Although Olga Swenson had forgotten all about the occasion until she arrived at the library, she did have a tin of leftover cookies with her to present to the librarians. Little did she know how useful this icebreaker would become.
“Mrs. Swenson, how lovely to see you,” Monica Phillips said, as Olga approached the reference desk. “And how kind of you to remember our Boxing Day Cookie Fest!”
“How could I forget it?” Olga fibbed. “It is one of Ellen’s favorite library occasions. So lovely of you to have established the tradition.”
“Perhaps you’d like to join us,” the librarian said, looking at the clock. “We begin in about fifteen minutes in the conference room.”
“It’s kind of you to include me, but I fear I couldn’t face all of Ellen’s colleagues just now. It’s all so very upsetting, as I’m sure you may appreciate, Miss Phillips.”
“Of course, of course,” Monica Phillips said with a small reassuring smile that masked her great pleasure in being the only person privy to a conversation with Ellen’s mother. It would mean she would have gossip—or at least an impression of the woman’s demeanor—to share at the cookie fest. “May I offer you a cup of tea in my office, at least?” she inquired, stepping away from the reference desk in the rare act of leaving it unattended.
Monica Phillips led the way to the modest office Olga knew the librarian shared with her daughter. Shrewdly, Olga decided to give the librarian something to talk about in the cookie party.
“That would be just wonderful,” Olga said. “I find I need to stop and collect myself, off and on, all day. Ellen’s absence has a kind of physical effect on me, you know. Mentally, I feel distracted, and profoundly worried, of course. But physically, I feel quite drained—exhausted without being sleepy.”
“How strange that must be,” Monica said. “How difficult for you! And Veronica? How is she bearing up?”
Olga bristled. It was awful enough to have to emote about herself to this woman, but she felt the others in her family—especially her granddaughter—were completely off limits. Still, it was important to feed Miss Phillips something more to talk about.
“At a time like this, the presence of a pet in the household is wonderful, don’t you think?” she said, as the pair entered the small office. Pinned up all over Miss Phillips’s bulletin board were photos of her three cats.
“I wasn’t aware Veronica had a pet.”
“Not in her home. But Veronica has grown up—during visits to my home in Wellesley—with Hershey. That’s our chocolate Lab. In fact, Veronica is the one who named him.”
“So, Veronica is staying with you then?”
“Oh, yes. But although the circumstances this time are—unusual—it’s quite ordinary for her to stay with us on Boxing Day. Unless it fell on a weekend, Ellen always had to work then—and enjoy your cookie party—so it’s become an annual treat for me to have Veronica overnight on Christmas and for the day on December 26th. Erik is looking after her and Hershey this morning so I could deliver the cookies.”
Monica Phillips tore herself away from the conversation to fetch the tea. During the seven or so minutes she was gone, Olga noticed her daughter’s PC was gone from her desk while the screen on the PC belonging to Monica Phillips was entirely black. It had not been turned on.
“Sorry about the delay, but I had to get someone to cover at the reference desk before I could fetch the tea.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Not at all. I would have needed a substitute at the desk in a few minutes anyway.”
“I suppose I will have to consult your reference desk colleague about my question before I leave.”
“What question is that?”
“I wanted to see if I could borrow a copy of Gone With the Wind today. It’s the book Ellen was reading, in paperback, when she—well, before she left. She must have taken her copy with her. I’d like to read the novel, too, if there’s a copy here in the library. I think it would make me feel closer to my daughter at this time.”
“Please, allow me to help you,” the librarian said, turning on her PC and typing in her password with one finger, spelling out the word MEOW as Olga looked on.
In a minute, Monica had the call number and the information that the book was available on the second floor. She wrote the call number on a scrap of recycled paper and handed it to Olga. “I see you’ve noticed your daughter’s PC is gone. The police removed it. But have no fear, Mrs. Swenson, she never overused the Internet for personal searches or anything like that. Her reputation is secure.”
“Would it be all right if I took a look at the contents of her drawers? Perhaps there’s a little something I can take home to Veronica to cheer her.”
“I don’t see why not. The police have already taken what they want.”
When Olga Swenson looked shaken by this last remark, the librarian took the occasion to look pointedly at the clock and make her exit for the conference room. After a minute, Olga opened one of her daughter’s drawers, pulled it out thoroughly, and allowed it to drop to the floor.
Stepping around the mess, she sat down at Miss Phillips’s PC and moved the mouse. The screen saver photo of three cats seemed to melt away, revealing a screen cluttered with icons. One of them was labeled “Blister.” Apparently, the word was not a password. It was the list itself. Olga’s edginess turned to jubilation, until she moved the mouse to click on the icon. A box appeared on the screen demanding a password.
Congratulating herself on her powers of observation, she typed in the letters M, E, O, and W. But the blasted machine rejected the password. Suppressing a moan, she stood up to survey the room. Would there be a password list on hand somewhere?
Just then, Monica Phillips opened the door.
“You see, I am a butterfingers, too, in my current state of mind. I managed to dump the whole drawer!” Olga said.
“Perhaps it was because I startled you,” the librarian said. “My colleagues always accuse me of creeping up on little cat feet,” she said, slowly arranging her lips into a large smile. The action recalled the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. “I just came for the cake server. Ellen always kept it in her desk. Oh, I see it’s on the floor.”
“Allow me,” Olga said, picking up the implement and handing it to the librarian. Fortunately, the PC screen did not face the door. “I’ve been noticing your photos of three lovely cats. What are their names?”
“They are dears, aren’t they? The black-and-white “tuxedo” cat is Fred. The ginger cat is, of course, Ginger,” the librarian smiled proudly.
“Of course! For Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers! How clever!” Olga enthused. “And what about that handsome fellow? What’s his name?”
“Actually, that’s a female. I named her Judy, after Judy Garland.”
It seemed a strange name choice for a Siamese cat.
“It’s because of her voice,” Miss Phillips went on. “Siamese cats often vocalize, you know. They actually speak—in their own language of course—as they go about their business. My Judy, though, does more than that. She seems to sing. I’ve got to admit, she’s my favorite.”
When Monica left the room with the cake server, Olga reseated herself at the PC; input the letters J, U, D, and Y, and was given instant access to the records under “Blister.” Then she met another roadblock, apparently put there to make the records somewhat more secure. Another box appeared on the screen asking for a library card number. It was not possible to see records listed by name. Confidently, she typed in the numbers 1, 9, 9, and 2. Veronica’s birth year.