Лори Касс - Borrowed Crime

I studied each of their faces, then said, “It speaks well of this board that there is concern regarding the tragic events that led to Roger Slade’s death.”

Heads nodded, and I nodded back, feeling like a bobble-head doll that wasn’t quite in tune with its fellows.

“The sheriff’s office and I have had multiple conversations,” I went on, “and they feel that they’re close to making an arrest.” Of what I felt had to be the wrong person, but now wasn’t the time to get into that.

“A careless hunter,” Bruce said solemnly.

“They couldn’t tell me.” I looked around the table. “But there was a discussion regarding the possibility of murder.”

A collective intake of breath stole most of the air from the room. Clearly, no one had once thought that Roger’s death could have been anything except an accident. Interesting.

“But,” I said, “there is no reason to punish the bookmobile for any of this. In the days since Roger died, bookmobile attendance hasn’t decreased and no one has called to cancel a stop. Matter of fact, I’ve had a request for an additional stop.”

I stood as straight and tall as I could, which wasn’t very, but since I was the only one standing, it worked out. “Garaging the bookmobile would deprive our patrons, the people who might need us the most, of access to everything that we offer.”

Spreading my arms wide, I gestured at the entire library, at the entire world. “Our mission statement is to provide materials and services to the entire community, not just the people who have the wherewithal to make it to this building.” I let my arms fall to my sides, hanging my head just a little. “Keeping our patrons from harm is, without doubt, the most important thing. But please think about how much harm it could do to deprive them of books.”

I sat down, already wishing I’d said something different. Of course, I couldn’t remember ever getting to use the word “wherewithal” in a sentence, written or spoken, so that was a tiny bonus.

At the other end of the table, the board members and Stephen had a short, whispered conversation. Otis looked down the length of the dark wood. “Minnie, thank you for your time. We’ll let you know when we make a decision.”

* * *

I walked back downstairs, my feet making Eddie-sized thumps on the steps. There was no way I was going to be able to get any work done until I heard from the board, so I grabbed the new ABOS coffee mug I’d picked up at the last Association of Bookmobile and Outreach Services conference and headed to the break room. If the next day hadn’t been Thanksgiving, I would have pawed through my desk drawer for change enough to get some chocolate from the vending machine, but maybe coffee would suffice.

Holly was on her way out of the room, but she took one look at my face and backed up. “Are you okay? No, you’re not. I can see that something horrible has happened. Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee—don’t worry, I didn’t let Kelsey make it this morning—and you can tell Aunt Holly all about it. Oh, and take a brownie. Josh’s mom dropped them off.”

I let Aunt Holly take charge, not even objecting when she cut off a huge slab of brownie and put it on a napkin in front of me. “Eat,” she commanded. “Then talk.”

Three bites later, I started to feel a little less shell-shocked. Two more and I was almost ready to talk. We adjourned to my office so I could be close to my phone, and I told her what had happened upstairs. Well, except the part where I might be forced to resign.

Holly objected in all the right places. “Are they nuts?” she asked, her face a little pink. “The bookmobile is the best thing that’s ever happened to this library! Sure, this new building is awesome and everything, but has it changed anyone’s life? People who come here were already coming to the library, maybe a few more, but not like the bookmobile. Did you tell them how many new library-card forms you’ve completed out there?”

I smiled. “You should have talked to the board instead of me.”

She shook her head rapidly. “No way. I freeze up something silly if I have to speak in public.”

“The board meetings aren’t like that,” I said. “It’s just a bunch of people sitting around a table.”

“And all of them staring at you when you say something. I’ll pass, thanks.” She gave a mock shudder. “But, hey, I wanted to tell you that I had to give up on Facebook.”

Facebook? Why . . . ? Then I remembered. My concerns that Stephen had learned about Eddie felt long ago and far away.

“No matter who or what group I tracked,” she said, “I couldn’t find anyone who would have liked the same collection of groups Stephen would. So either he’s being smarter about this than I would have guessed, or he’s just not on Facebook.”

“Well, that’s good,” I said.

“Maybe, maybe not.” She pursed her lips. “The way I figure it, he’s got to be out there somewhere. Lurking. Spying on us. That’s the way he is, right? So he’s there, taking notes. I just have to figure out where he is. Twitter might be more his thing.”

“Or,” I offered, “he might not be on social media at all.”

Holly shook her head. “No, I don’t see it. It’s too big of a chance for him to gather up information.”

She was making him sound like a grand spymaster. Stephen had his quirks, and it wouldn’t hurt him to attend a few workshops on playing well with others, but he was an excellent library director, and I was starting to feel a little sneaky for, well, sneaking around about him.

“Thanks for doing this, Holly,” I said, “but I don’t want to take up so much of your time. If Stephen knows about Eddie, there isn’t much I can do about it until he decides to tell me.” Of course, if the board was going to fire me or keep the bookmobile from running, Stephen wouldn’t have to do anything.

I sighed.

Holly, who was a mother and therefore had that supermom sense for noticing the slightest mood anomalies, gave me an empathetic glance. “Yeah, I know. You’re worried about what the board is going to say. When they call, let me know, okay?”

My phone rang. For two full rings, I just stared at it. My insides felt tingly and my head felt two sizes too small. When the third ring started, I snatched up the receiver. “Minnie Hamilton,” I said. “How may I help you?”

“The board has made a decision,” Stephen said.

My mouth’s dryness was immediate and absolute. There was no way I was going to be able to say a word until I got some fluid into it. I scrabbled for my coffee mug and took a long gulp. “What did they say?”

“They chose not to take a vote on requesting your resignation, at least for the time being.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “What about the bookmobile?”

He let out a sharp breath. “Your point about the possibility of murder pushed that discussion in a completely new direction. The board now feels that if Roger Slade was, in fact, murdered, the library cannot be seen as negligent. We had a short conference call with the library’s attorney, and while he isn’t in complete agreement, he did agree that the case against the library would be weaker if murder could be proved.”

“So, I can keep the bookmobile on the road?”

Stephen barked out something that might have been a laugh. “Is that all you care about—the bookmobile?”

I wanted to say that I cared about a lot of things—world peace, finding a clean source of energy, and discovering a way to walk in the rain without getting mud splatters on my pants—but I was pretty sure Stephen’s question was rhetorical.

“The case will first appear in court the second Wednesday in December,” Stephen said. “How they got it on the docket so soon, I don’t know, but they did. If you care so much about the bookmobile, you’d better solve this situation before then.” He banged the phone down.