Checked Out
The Village Library Mysteries, Volume 1
Elizabeth Spann Craig
Published by Elizabeth Spann Craig, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
CHECKED OUT
First edition. April 2, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Elizabeth Spann Craig.
ISBN: 978-1946227423
Written by Elizabeth Spann Craig.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author:
This and That
Other Works by Elizabeth:
To all the librarians that have made me feel at home in libraries throughout my life.
Chapter One
I’D JUST FINISHED CHECKING out some cookbooks for a young mom when the library doors flew open and two sopping wet boys rushed up to the circulation desk. I stood up immediately because of the state the boys were in.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
The older boy was so winded that he just gasped out something completely incoherent, so the younger one said, “There’s a cat out there! He’s in a culvert. He could drown!”
Another librarian said quickly, “You go. I’ll cover the desk.”
I hurried out, jogging to keep up with the two boys as they shoved open the door and scrambled out into the pouring rain. It was coming down in sheets and had been for the last couple of hours. I was immediately soaked through and shivered even though I could feel the humidity coming off the pavement in waves.
“Where is it?” I asked urgently. Surely a cat wouldn’t be able to hang on in a drainage ditch culvert for very long with the amount of water that must be gushing through it. There was a crack of thunder overhead and I winced.
“Over here! When our mom dropped us off, we heard a cat crying,” yelled the older boy who seemed to be getting his breath back.
The culvert was in a low-lying area on one side of the parking lot and water was gushing down into it to drain off. The last thing I needed was for the boys to get swept in. “Thanks, guys. What are your names?”
They told me and I thanked them again. “Go inside now and use the library phone to call your mom and tell her to come bring you some dry clothes.”
“No way!” said the boys in chorus.
The older one, who had a stubborn set to his chin, added, “We’ll stand back. But we want to see what happens.”
I gingerly knelt down to peer into the concrete, open-ended culvert. Sure enough, caught on some brush inside the pipe, was an orange cat. He stared back at me with intelligent green eyes and let out a pitiful cry.
I leaned forward, now getting the knees of my black slacks soaked as I reached out for the cat. “Come here, sweetie,” I crooned.
The orange cat’s eyes shifted to the right, and he gave another cry but didn’t move toward me.
“Come on, baby. You’re safe. Just come with me.” I crawled carefully ahead into the large culvert, feeling the water surge against me and keeping my hand on the side of the pipe. Then I stopped, squinting as I peered ahead. There was a second cat in there, slightly farther back and still in the brush as the water continued flowing faster and faster.
“Can one of you boys get some help from inside the library? There’s another cat in here,” I called out. “And get one of the librarians to bring a flashlight from the storage room.”
From what I could tell from inside the culvert, they both took off, sounding like a small herd of elephants as they sprinted toward the building.
I kept crooning to the orange cat. “Is that why you won’t come out? Your friend is in there? You’re such a good friend, baby.”
The cat gave another sad cry, and I felt my heart pound in my chest. I shivered again and reached out to the cats. Neither one moved.
I heard the kids running back outside again and adult voices with them this time. I turned to see Wilson, the library director, hurrying toward me, clutching a flashlight and also, inexplicably, a rake, which he held aloft. He was always distinguished-looking with prematurely white hair, rimless glasses, and an omnipresent suit. A rather stylish elderly lady, an occasional patron of ours, trotted right behind him, holding an open umbrella and grasping another.
“What’s with the rake?” I asked.
He said, “The kids said the cats were stuck on some brush. The custodian thought we could rake the brush forward.” He handed me the rake.
“Ah. Good point. Although I’m a little worried the rake will scare them farther into the pipe. I’m going to have a hard-enough time reaching them as it is.”
He pulled something out of his rain jacket and shoved it at me. “Here. Also from the custodian.”
I propped the rake against my leg as I took a pair of leather work gloves from him. “Perfect! Remind me to kiss him.”
The patron said importantly, “And I’ll try to keep you all dry.”
Far too late for that, but I appreciated her efforts. At least the boys, apparently not wanting to get even wetter than they were, huddled under the open umbrella with her. “Hurry,” the older one implored me.
Wilson and I peered into the culvert again and the sad little orange face looked mournfully back at me. The cat turned his head to look at the other cat again and then turned back to me, giving me a hopeless look.
“Okay,” I said briskly, faking the confidence I didn’t feel. “Here’s the plan. I’m going to try to get the cat that’s farther back out first. I suspect the orange cat won’t come out without her. But since they’re so far back, I’ll use the rake to pull the brush toward me a little first.”
“Slowly,” clucked the patron, forgetting about the rain and stepping outside the spread of the umbrella before hurriedly ducking back underneath it as she was pelted with drops.
“Yes,” I said under my breath. Nothing to it. Just another day in the life of a librarian in Whitby, North Carolina.
I reached down and smiled what I hoped was a reassuring smile for the cats before feeling completely ridiculous. Would cats even recognize facial expressions? Instead I said, “Good babies. Just hold on.”
The orange cat took me at my word and did indeed hold on, grimly. The other cat, still only partly visible, wailed in distress as I ever so slowly crept as far into the culvert as I could and then even more slowly extended the rake to one side of the brush. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I was able to hook the rake behind the pile of leafy branches, pine straw, muck, and sticks and gently pull the mass toward me. Then I did the same on the other side of the mass of brush, managing to get the whole mess a couple of feet closer to me.
Still, I needed to get closer, so I abandoned my crouch and went fully on my stomach. The patron clucked again. “Do be careful! That water is scary!”
“I could hold on to your feet,” said Wilson reluctantly. He glanced down at his impeccable suit as if resigning himself to getting it immersed in the drain water. “I really don’t need one of my librarians floating away in the storm drainage system.” He
pressed his lips shut. I’d worked for different directors, but never one quite as uptight as Wilson.
“I think I’ll be okay,” I said quickly, envisioning falling flat on my face in the process, especially since I wasn’t the most coordinated of people at the best of times. At this point, it seemed good to calm down Wilson just as much as the poor cats. “But if you could grab me if I start floating away? I don’t think the pile of brush would stop my progress.”
He stooped down on the edge of the culvert, grimly poised to rush in and seize my legs if needed. And, to make things worse, the rain came down even harder.
I crept to the cats, crooning under my breath. I gave the orange cat a light, reassuring rub, and he purred at me, although he remained steadfastly on his branch. I turned my attention to the other cat, reaching out a tentative hand. The cat’s eyes were huge, and I was worried she was hurt and might lash out in a panic. Gently, I took off a glove to tickle her under her fuzzy chin and she half-closed her eyes in relief. I replaced the glove and continued sliding forward through the gushing water.
When I could scoot up enough, I put both my hands under her arms. She gave a loud cry that made me freeze and made the kids and the patron cry out, too.
“We have a hurt cat,” I said. “Can one of you call a veterinarian?”
“I will,” said the lady, her voice anxious.
I carefully cradled the cat in my arms and started the awkward process back . . . this time sitting completely down on the floor of the culvert and scooting forward inches at a time with the water up almost to my chest. I turned to look at the orange cat, who was now looking much more relaxed and cheerful. He gave me a little chirping meow and I couldn’t help but smile. Whoever he was, he was a charmer.
When I made it out of the pipe, the boys and the lady cheered. Wilson simply looked very relieved at not having to file a disability claim. “The vet is on the way,” the lady said.
“Wilson, can I very gently hand this cat over to you and get the other one? She can go in the breakroom,” I said. “I think her leg is injured, so I’ll try to be careful.”
Wilson reached out his arms and I slowly transferred her to him as the cat breathed heavily.
The lady said, “Do you have any old towels or anything to make her comfy until the vet gets here? And to dry the poor thing off?”
Wilson smiled through bared teeth as the tabby clawed his shoulder in alarm as he shifted her. “I’ll see what I can find in the custodial closet.”
He set off to the library, and I edged my way into the culvert again. The orange cat was very alert and seemed to want to help me as the rain continued gushing into the pipe. “You can do it, baby,” I whispered to him. As I held out my arms to him, he pounced into them and snuggled his wet, furry head against my neck. “Hey sweetie,” I crooned. Then I carefully crawled back out to more cheers.
The patron said, “I’ll see if he found the towels. Otherwise, I can run to the dollar store for hand towels.” And she trotted off, absently taking the umbrella with her.
It didn’t really matter because the boys and I were soaked to the bone already and so was the orange cat. We couldn’t possibly have gotten any wetter than we already were. The boys reached out to rub the cat, and he purred loudly.
We hurried back inside and found our progress had been tracked by what seemed like everyone in the library. They’d all peered out the many windows of the building and cheered for us when we came in. “Give a round of applause for our two heroes today: Noah and Mason!”
The library applauded and cheered and the boys, delighted, gave mock bows.
One of the patrons came up to me. “I captured the rescue on video on my phone! I’ll tag the library in it and post it online.”
I grinned at her. “That would be awesome.” Nothing like an adorable couple of cats in an action-packed video to bring traffic to the library social media sites.
Wilson dug up what appeared to be some ancient beach towels and had done his best to pat dry the injured tabby cat. He handed me a towel and started briskly rubbing dry the orange cat as he purred his appreciation.
Another patron quietly watched our progress from the door. “I could run out and get some cat food and a litter box,” he said.
“It wouldn’t hurt,” I said, turning to smile at him. “The vet is on the way, but I’m not sure how long the cats will need to be here in the meantime. Even if both of them need to go to the vet tonight, we could use some food and litter for now.”
Wilson raised his eyebrows at me as the patron hurried away to run the errand. “All right, Ann. What’s our end goal here?”
I leaned forward to gently tickle the tabby under her chin. The last thing I wanted to do was spook Wilson. But honestly? The Whitby Library would be an amazing place for a library cat. Instead I said, “What do you think? I haven’t really had a chance to think this all through. I was just concerned about getting the cats out of the culvert.”
Wilson looked at me over his glasses as he finished rubbing the orange cat dry. “We should focus on finding them good homes.”
“You wouldn’t happen to need a friendly cat, would you?” I asked lightly as the orange cat rolled over on his back and purred.
Wilson didn’t seem to notice that I was joking. He frowned at me and impatiently pushed his glasses up his nose. “I definitely don’t need a cat, no.” Then he said, “But you probably do, don’t you, Ann? Living by yourself?”
I snorted. “If I wanted to see the cat at all, I’d have to keep it here. You know I’m here practically daily and on weekends. A cat would be sorely neglected at my house.”
Wilson sighed. “All right. So here’s the game plan. We’ll let the vet have the cats. We’ll take the cats back here after the vet is done and post pictures to try to find them homes.”
I reached out and stroked the orange cat. “Perfect. And I’ll try to screen the patrons who display interest, since I know most of them pretty well.”
Wilson stood up, brushing the cat fur off his suit slacks and looking relieved. “That’s settled, then. Hopefully, we can find money in the budget to pay the vet.”
One of the other librarians opened the lounge door and introduced the vet, who was carrying two cat carriers. Wilson and I quickly introduced ourselves and I gestured to the tabby and said, “That’s the one who seems injured.”
The vet gently examined her and nodded. “Her leg is broken, for sure. I’m going to need to take her back to the office and set it.” She knelt by the orange cat and rubbed and talked to him as she examined him next. “This guy looks to be in perfect shape, however. He’s young and strong. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say the injured cat is probably his mother.”
I felt myself choking up and blinked impatiently a few times. There was something about animals that always got to me. “He wouldn’t leave her. I didn’t even see the tabby at first and the orange cat was determined to stay put until we helped her.”
The vet straightened up and said, “He sounds like a really special cat. I’m going to take him with me, too. I’ll want to check both cats for microchips and give them their shots. And fix them, of course, too, if they haven’t been spayed and neutered.”
Wilson winced a little as if wondering what the bill for all of the vet care might be.
“That’s perfect. Thanks so much.” I paused. “The two cats seem really close to each other. Is it all right to separate them?”
The vet said, “I think that may just be the circumstances in which they found themselves. Usually kittens are separated from their mom at about ten to twelve weeks old. The orange cat is far older . . . likely one year old. If it makes you nervous, you could always suggest a reunion later and see how it goes. And also monitor how the cats behave when they’re apart from each other.”
“Good ideas,” I said. “Thanks. I don’t want to create any problems for these sweeties.”
The vet smiled at me. “That’s no problem at all. And no charge for any of this—I’m
just grateful you went beyond the call of duty and were able to rescue these cats.”
Now Wilson was beaming with relief at the vet, which made me smile, myself.
“All in a day’s work for a librarian,” I quipped. And I wasn’t stretching the truth. You never did know what was going to happen at the library. Except most of the time the adventures revolved around a jammed copy machine and a botched storytime.
“I’ll bring the orange cat back here tomorrow,” said the vet as she carefully put the cats into the crates. “Possibly the tabby, too. I’ll have to see how she does.”
“So soon?” I asked, wrinkling my brows. It seemed like major surgery to me, but then I hear of people getting pacemakers in outpatient, so what do I know?
“He’ll be fine and will even have slept off the anesthesia by then. The tabby might be well, too. They’ll just need to stay quiet. I have a feeling that won’t be a problem here,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.
Wilson snorted. “When was the last time you were in a library?” he asked. “This place is a zoo most days. Even without a couple of cats.”
The vet frowned. “Would you prefer if I kept them at the office and tried to find an owner for them there? Or perhaps just brought the orange cat back here? Would that make things easier?”
Wilson said, “Why don’t you bring the tabby back here as a temporary measure? Perhaps we can try finding out if these cats have an owner. Worst case scenario, I’ll see if one of our patrons might be able to give her a good home.”
“Sounds good,” said the vet. “And, again, I’ll waive the charges for their care.”
Wilson put a hand up to his forehead as if it had started aching.
“I’ll take a couple of pictures of the cats and post them on the bulletin boards here to see if anyone knows who they might belong to,” I said.
Wilson made a face. “Perhaps that would have been better when they were snuggled into the beach towels and not crouched in carriers.”
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