The Silence Of The Library

Teresa folded her arms across her chest. “Wishful thinking on my part. You’re right either way. We need to talk to Mrs. Cartwright. I’ll go call her daughter and discuss the situation with her.”

“Good plan. If necessary, we can just say that Mrs. Cartwright will do the interview but is unable to sign books because of her health.”

Teresa nodded before she headed for her office. I turned back to the conversation with Mrs. Taylor.

“I never heard of Connie Blair,” Bronwyn said. “But I read Betty Cavanna’s books and never knew she wrote under another name.”

The Connie Blair series, written under the name Betsy Allen, featured a young woman who worked in advertising. Connie, like Cherry Ames the nurse and Vicki Barr the airline stewardess, was one of the “professional” girl detectives.

“I read some of those,” Lizzie exclaimed. “Didn’t the titles all have a color in them?”

“Yes, they sure did.” Mrs. Taylor beamed at Lizzie. “Connie was more sophisticated than most of the other girl detectives.”

By now several other library patrons had drawn near to listen to the discussion. Two of them were women about Mrs. Taylor’s age, and another was a girl who looked about fourteen.

“Mrs. Taylor, we definitely need to include you in our programs for National Library Week. Perhaps a talk on the different girl detectives? I think our patrons would enjoy that.” I glanced at the bystanders and was pleased to see the teenager nod enthusiastically.

“I know my book club would love to come to something like that.” This came from one of the older women. She turned to her companion. “Don’t you think so, Martha?”

Martha nodded. “I surely do, Kathryn. There are about twenty of us, and I know most of us read Nancy Drew and Veronica Thane growing up.”

Mrs. Taylor appeared delighted at their enthusiasm. “I’d love to give a talk. That was one of the things I discussed with your director, and she was interested.”

“Then we will definitely set it up,” I said. Once again beside me, Diesel rubbed against my leg and warbled loudly. Everyone laughed, and he warbled again. He enjoyed being in the spotlight when it suited him.

“Excuse me, who’s in charge here?”

The loud voice startled me, and I noticed a similar reaction from Mrs. Taylor and a few of the others around us.

While we were talking, a woman I’d never seen before had come into the library. She stood at the reference desk and appeared slightly aggrieved over the lack of attention she was receiving.

I stepped forward past Mrs. Taylor, Lizzie, and Bronwyn, who had blocked my view of the desk. “How may I assist you, ma’am?”

Diesel followed alongside me, and as he became visible, the woman spotted him. She paled, and her mouth opened, but only strangled sounds, not words, came forth.

Then she turned and fled out the door.

SEVEN

“What on earth is the matter with her?” Lizzie, like the rest of us, stared at the door as it closed behind the stranger.

“Severe ailurophobia,” Mrs. Taylor said before she took off after the woman. She pushed open the door and strode out. We could her hear shout, “Della, come back here.”

“Severe what?” Bronwyn asked.

“Ailurophobia,” I replied. “It means an abnormal fear of cats.” I looked down at Diesel, and he regarded me almost quizzically, like a child might do. “Sorry, boy, but there are people who are terrified of kitties.”

“Sounded like Mrs. Taylor knows her,” Lizzie said. “Poor woman. Imagine being afraid of a sweet boy like Diesel.”

At the sound of his name, Diesel chirped, and Lizzie and Bronwyn nearly bumped heads as they bent to pet him. “You first,” Bronwyn said with a grin.

While Lizzie and Bronwyn took turns rubbing the cat’s head, I went to the door and walked outside. I could see Mrs. Taylor with her arm around Della’s shoulders, and the stranger appeared calmer now. I noticed that she wore a well-tailored skirt and jacket, both a bright yellow, with an emerald green blouse. The colors complemented her dark hair, cut in an old-fashioned bob that framed an attractive face.

I debated whether to approach them, but when Mrs. Taylor spotted me, she motioned me over.

“Della, dear, this is Mr. Harris,” Mrs. Taylor said. “Mr. Harris, Della Duffy.” She gave the other woman’s shoulders a brief squeeze and then released her.

Della Duffy held out a hand that felt cold and clammy in mine as I gave it a gentle shake. “How do you do, Mr. Harris? I’m sorry but I couldn’t stay in there with that cat.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “I’d like to know what the heck a cat was doing here. They shouldn’t let animals in the library.”

I dropped her hand and resisted the urge to pull out my handkerchief to wipe it. My tone was stiff as I replied, “No need to apologize, Ms. Duffy. Diesel is pretty large for a domestic cat, and he’s been known to startle people before. He’s a gentle giant, though, I can assure you, and has always been welcome at the library.”

Ms. Duffy’s grimace lingered. “Is he yours?”

I nodded.