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 Diesel, 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.”