“I will stand by it,” I said. “I am truly sorry that you have been put in the middle of this. I have no idea what game he’s playing, other than trying to harass me enough to make me quit. It’s not going to work, however. If he wants to keep Diesel out of the building, then he’s going to have to prove that he is severely allergic.”
“I will note your response.” Penny opened the folder, picked up a pen, and started writing. After a few moments, she looked up. “Do you want to lodge a countercomplaint?”
“Not at the moment,” I said. “Any further communication on this complaint can go to my lawyer, Sean Harris. Pendergrast and Harris is the firm.”
I rose, and Diesel sat up and looked up at me. I smiled down at him. “I don’t think there’s anything more to say at the moment. Thank you, Penny.”
She stood and came around the desk to extend her hand. I shook it, and we exchanged smiles. “I will be delighted to share your response to the complaint with Mr. Reilly,” she said. “Have a good day.”
I bade her good-bye, and Diesel warbled for her. We left her office and wended our way through the building and back outside. As we headed in the direction of home, back the way we had come, I reflected on Penny’s choice of words. Why would she be delighted to tell Oscar Reilly how I had responded to his complaint? I wondered whether he had made other such malicious, and frivolous, complaints. If so, Penny was no doubt tired of having to deal with them. And him.
Diesel meowed loudly, and I realized I was walking too quickly. I spotted a bench underneath a tree nearby and decided we should sit for a few minutes until I’d had time to cool down a bit. “Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s rest here for a while. Sorry for going so fast.”
Once I’d made myself comfortable on the wrought iron, Diesel hopped up on the bench and leaned against me. I put my arm around him and rubbed his chest. He purred happily, and as I petted the cat, I could feel my temper cooling down.
My thoughts couldn’t stay away from Oscar Reilly for long, however. What did he have against me? I wondered. I couldn’t think of a single thing I had done to make him annoyed or angry with me. He might have seen my disgusted expression, I supposed, when I observed him ogling women. Maybe he thought I would report him for that, and this was his way of launching a preemptive strike.
I simply didn’t get it. The more I thought about it, the odder it seemed. Was he simply paranoid? Or overly sensitive? Perhaps he had picked up on the fact that I didn’t think he was fit for the position he held. Had I somehow given myself away?
Then the memory surfaced, and I knew exactly why he was targeting me through Diesel.
THREE
I hadn’t given much thought to the incident at the time, but now that I reconsidered it, I figured it had to be the source of Oscar Reilly’s petty-minded attempt to get rid of me.
The occasion was the first senior staff meeting held after Reilly stepped into the suddenly vacant position. He opened the meeting by giving us a short sketch of his background, chiefly as a financial administrator in various university positions. Having grown up poor in New England, he had worked hard to save money and to earn scholarships to put himself through school, although he had taken a couple of years longer than usual because he had to drop out at one point to work several jobs to help pay for his mother’s hospital bills. I thought the level of personal detail unnecessary in the situation, and it made me a bit uncomfortable.
After he finished the story of his life before Athena, he stated twice how important the library was to the college’s reputation and accreditation and mentioned that he personally made great use of the online resources. He looked forward, he told us with an ingratiating smile, to working with the university’s board of trustees to raise money for a much-needed library addition. In particular, he said, he enjoyed working closely with the Ducote sisters, Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce, and gushed about how gracious and generous they were.
The Ducote sisters had been trustees for many years and were always involved in fund-raising efforts, so I had no doubt Reilly had encountered them. But he mispronounced their surname, giving it two syllables rather than three. He did it several times, and after the meeting ended, I decided I had better tip him off to the fact that the sisters got annoyed when people didn’t get their name right.
“Oscar”—he insisted that we address him by his given name—“if you have a moment,” I said as we rose from the table, “I need a quick word with you.”
“Certainly, Charlie,” he said, offering me an expansive smile.
I waited until the room was clear before I explained why I wanted to talk to him. He frowned when I told him the sisters’ preferred pronunciation of Ducote (du-COH-tee). I smiled when I finished and added, “I know you wouldn’t want to offend them.”
Reilly shook his head. “Certainly not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting.” He turned and strode from the room.
At the time I thought his manner and abrupt departure merely rude, but now I wondered whether he had also been angry because I caught him in a mistake and dared to correct him. At least, I reflected, I hadn’t done it in front of the group. He wasn’t particularly friendly after that incident, but I never suspected he would act maliciously or vindictively against me because of it.
I could, of course, be letting my imagination run a bit too wild with this, but I couldn’t come up with any other reason or explanation for Reilly’s making a frivolous complaint.
“I don’t know, Diesel.” I rubbed the cat a few more times before I stood. “Come on, boy, let’s go home.” We resumed our walk across campus but took a different route this time, one that would take us by the main library building. I remembered I had a book to return, and I could put it in the book drop by the sidewalk in front.
As we approached the book drop, I glanced past it and noticed Oscar Reilly in the small parking area between the antebellum home that housed our mutual offices and the main library. He was talking on his cell phone, holding it to his left ear, while his right arm gesticulated wildly. He didn’t look happy, I decided as I put my book in the drop. He stood in front of his car, a late-model Mercedes, and he kept looking at the windshield while he talked and gestured.
“Come on, Diesel, let’s cross the street here.” I looked down at the cat, who blinked at me a couple of times and meowed. I wanted to avoid Reilly, and thus far I didn’t think he had seen me and my cat. I was curious about what had him so worked up, but I didn’t care enough to go find out.
When Diesel and I reached the sidewalk across the street, we walked a bit faster than usual. I wanted to be out of Reilly’s sight quickly. I didn’t trust my temper if I had to talk to him right now.
“Harris.”
My name boomed out at me from across the street, and with great reluctance I halted and turned. Reilly beckoned with his free hand.
“Get over here. Now.”
My blood pressure rose rapidly. For a moment I stayed where I was, furious at the peremptory summons. Diesel scuttled behind me and huddled against my legs. I tightened my grip on his leash. The last thing I needed was for him to bolt in fear.
“It’s okay, boy,” I told him, though it took great effort to speak in a calm tone. “We’ll go see what he wants, and then we’ll go home.” I stepped forward. “Come on, now. It will be okay.”
Diesel responded with a plaintive meow but came docilely enough behind me. I checked the street for traffic before we crossed. Reilly waited beside his car, his phone now put away.
“What is it you want?” I asked, my tone barely civil.
Reilly glared at me, his face flushed with anger. He pointed to the windshield of his car. “What do you know about this?”
I almost laughed when I saw what had infuriated him. The windshield bore the slogan Oscar the Grouch in large, lurid pink lettering. The words took up the center portion of the glass. The rest of it was covered with what looked like petroleum jelly.