Because we didn’t have thousands to spend.
Because to find that kind of money—and the accompanying permanent service agreements, which were in the four-figure category—more than minor cuts would have to be made.
Which meant one of two things. Either programming cuts would have to be made, or staff would be laid off.
Permanently.
• • •
It took the rest of the morning for me to shake off the foreboding that Jennifer’s call had created in me.
I considered writing a note to the library board, telling them how I felt about Jennifer’s push for the new system. I considered it so seriously that I clicked the button to create a new e-mail, but just before I started typing, I came to my senses and deleted the entire thing.
If I were director, what would I think of an employee going to the board without my knowledge? Not much. Which meant that if I wanted to object to this potential purchase, I should make my objection to Jennifer. And to do that I needed facts and figures. Which meant a fair amount of work, but it had to be done if I wanted Jennifer to listen to me.
But first, it was time for lunch.
“Anyone want something from the Round Table?” I asked at the front desk.
“Onion rings,” Donna said. “Double order.”
The fat-laden order was completely out of character. “Really?”
She sighed. “No. I brought a salad. My knee has been a little sore and I haven’t been able to do full workouts this week.”
“Five-mile runs, then, instead of ten?” I asked.
“No, I’m still doing tens. Just not doing wind sprints in the middle.”
I looked at her, but she seemed dead serious. “Right. Well, if you change your mind, I have my cell with me.” I turned and almost ran smack into Mitchell Koyne.
“Hey, Minnie,” he said. “Bianca said you stopped by. Glad you two are getting along in spite of . . .” He kicked one foot against the other. “You know.”
Many many months ago, Mitchell had asked me out on a date. My method of gently refusing him must have been confusing because he persisted in thinking that I harbored romantic feelings for him.
“She seems very nice,” I said, carefully not looking at Donna. The entire library staff had eventually learned of Mitchell’s offer and Donna was undoubtedly now grinning with great glee.
“Yeah.” Mitchell beamed. “She sure is.”
I edged toward the front door. “How’s the toy store, now that you’re the manager?”
“Yeah, the cool thing about that? I get to make the schedule. I need to work the weekends, because they’re the busiest, you know, but I can come here on my days off.” He grinned. “Especially now that I got my fines paid off.”
He had indeed. We’d taken a ceremonious photo, which I’d promptly e-mailed to Stephen, who had yet to reply. “The only sure thing in this world is change,” I said.
“What? No, I paid in bills. Mostly twenties.”
I smiled. There was no one like Mitchell.
“Of course, now that I’m working so many hours, I won’t have as much time to read.” He sent the stacks a forlorn glance. “Kind of sucks.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. My childhood daydreams of becoming a librarian so I could read all day had been dashed early on. Though I wouldn’t want to do anything else, I often wished I had more time to read the books I recommended.
Then I recognized the odd situation: Mitchell and I were commiserating about our mutual lack of free time. Wonders truly never did cease.
“You hear about Mia Lacombe?” Mitchell asked.
“She was released,” I said a little stiffly.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, you know?” He looked around then moved so close to me that I had to look almost straight up to see his face. “You working on it?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Dale Lacombe’s murder?”
Not so very long ago, Mitchell had had delusions of being a private investigator. That phase, thankfully, was over, but for some reason he continued to think that I took part in active criminal investigations at the sheriff’s office.
“Leese is a friend of mine,” I said.
“Right.” He nodded vigorously, which dislodged his baseball cap. “That’s what Bianca said. If you need help, just let me know, okay? I mean, I’m pretty busy, but I’ll do what I can.”
The idea of a helpful Mitchell was more than a little appalling. “Thanks, but I’m sure the sheriff’s office has it covered.”
“Want to know what I think?” Mitchell resettled his cap. “I bet it was some guy who used to work for Lacombe. He was one of those guys that thinks he’s always right, you know? He’d fire anyone who disagreed with him, over anything it seemed like. He was always working shorthanded. Half the time he had guys working for him that didn’t know what they were doing.”
Mitchell started telling a story about a buddy that Dale fired, and though I tried to pay attention, all I kept hearing was, “I bet it was some guy who used to work for Lacombe.”
• • •
Since the previous night’s conversation had been completely hijacked by Leese’s stepfamily, I’d texted her that, if she wanted, I would stop by that night so we could have a one-on-one conversation. Her reply had been a thumbs-up, so after work I walked back to the houseboat and fed Eddie before I headed out to Leese’s.
He ate fast enough to give himself indigestion, licked his nonexistent lips a few times, washed his whiskers, bumped my shin, then jumped onto the boat’s dashboard and curled up for a nice long look at the seagulls.
“You realize that you’ll never catch one, right?” I asked.
“Mrr,” he said confidently.
I wanted to tell him how wrong he was, but I also didn’t want to burst his little kitty bubble, so I kissed the top of his head and drove to Fat Boys Pizza to pick up our dinner order. Half a veggie sub for me (“Yes, Mom, I’m eating my vegetables”), half an Italian sub for Leese, and a full order of cheesy potato wedges for us to split.
The food was still mostly warm by the time I pulled into Leese’s, so we dove right into our meal. This time, we were almost done eating when we heard the slam of a car door.
Leese, who’d been in the act of trying to convince me to eat the last three potato wedges, instead grabbed two of them. “To give me strength,” she said.
Up the stairs came the brassy hair of Carmen. “Oh, good, you’re here, too, Minnie. You can help with this.” She dropped a box on the kitchen table. “Oof, this is heavy! But the police want me to go through everything. They want to know about any of Dale’s clients, about anyone who might have held a grudge against him.” She pulled out a chair and sat. “There are three more boxes in the car. I’ll start on this one while you go get the others.”
I pushed the last potato wedge over to Leese. “You might need this one, too.”
She snorted out a laugh. “I say we split it.”
Half an hour later, piles of thick folders were strewn across Leese’s kitchen. On the table, on the chairs, on the half wall that marked the stairway, on the counters, even on the microwave. An hour after that, every folder was sorted into alphabetical order and checked to confirm that the contents matched the labels.
Leese stared at the largest set of piles. “Dad had this many lawsuits against him? I knew he had a few, but . . .” She shook her head, muttering something that sounded a lot like, “Could have used more potato wedges.”
“Don’t be silly.” Carmen, her fingers and wrists glittering with jewelry, waved at the reams of paper dismissively. “Why don’t you be a good girl and make me a margarita?”
“Because I don’t have tequila, limes, or Cointreau,” Leese said shortly.
“White wine, then.”
After a long pause, during which I seriously considered making up a fast excuse and running for my car before the family tension became any tighter, Leese got to her feet. “Minnie, would you like anything?”