Лори Касс - Borrowed Crime

I gulped down the rest of my coffee and headed up the stairs.

Stephen had the only office on the second floor. The rest of the space was occupied by conference rooms and the book-sale room, and Stephen’s aerie wasn’t anywhere I would have liked to work. Sure, he had a corner office with windows that gave a great view of Janay Lake and even Lake Michigan when the leaves were off the trees, but in spite of the heavy drapes and the auxiliary heating unit, to me it still felt like a cold and unwelcoming place.

Of course, that could have been due to the nature of the occupant.

Stephen looked up from his computer when I knocked on the doorjamb. “Ah, Minnie. Come in and shut the door behind you.”

The action seemed pointless. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to be following me up the stairs to eavesdrop, since they all knew I’d soon be sharing everything Stephen said, but I shut the door anyway and stood in front of his desk, my hands clasped together lightly, my head slightly bowed. It was my Penitent Pose, and I’d perfected it as a child. I hadn’t been a bad kid, but I’d hadn’t always seen the need to do exactly what my parents told me to, especially when it came to putting my book down and going to sleep at my prescribed bedtime. I mean, how could I when I was in the middle of a chapter?

I stood there waiting, and eventually Stephen sat back in his chair. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. If I hadn’t known he’d been at his desk fewer than thirty minutes, I would have guessed he’d been laboring for hours. And, judging from past history and the general emptiness of his desk, all he’d been doing was reading online newspapers.

He put his glasses back on and looked up. “Minerva, you do seem to have a knack for finding trouble,” he said, sighing. “Roger Slade was a good man. He will be missed by many.”

A commonplace platitude that held a deep truth. I tried to swallow a sob, but it got stuck halfway down and I had to cough it away. “I didn’t know him very well,” I said quietly. “He seemed like a great guy.”

Stephen peered at my face. “Do you need some time off?” he asked. “Although Roger wasn’t a relative and the bereavement policy wouldn’t apply, I’m sure you have vacation time accrued. I can approve a day, should you need it.”

I murmured my thanks, but said I’d be fine. I’d never used all of my annual vacation hours; why should I start now?

My boss nodded, clearly approving of my ability to keep a stiff upper lip. “But do you realize,” he said, putting his elbows on his desk and folding his hands, “that you have placed the library at risk?”

“I . . . what?”

“Under your direction and care,” he said, “a bookmobile volunteer was killed while on the bookmobile.”

I wanted to point out that Roger hadn’t actually been on the vehicle, but I managed to keep quiet.

“How,” Stephen asked sadly, “could you have let this happen?”

My jaw dropped. “ Let it happen? Stephen, it was an accident. A horrible, tragic accident.”

“On your bookmobile. This makes it the library’s problem.”

“It was an accident,” I repeated, this time a little louder. “Awful as it was, it was an accident. We could have an accident here.” I waved at the walls. “A library Friend could be carrying a box of books, trip on the stairs, and fall. Or—”

“Roger Slade is dead,” Stephen said, cutting into my theoretical list, “and his sister is suing the library for negligence.”

“His . . . sister?”

“Tammy Shelburt.”

The name thudded into the middle of the room. Tammy Shelburt was Roger’s sister? My spine lost its starch. I wanted to flop into Stephen’s uncomfortable guest chair and put my head in my hands.

Tammy Shelburt had made a name for herself as one of the region’s most energetic business owners. She’d taken an unsuccessful fast-food restaurant in Gaylord and built it into an extremely lucrative regional franchise. She was known for making hard decisions and for not backing down from any fight she deemed necessary. And there were a lot of them.

My first year in Chilson, Tammy had brought suit against a commercial property owner over a driveway easement adjacent to one of her properties. Two days after she won the lawsuit, a monstrous fence went up that forced her neighbor to rework the entrance to his ice-cream shop. It had been a financial hardship for the well-loved, yet not terribly lucrative, business and Tammy had lost much local goodwill over the incident. Rumor had it that she’d said, “So what? I make my money from the tourists, not the locals,” which had, of course, only made things worse.

On a personal basis, I knew that Tammy had a tendency to return books late and then try to argue her way out of the fines. This didn’t endear her to me, but I tried to look on the bright side. At least she was borrowing books. But what bright side could there be in this case? Roger was dead, and Tammy was looking for someone to pay the price.

“Stephen, I . . .” No words came to fill the empty space. I looked at my boss. I had no idea what expression was on my face, but he softened the slightest bit.

“Minnie, I will have to inform the library board of the recent events.”

Of course he would. He probably already had.

“The board will also be made aware of the progress of Ms. Shelburt’s lawsuit,” Stephen said. “The library’s attorney has already been contacted and has said that there is little doubt that the library will eventually be cleared of any wrongdoing, but Ms. Shelburt will undoubtedly make sure no stone is left unturned.”

I swallowed. The library attorney was eminently qualified for this kind of thing, but his hourly rate was higher than my first out-of-college paycheck. Once again I wanted to say something, but there still wasn’t anything I could think of to say. “I’m sorry.” The words came out in a whisper.

“Yes.” Stephen adjusted his glasses. “Your reaction speaks well for your character, but you cannot let your emotions interfere with what needs to be done. Duties still call, Minerva.” When I nodded slowly, he returned his attention to the computer screen.

I knew, from long experience, that this was my cue to retreat, but halfway down the switchback stairway, I stopped stock-still.

If Tammy was suing the library, was she also going to sue me?

* * *

All through the morning, I brooded over the question. Sure, every volunteer on the bookmobile signed a waiver of responsibility, and the library’s insurance covered bookmobile-related incidents for those on board, but did any of that truly mean anything when something so horrible as a death had happened?

I debated contacting the Association of Bookmobile and Outreach Services to ask whether anyone had any experience in such matters, but decided to wait. Maybe I was worrying unnecessarily. And maybe Tammy had only threatened to sue. Maybe when she got over the shock of her brother’s death, she’d drift away from the need to make the library pay for what had happened.

Maybe all that would happen.

And then again, maybe it wouldn’t.

I fidgeted away the rest of the morning, and at lunchtime I donned my almost-dry coat and headed out into the rain.

By now the morning’s dripping had rendered the weekend’s snow almost invisible. What little remained was in the piles tossed up by plows and under the shelter of building eaves and trees. It was the time of year when, if you didn’t have a calendar handy, you wouldn’t know for certain whether it was November or early April.

Keeping my head down, I walked quickly through the mishmash of downtown architecture, past the county building, and to the adjacent sheriff’s office.