No Cats Allowed

by Miranda James

  Azalea’s eyes narrowed as I talked, and when I’d finished, she said, “So wicked. Why some people have to go around destroying what good people like you work for I surely don’t know. The Lord have mercy on their soul.”

  I nodded. “The problem is, you see, I’m not sure exactly why I was targeted like this. It could be simply spite because I had a run-in with one of the library staff today. Or it could be something a lot worse. The killer could be warning me to back off.”

  “I see,” she said. “Then I guess in that case you’re gonna want me not to come to work until my daughter lays hands on the murderer.”

  Feeling relieved that she understood, I said, “Yes. There’s no telling what the killer might do, or who he might target.”

  Azalea snorted. “Not going to send me running to hide under my bed. I got a shotgun at home, belonged to my husband, and I know how to use it. Anybody tries to harm me or anything in Miss Dottie’s house is gonna end up talking to Saint Peter quicker than he ever thought about.”

  I should have known she would react this way, and I also knew there was not a thing I could do or say to dissuade her. As always, I was touched by her loyalty to my late aunt and her home. But I worried nevertheless.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” I said. “I’m going to show you again how to set the alarm for the outside doors and the windows, and I want you to keep the alarm on whenever you’re here. Especially when you’re here alone.”

  For a moment I thought she would protest, but then she nodded. We spent a few minutes going over the workings of the alarm, and then I dug out the phone book to look up the number for the nearest glass company.

  Ten minutes later I had completed arrangements to have my windshield replaced. I didn’t bother to call my insurance agent because the amount quoted for replacement and installation was under my deductible.

  Finally, I called Sean. At the last minute, I wavered on telling him what had happened over the phone. “Would you have time to drop by my office sometime this afternoon? I have a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Let me see,” he said. “Yeah, I can come by around four, if that’s okay. I should be done here at the office by then.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “See you then.” I ended the call and stuck the phone in my pocket. “Okay, Diesel, time to go back to work. Thanks for the delicious lunch, Azalea. I was starving.”

  After reminding her to set the alarm once we left, Diesel and I headed back to the office.

  The windshield repairman was due by two, and it was a few minutes after one thirty now. I cast an anxious glance at the sky. The clouds looked threatening again. Perhaps I should try to find plastic or a tarp to cover the breakage with. I didn’t want the inside of the car soaked.

  I picked up the pace, and Diesel trotted along with me. We both could use the exercise, though I didn’t want to push either of us too hard. We arrived at the library administration building in record time, but instead of going in the front, we continued along the sidewalk to the back parking lot.

  As promised, Chief Ford had an officer on duty, an obvious presence in the police car parked in the lot close to the street. I approached my car and was surprised and gratified to see the windshield already covered with a tarp. Either Ford or perhaps Melba must have arranged it.

  I acknowledged the officer in the patrol car, and Diesel and I entered the building through the back door. A new officer was on duty by the front door. We stopped to say hello, then heeded Melba’s summons to come into her office.

  “Chief Ford told me what happened to your car,” she said. “I’ll tell you right now, if it weren’t for the campus police on guard duty here and outside, I’d be home locked up like Fort Knox.”

  “I can’t blame you,” I said. “Chief Ford advised me to use my alarm system at home, and I’m going to. Can’t take any chances until this thing is settled.”

  “No, we can’t.” Melba shivered. “I got a guy I know in physical facilities to cover your windshield. It was looking like rain, and I didn’t know when you would get it repaired.”

  I told her the arrangements I had made earlier. I handed her my car keys. “If the repairman needs them, would you mind giving them to him? When he’s done, I’ll write him a check.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “You go on. I know you’re anxious to get back to work.”

  “Thanks.” I looked down at the cat, standing next to Melba and rubbing against her legs. “I think he may want to stay with you for a while.”

  “That’s fine with me.” She patted his head. “He can be my extra guard-kitty.” Diesel meowed, and we both smiled.

  In my office I shed my jacket and went to work at the computer. I found the master budget spreadsheets for the current and past three fiscal years and began going through them, looking for anything suspicious or unusual.

  The only time during the next three hours that I wasn’t going through budgets was the few minutes I spent writing a check to the glass company. I thanked the repairman, stretched my shoulders, arms, and neck for a moment, and was soon back at the computer.

  Finally, I had to quit. My shoulders and my head ached, and my eyes felt like I had sprung the socket muscles. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Cells of numbers danced in my tired brain.

  After all that intense concentration, I hadn’t found anything that stood out as questionable. Every line item looked okay—other than the overages okayed by Peter Vanderkeller, that is. I didn’t see how Peter’s mistakes in judgment were connected to this, other than the fact that his abrupt resignation and disappearance had made it necessary for another person to take over. That person being the first murder victim was only tangentially related, surely.

  I would go through it all again, though, before I was completely satisfied. Still, I was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that the motive for Reilly’s murder had nothing to do with the library’s finances.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Sean’s knock on my open door broke through my reverie. “Hey, Dad, sorry I’m late. Last-minute stuff at the office.” He advanced into the room and took one of the chairs in front of my desk.

  “I didn’t even realize you were late.” I massaged the back of my neck as I regarded him. “I was so engrossed in budget spreadsheets I lost all track of time.”

  “Having fun?” he said. “I hate spreadsheets.”

  “I’m not fond of them myself,” I replied. “They’re a necessary evil with budgets, along with financial statements. I’ve gone through a number of those as well.”

  “Time for a break, then.” Sean crossed one booted foot over a leg and smiled at me. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? I wouldn’t hurry you, except Alex and I are having dinner with a law school classmate of hers and the classmate’s partner.”

  I doubted the coming conversation would go well, but I couldn’t put it off any longer. “You’re not going to be happy about this,” I warned my son before I told him about the broken windshield.

  He listened without comment until I’d finished, although his expression revealed his concern.

  “When I told you I thought this job would be good for you,” he finally said, “I never considered you might be a target. That’s serious, and I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t, either,” I said. “But to consider all the angles, it could be Cassandra Brownley getting back at me because I told her she basically had to behave properly or else find herself another job.”

  “Does she have a history of vindictive or spiteful acts against persons who have annoyed her in the past?”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Not that I’ve heard of, but I know someone who probably will know.” I started to get up from my desk, but Sean indicated that I should remain where I was.

  He got up and went through to Melba’s office. She, along with Diese
l, returned with Sean. Diesel padded around to head-butt my knees while Sean pulled out a chair for Melba and then resumed his seat.

  “What’s up?” Melba said. “Sean said you wanted to consult me.”

  I nodded. “Cassandra Brownley. Do know of any instances in the past when she has been vindictive toward anyone who has thwarted or challenged her in any way?”

  “You think she smashed your windshield because you confronted her?” Melba nodded. “Yes, I can see where that would get her hopping mad. She’s the librarian that’s been at the library the longest, and she likes to think she knows everything. Let me see.” She paused to consider my question.

  Sean and I waited patiently. Diesel rubbed against my legs and meowed when I stopped patting his head. He quieted when I gave him more attention.

  Melba nodded as if to confirm something to herself. Finally she spoke. “Yes, I can think of two incidents when she did something nasty. Not that anyone could ever prove it was her, but nobody else had a reason to do what she did.”

  “What happened?” Sean asked.

  “In the first instance—and this happened, oh, maybe fifteen years ago—” Melba said, “a new librarian, pretty girl right out of library school, hadn’t been at the library long, corrected Cassandra on something in a meeting with all the librarians. From what I heard, she did it really tactfully, but Cassandra didn’t take it well.” Melba grimaced. “She’s always right about everything and can’t stand it if you prove her wrong. Pompous know-it-all witch.”

  “What did she do?” I asked.

  “This girl, I think her name was Betsy Fox, was terrified of spiders. Bugs of any kind, really. Well, she came into her office real early one morning—it was winter, and nobody else was there yet—and when she turned on the light, all she could see was bugs everywhere. Poor girl ran out screaming, tripped over a chair, and broke her leg and her arm.”

  “They surely weren’t real bugs,” Sean said.

  “No,” Melba said. “Plastic, but they looked real enough to poor Betsy, and there must have been two hundred of them in her office.”

  “They never figured out who did it?” I asked.

  “Nope, they sure didn’t, although everybody knew it was Cassandra,” Melba said. “Once Betsy recovered from the broken arm and leg, she found a job in another state.”

  “Can’t say that I blame her,” Sean said. “Although frankly I think more should have been done to prove the identity of the prankster.”

  “They really did try,” Melba said. “But Cassandra is pretty smart, I have to admit. She pulled it off, and nobody could prove it.” She frowned. “I should have thought of them sooner, but I guess I was just so caught up in my feuding with Reilly that they slipped my mind.”

  “You said there were two incidents. What was the other one?” I asked.

  “This one happened about five years ago,” Melba said. “Same kind of thing. One of the male reference librarians got into an argument with Cassandra over these books he wanted to order for the library, and Cassandra wouldn’t approve them. Told him they were not relevant, and she wasn’t going to waste the library’s money. He about had a stroke, from what I heard. He had a PhD in whatever the subject was, and I reckon he knew better about those books than Miss Know-It-All.” Melba snorted. “He went over her head, and Peter backed him up.”

  “What did she do to get back at him?” Sean asked. “Although I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.”

  “He had a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe,” Melba said. “Looked like a fishing pole on legs, but he was always eating some kind of chocolate. He also had a bad habit of helping himself to other people’s candy without asking.” She grinned. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it was kinda funny.”

  I had an idea where this was going, and yes, it had its humorous aspects, but it was also dangerous.

  Melba continued the story. “He found a box of chocolates that supposedly came from one of the library vendors. It didn’t have anybody’s name on it, and he took it for himself. Must have eaten half the two-pound box, and then after a while he lit out for the bathroom. Stayed in there for the next two hours is what I heard. Finally had to go to the hospital to be checked out.”

  “And again, everyone suspected Cassandra,” Sean said, “but no one could prove it.”

  “Exactly,” Melba said.

  “Did he get another job, too?” I asked.

  “Three months later, he was gone,” Melba said. “I heard he threatened to run Cassandra down in the street if she ever got near his car, but that was probably just talk.”

  “Sounds like this woman is vicious when she’s crossed.” Sean frowned. “Besides your windshield, Dad, what were the pranks aimed at Reilly?”

  “The petroleum jelly and Oscar the Grouch in pink lipstick on his windshield, and the letters allegedly from him, firing all three department heads.”

  “They’re not the same,” Sean said. “At least, not as physically harmful as the other pranks. Unless she’s changed her methods, I’m not sure she’s responsible for these current shenanigans.”

  “It would take a psychologist to sort it out,” Melba said. “But for my money, the woman is a lunatic. I think smashing a windshield is in line with the other tricks she pulled. Maybe not those letters and Reilly’s car, but putting a big rock through a windshield is vicious to me.”

  “You may have a point,” I said. “There is a difference, perhaps subtle, but it’s there.”

  “In that case, are you thinking Cassandra’s responsible for your car? And that the murderer pulled the other pranks?” Sean asked. “I suppose you could make a case for that line of thinking.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’d certainly rather have it simply be Cassandra getting back at me than the killer trying to warn me off. But who knows?” My headache was worse now, and I needed pain relief. “Maybe Cassandra is the murderer. It would make things less complicated.”

  “It sure would,” Melba said. “And I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

  “I think you should tell both Chief Ford and Kanesha what you told us,” Sean said to Melba. “It may have no bearing on the case, but they need to know anything that could possibly be related.”

  Melba nodded. “You’re right. I’ll call the campus police office. If I talk to Marty Ford, he can relay everything to Kanesha.”

  “That’s fine. Do you both feel reasonably secure working here with the campus police on guard duty?” Sean asked. “If you don’t, Dad needs to talk to the president about shutting this office down until the murder investigation is complete.”

  “I’m fine, as long as they’re here,” Melba said, and I agreed.

  “Besides,” I said, “I don’t like the idea of tucking my tail and barricading myself at home behind the security system.”

  “I’m going to be Laura for a moment,” Sean said, “because I know exactly what she’d say to you, Dad. Discretion is the better part of valor.”

  I shook my head. “Close, but not right.” I quoted the line properly, “‘The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have sav’d my life.’” I paused to dredge the memory banks further. “Henry the Fourth, Part One, act five, scene four. I’m pretty sure that’s where it’s from. Falstaff saved his life by pretending to be dead.”

  Sean grinned in defeat. “I was always more a Chaucer man myself anyway. I could never match you and Laura when it came to Shakespeare.” He paused, and his sober expression returned. “All quoting aside, the fact is you could both be in the killer’s sights, and I would like to keep you around for a while longer.”

  Melba reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. But like Charlie said, I’m not tucking my tail, either. We’ll be fine.”

  Sean threw up his hands. “I’m not going to argue any longer.” He stood. “I�
�d better get going. Alex is waiting.” He gave Melba a quick hug and said good-bye to me and Diesel, then he was out the door.

  I checked my watch. Four thirty-seven. “Do you think that buddy of yours in accounts payable is still in her office?”

  “Probably,” Melba said. “She’s a strict by-the-clock kind of person. She doesn’t get off until five, and so she’s not going to leave a minute sooner.”

  “Good,” I said. “Would you mind e-mailing her and asking herto pull—on Monday, of course—all library invoices from vendors for the past couple of years? I’ll go over in the afternoon”—I checked the printed schedule Melba gave me earlier—“around two, to look at them. That should give her enough time, don’t you think?”

  “It ought to. She’s efficient like all get-out.” Melba frowned. “But why don’t you just ask to see the files they keep in the library? They’ll have duplicates of everything, because they have to create the purchase orders and then send everything to accounts payable.”

  “I thought of that, but I think it would cause less anxiety if I go through accounts payable for what I need. Right now I don’t want to stir things up any more than I have to.”

  “Good idea. We don’t want Miss K-I-A getting more riled up than she probably already is. She’s liable to burn down the building if she gets too pissed off.” Melba giggled.

  “Don’t even think about such things,” I said in what I hoped was a repressive tone. Though repressive tones rarely had any effect on Melba, as I knew all too well.

  Melba stood. “I’m going to be packing up to go home soon. How late are you planning to work today?”

  “I won’t be much longer myself. I’d thought about coming in tomorrow but then I realized I could probably access most of what I need through the campus network from home. Especially now that they’ve got me set up to see all of Peter’s and Reilly’s files.” I rubbed my forehead. “Besides, I’ve got a headache, and sitting here staring at the screen for another hour or so isn’t going to help.”

  “I’ll get you something for that.” Melba left my office at a fast pace and returned before I could do much besides gather up the personnel files and stuff them in my briefcase. I scooped up a few pens from Reilly’s desk drawer and stuck them in as well. I couldn’t seem to keep them in my desk at home because various residents kept helping themselves to any I put there.