No Cats Allowed

by Miranda James

  “What’s going on here?” Oscar said. “I demand to know why all these people were here.”

  “If you come into the office here, Mr. Reilly, I will explain everything.” Chief Ford maintained his calm, commanding manner, and Oscar subsided. He nodded and walked past the campus cop and toward his office.

  “No, Mr. Reilly, this office, not yours,” Ford said. Oscar stopped and turned back toward the chief with a frown.

  “Mrs. Sisson.” Ford indicated that Penny should precede him.

  Melba and I had remained by her desk, silent witnesses to the scene. I was about to ask the chief whether he needed me any further, but he forestalled me by asking both Melba and me to remain. Diesel stayed out of sight under the desk.

  Oscar glared at Chief Ford. “Now will you tell me what the devil has been going on here? I come back from a meeting and find half the library here when they should be doing their jobs.”

  Melba and I looked at each other. What kind of meeting had Oscar had with Porter Stanley? It seemed much more like a confrontation to me.

  “Have you ever seen this letter before, Mr. Reilly?” Chief Ford indicated the paper Delbert Winston had placed on the corner of Melba’s desk earlier. “Please examine it, but don’t touch it.”

  Oscar looked puzzled, but he complied with Ford’s request. He stared down at the letter, scanned it quickly, then exclaimed, “I never wrote this letter. This has got to be another practical joke.”

  He sounded sincere, and I believed him. I didn’t think he’d written the letter, or the other two like it.

  “Does that look like your signature?” Ford asked.

  Oscar glanced down again and studied the paper for a moment. “It does, but I swear to you I didn’t sign this letter. What is going on here? Who’s doing these crazy things to me?”

  “I will investigate this, and I will uncover the perpetrator,” Ford said in a confident tone. He turned to Penny. “Mrs. Sisson, do you have any questions for Mr. Reilly?”

  “Not at the moment,” she said. “I will be in touch with you later.” She nodded at Oscar. “We have several matters to discuss, and we need to do so later today, if possible.”

  “I’ll check my schedule and see when I can fit you in,” Oscar said.

  I admired Penny’s restraint in the face of such a condescending tone. The man was insufferable, no matter what.

  “As I expect the vice president for financial affairs to be a part of the meeting, I am certain you will find time this afternoon to attend.” Penny’s icy tone could have chilled a gallon of water, and Oscar blinked, no doubt surprised that she had just trumped his ace, so to speak. She turned without saying anything further and left.

  Oscar muttered a few words under his breath, and what little I could catch was not complimentary to Penny. I felt like slugging the man right then and there. He was crass on top of all his other deficiencies.

  Ford stared hard at Oscar. I didn’t think he appreciated Oscar’s behavior any more than I did. When he spoke, his tone had a definite edge to it.

  “Can you tell me where you’ve been the past hour?”

  Oscar looked startled. “What has that got to do with anything? I told you I was in a meeting.”

  “It wasn’t on your calendar,” Melba said sweetly. “It must have been a last-minute thing.”

  Oscar glared at Melba, but before he could speak, Ford posed another question.

  “This meeting of yours,” he said, “was it with a Mr. Porter Stanley?”

  That shot hit the mark. Oscar paled but recovered quickly. He pointed at me. “You need to keep your nose out of my business, Harris.” Then he jabbed his finger in the air at Melba. “You’re every bit as bad as he is. I know you two are cronies. I’d be willing to bet the two of you are behind this campaign to drive me out of this job.” He turned to Ford. “She’s probably the one who wrote these letters and forged my name. I’m sure if you examine the letters, you’ll find out they were printed right here in this office.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the combination printer-scanner-copier that occupied a corner of Melba’s office.

  “You jackass.” Melba looked ready to pick up her computer and throw it at Oscar’s head. “How dare you accuse me of such a low-down, low-class thing. I’d never do anything like that to save my life. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t despise you and wish you were gone, but I know for damn sure I’m not the only one.” She snorted. “There’ll be a line around the block before long, people just waiting for their chance to tell you what they think of your sorry rear end.”

  I decided there was no point in my adding any remarks to Melba’s forceful tirade. Oscar appeared shell-shocked. I almost laughed. He had no idea what tangling with my old friend could cost him.

  “We will be examining every possibility, Reilly.” Ford spoke in a calm tone, though I would have sworn I caught his mouth twitch ever so briefly into a smile while Melba ranted at Oscar. “I would like to say, and I want you to consider my words carefully, that both Ms. Gilley and Mr. Harris have outstanding reputations here at the college. You had better think carefully about flinging around accusations like that.”

  Oscar glowered, and I was surprised he didn’t have a comeback to offer. Ford exuded authority, and evidently even Oscar, brash as he was, knew when to shut up.

  The chief continued, “Now, back to my earlier question. Was your meeting with Porter Stanley?”

  After a stiff nod, Oscar said, “It was. However, the subject of it is a private matter that has nothing to do with my job or the situation here.”

  “That might be,” Ford replied. “Can you give me contact information for Mr. Stanley, in case I need to talk to him as part of my investigation?”

  I thought Oscar paled slightly at that question, but he made a quick recovery. “No, I’m sorry, I have no idea where he’s staying nor do I have any kind of phone number for him.” He paused a moment. “As a matter of fact, I believe he said he was leaving town right after our meeting.” His facile smile was not convincing.

  “Sure he is,” Melba said in a low tone. I heard it, but I couldn’t tell whether Ford or Oscar did, since they didn’t react.

  I agreed with Melba. I thought Oscar had lied—a really stupid thing to do, but then the man wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought he was. The more I was around him, the more contempt I felt for him and what a miserable human being he was. I didn’t even have much sympathy for him as the target of practical jokes. I had no cheeks left to turn for this man.

  “Then I will have to trace him another way,” Ford said.

  “His car.” Melba smiled in grim satisfaction and looked right at Oscar. “I can give you the license plate of his car.” She pulled open the top drawer of her desk and retrieved a small notepad. She tore off the top sheet and handed it to the chief.

  “Mississippi tag, I see. And you have the make and model.” Ford gave a brief smile. “Good work, Ms. Gilley.”

  “If you’ve finished interrogating me, I have work to do.” Oscar crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Ford steadily. “I don’t think there’s anything else I have to say to you.”

  “Idiot,” I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t help myself. How stupid did you have to be to antagonize the investigating officer with such an obnoxiously patronizing tone? I wondered. As stupid as Oscar, I thought. The man must be a financial whiz to have remained employed over the years if he behaved like this on every job.

  That gave me an idea. When Diesel and I got home, I would do some digging on the Internet. I might find interesting information about Oscar. You never knew what you could turn up until you tried.

  “You might as well go back to work now,” Ford said in an even tone. “I will probably have more questions for you, but I have enough to work with at the moment.”

  Oscar waited barely long enough for Ford to complete that last se
ntence before he turned and strode to his office. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

  “Melba, are you going to be comfortable working here today?” Ford asked. “It might be better if you told your boss you aren’t feeling well and go on home.”

  I agreed with Ford. I didn’t trust Oscar not to try to browbeat Melba once we were gone. He was furious with her; anyone could see that.

  Melba smiled, and I recognized that smile. She was loaded for bear, as the saying went—a bear named Reilly. She reached back into that same desk drawer and pulled out a can of room deodorizer and plunked it on the desk.

  “If he tries any of his mess with me,” she said, “he’ll get a face full of this before he knows what hit him. He’s not going to intimidate me anymore, so don’t you worry.”

  “If it comes to that,” Ford said, “he could bring charges against you for assault.” He didn’t sound overly concerned about that.

  “Don’t care.” Melba laughed. “I’ve got a good lawyer. By the time Sean Harris gets through with Mr. Jerkhead Reilly, there won’t be much of him left over.”

  “I still think you ought to go home,” Ford said.

  “I do, too, for what it’s worth.” I shook my head at her. “You know I love you dearly, but sometimes, as my mother used to say, you let that big mouth of yours overload that tiny rump you sit on.”

  Melba gave me a sweet smile. “I love you dearly, too, Charlie Harris, but I’ve been taking care of myself and my tiny rump just fine for many a year. You and Diesel go on home, and don’t worry about me.”

  When Melba was in an obstinate mood, there was not much anyone could do to dissuade her from whatever she meant to do. Evidently Ford knew her well enough to understand that the way I did.

  “All right,” he said. “But you call us if you need anything.” He nodded at each of us in turn before he left.

  “Scoot,” Melba said. “Don’t you even think about hanging around here. Take your poor boy home where it’s nice and quiet. He’s probably been terrified with all this ruckus going on.”

  I was already squatting to coax Diesel out from under the desk. He meowed pitifully, and I felt remorse. I should have removed him from the scene earlier, but I got so caught up in everything going on I simply forgot him.

  I spoke in a soft, soothing tone. “Come on, boy, let’s go home, okay?”

  He meowed again, then appeared to consider my words. He wiggled out, stretched, and butted his head against my chin a couple of times. I scratched his head, and he chirped.

  “He’ll be okay.” I stood. “We’ll go home now, but you be careful. Promise me.”

  “I will. You really don’t need to worry,” she replied. “By the time Penny and his boss in financial affairs get through with Reilly this afternoon, he’ll be afraid to squawk at anybody.”

  “I sure hope so.” I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Come on, Diesel, we’re heading home.”

  On the sidewalk I checked my watch, and found to my surprise that we had been there not much more than an hour. It had seemed a lot longer.

  Diesel trotted happily along, and I was glad to stretch my legs. We reached home a few minutes later, and I released the cat from his harness and leash. As he almost always did, he went straight to the utility room.

  I went to the den to retrieve my laptop and brought it back to the kitchen. I could hear the sound of the vacuum in the upstairs hall. Azalea sang as she worked, and I could hear snatches of a gospel song mingled with the wheezing of the machine.

  With a glass of Azalea’s freshly made iced tea to sustain me, I opened the computer and turned it on. While I waited for it to boot up completely, I thought about what it was I hoped to dig up on the Internet about Oscar.

  I decided that I would see what I could find out about Porter Stanley. What was the connection between the two men?

  Less than five minutes after I started searching, I discovered that connection, and it was a shocking one.

  ELEVEN

  I hadn’t expected to find any dirt on Porter Stanley and Oscar Reilly right away, and the fact that I did made me wonder how carefully the college HR department had run a background check on Oscar. I really thought I would have to dig deep to find anything juicy or helpful. Front-page headlines in a suburban Massachusetts newspaper, however, weren’t that hard to miss. I decided I should mention this to Penny Sisson. She needed to know that her staff hadn’t done a thorough enough job.

  The Oscar Reilly who stared out at me from the newspaper photograph sported a black eye. His hands were behind his back, and I suspected from the context of the scene that they were in handcuffs. A uniformed policeman had a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. Not more than three feet away, Porter Stanley, also escorted by a man in uniform, looked disheveled and disgruntled but otherwise unmarked. His hands, tightly clenched, were visible, and his expression as he regarded Oscar chilled me.

  After absorbing the details of the visual, I read the article. The Stanleys were a wealthy, influential clan in Massachusetts, according to the paper. Otherwise I doubted this story would have received as much space in the paper. Porter Stanley’s sister, Eleanor, was Mrs. Oscar Reilly. Eleanor was reportedly in a nursing facility, having gone there after suffering from the strain of a bitterly contested divorce. I did not collapse from surprise when I read that Eleanor Reilly was divorcing her husband on the grounds of extreme mental cruelty, abuse, and neglect.

  The situation in the photograph came about when Porter Stanley and Oscar met at Mrs. Reilly’s lawyer’s office. After a rancorous discussion during the meeting between the two sides, the dispute continued on the street when the men left the building. Allegedly Oscar, who had to be at least eight inches shorter and a good hundred pounds lighter than his brother-in-law, was the aggressor. The men tussled, and Oscar ended up with a black eye. Witnesses at the scene verified that Oscar threw the first punch.

  I checked the date on the news story, and the events it recounted took place seven months ago. I checked for follow-ups to this story and found another article from the same paper. Eleanor Reilly received her divorce, and the prenuptial agreement Oscar agreed to when they married seven years earlier was nullified. The agreement apparently had a clause that made it void if there was evidence of cruelty or neglect.

  What a stellar character we had to deal with, I thought. What kind of pathology was at work here? Oscar, at least in my opinion, was a disturbed man. And not safe to be around.

  On that alarming thought I called Melba immediately. Even armed with her can of air freshener, she might still be in danger of physical harm.

  To my relief she answered her office phone after only two rings. “Are you okay?” I tried not to sound panicky. “Where is Oscar?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “He’s gone. Got called over to the president’s office for a meeting. Why?”

  I gave her a quick précis of the news articles. When I finished, she said, “What a scumbag.”

  “Yes, and apparently one who can be violent,” I said. “I really think you should follow Chief Ford’s advice and go home. If Oscar comes back to the office, I don’t imagine he’s going to be in a good mood.”

  “He’s not going to pull any crap with me,” Melba retorted. “I’ll spray him in the face, and then kick him where it hurts the most if he gets out of line.”

  Diesel had been quiet, but now he could sense my tension. He meowed and rubbed his head against my leg. I patted him to try to reassure him, but my attention was focused on Melba.

  I had to admire my old friend’s gutsiness, but I feared she was overconfident. I told her so.

  She didn’t answer right away. After a few long moments, she said, “I guess you’re probably right. If you poke a hornet’s nest often enough, you’re going to get stung. I’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

  “Good.”

  “Look, go
tta go, the other line is ringing. I’d better see who it is before I leave.”

  “Okay. Be careful.”

  Thankful that she hadn’t been stubborn, I put down the phone. I stared at the laptop screen for a moment before I went back to the first article I found. I gazed at the picture of the two men. Why had Porter Stanley sought out his former brother-in-law after the divorce became final? Did Stanley have retribution in mind? I wondered how his poor sister fared after the divorce. I hoped she had recovered well.

  There was no mention of children in the articles, so I supposed that meant there were none. The thought of Oscar as a father chilled me.

  I shut down the computer and put it aside. Diesel still appeared unsettled, and I devoted a few minutes to reassuring him that everything was fine.

  Once the cat settled down again, I found my thoughts reverting back to the subject of Oscar. I could only hope that the meeting he had been called to in the president’s office meant that the college was going to take action. If not to fire him outright, at least to remove him from the position as interim director of the library. Given the turmoil that surrounded his brief tenure, Oscar obviously was not the person for the job. Surely the president could see that.

  On impulse I reopened the laptop. I searched for the articles I’d found earlier, copied and pasted their links into an e-mail message to Penny Sisson, and sent them to her with a brief message to check them out. I felt a bit like a tattletale, but I didn’t want Oscar back in the library. He had to be stopped somehow.

  Azalea walked into the kitchen while I was pouring more tea for myself.

  “I’m going to the grocery store.” Azalea headed into the utility room, where she kept her purse. When she returned, purse over her arm, she said, “Anything special you want? I’m going to make spaghetti and meatballs for your dinner tonight.”

  “Can’t think of anything special,” I said. Diesel meowed loudly.

  Azalea looked down at him. “I know you’re always wanting something special, Mr. Cat. And when did I ever forget to buy your food?” She shook her head. “You spoil that cat rotten, Mr. Charlie.”