“Yes,” I said quietly. “I can imagine.”
“With such a decided resolution to the dangers threatening the bookmobile, the board reached a quick consensus regarding the vehicle’s future.” He paused and turned slightly. Not enough to make eye contact with me, but that was nothing new. “The bookmobile itself has a future, correct?” he asked. “With regard to its physical condition?”
I told him what Darren had said, and he went back to staring out the window.
“The board has no issues,” he said, “with the continuance of the bookmobile program. Ms. Shelburt has dropped her lawsuit against the library.”
“That’s great.” Happiness and relief rushed through me. “But I still need to find funding for it.”
Stephen shook his head, and my propped-up spirits started falling again. He sighed. “Minerva, don’t you read your e-mail?”
My chin went up. “Of course I do. It’s the first thing I do every workday, and the last thing I do before I leave at night.”
“But you don’t check your e-mail on your days off.”
He made it a statement, and my chin went up even farther. “No,” I said firmly. “I do not. I’m salaried. I work at least sixty hours a week, and when I leave this building, I’m done working until I come back to the building. I resent the implication that I’m not working hard enough, and if that’s what you—”
Stephen turned to face me and I stopped midstream, because he was . . . well, he was smiling. “Minnie, you amuse me.”
“I . . . do?”
“If you’d read your e-mail, you would have learned that the auction of Russell McCade’s artwork, the proceeds of which are coming to the library, fetched an astronomical price. One of the highest prices ever for one of his works.”
“Highest?”
Stephen nodded and was still smiling when he told me the number. Which was when I did sit down. Cade’s broken phone call and his excitement suddenly made sense. When he’d talked about a “thousand dollars” that was just the tail end of the six-figure amount that was going to the library.
Only . . . what else had he said? I looked at my boss, not wanting to know but having to ask. “Is there a problem with the donation? Cade called Friday, but the connection was bad, and I could have sworn he said something about ‘not the library.’”
Stephen went back to the window. “Apparently Mr. McCade has used his powers of persuasion to convince the family to donate the proceeds not to the library, but to”—he paused—“the bookmobile. That’s the second item I wanted to discuss.”
Though I was already sitting down, I wanted to sit down again.
“The library world,” Stephen went on, “is buzzing with the news. I’m surprised you haven’t received phone calls about this.”
Not yet, but I had received seventy-three e-mails.
“The Chilson District Library,” he said to the window, “is becoming a library of note, and I have to say that you, Minnie, are primarily responsible.” He gestured toward his desk. “I’ve received a letter of support for the bookmobile from an Andrew Burrows, a kindergarten teacher at Moulson Elementary, I believe. It is signed by sixty-two people.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“The library board and I have received numerous such comments. Each of the letters, phone calls, and e-mails we’ve received speak of you and the bookmobile in great and glowing terms.”
Stephen was passing on compliments? Who was this man, and what had he done with my boss?
“This leads me to the third item.” He folded his arms and rubbed his chin. “You may not be aware, and as a matter of fact, I quite hope you’re not, but I’ve been grooming you to be the next library director.”
I squeaked, but Stephen kept rolling.
“Not for five years and ten months, of course, which is when I anticipate that my retirement savings will reach my target amount, but it’s never too early to start training your successor, not if you want your institution to be properly run after you’re gone.”
Properly? I almost snorted.
“The reason,” he said, “that I’ve been so hard on you the past year was to test you, to see if you have the right stuff. The library board will, of course, make the final decision, but at this point I can say with certainty that the job is yours.”
He’d been testing me? The nights I’d worked late, the hair I’d pulled out, the off-hours research I’d done, all in the name of meeting one of Stephen’s challenges—all that had been a test?
My chin went up again, but slowly it came down. Maybe testing me had been a good way to determine my suitability. There were worse ways. Probably.
“I can see that you’re surprised,” Stephen said, which was when I realized he’d been watching my facial expressions in the window’s reflection. “There’s no need for you to make a decision at this juncture, but after all you’ve done for this library, I thought it reasonable to inform you of my plans.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “This is a lot to think about.”
“I understand.” Stephen pulled out his chair. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”
As if. I thanked him again and started to stand.
“Oh, and Minnie. The fourth thing?”
“Yes?”
He smiled faintly. “Your cat. I know all about him.”
“My cat?” I froze, half-up and half-down.
“Eddie, I believe his name is.” Stephen straightened his computer monitor. “I’ve known he was on the bookmobile from the first week.” He chuckled. “Did you really think I didn’t know what was going on?”
“Oh. I . . . uh . . .”
“Minerva.” Stephen sighed. “If you’re ever going to sit behind this desk, you really need to learn to speak more coherently. Please work on that.”
“Yes, sir.” I stood and, on extremely wobbly legs, I made my way back downstairs, where my friends were waiting for me.
Chapter 20
“So, the bookmobile is financially safe and sound?” Aunt Frances asked.
I beamed at her. “Thanks to Cade’s painting. It’s not enough to create an endowment, but it’ll keep us on the road for a long time.” My heart sang with happiness at the idea.
“And Stephen has known about Eddie all along?” Aunt Frances asked.
Or that’s what I assumed she asked, because she was talking while her mouth was full of popcorn. Bad aunt.
For the twenty-first time in the last three minutes, I pushed Eddie’s head away from the popcorn bowl. “That’s what he said.”
I still found it hard to believe. If he’d known the whole time, why hadn’t he just said so? I’d spent a lot of energy trying to keep Eddie’s bookmobile presence a secret. If I’d known that Stephen had known, I’d have put that time to better use. Maybe I would have finally finished reading James Joyce’s Ulysses. Probably not, but maybe.
“So Eddie and the bookmobile will ride again.” Aunt Frances reached out, pushed Eddie’s head away, and took another handful of popcorn. “I couldn’t have managed it better myself.” She gave me a wink.
I smiled, but it faded as I studied the fire, its orange peaks dancing. Most of what had happened had been luck, both good and bad. Good that funding for the bookmobile had dropped from the sky, but horribly bad for poor Roger.
“Mrr.” Eddie bumped my elbow on his way across my lap.
“Hey!” I pulled his head out of the popcorn bowl. Time twenty-two. “That’s not for Eddies.”
He gave me a disgusted look and slithered up onto the back of the couch.