was about to start the first verse of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” my cell phone rang with Kristen’s tone.

“About time,” I said. “What have you been doing all day?”

“Do you really want to know?” she asked. “Because if you do, I’ll tell you.”

“What I really want is for you to get me the name of a guy who ate at your place a week and a half ago.”

“You have got to be kidding,” she said flatly. My normally energetic friend sounded tired and cranky.