Twelve Angry Librarians

Depressed by that thought, I leaned back in the chair and stared at the window across the room. I had been able to avoid thinking about Laura and Frank leaving Athena for a while, but now I could think of nothing else. Had Laura discussed this with Sean before she told me? Most likely she had, because she and her brother were close and always had been, even during the difficult teenage years. I knew Sean would hate to see her move, even though he would have more than enough to occupy his thoughts with the impending birth of his own child later in the fall.

Six years ago I thought I had lost my daughter to Hollywood forever. A talented actress, she left to find her future in California at twenty-two. The first couple of years brought little success, but a small guest part in a long-running drama gave her the foothold she needed. The jobs turned up more frequently, and she had a respectable body of work by the time she came back to Athena some eighteen months ago for a one-semester teaching gig. After meeting Frank Salisbury, a young assistant professor in the theater department, and then getting married, Laura had decided to stay in Athena. The lure of Hollywood stardom, so difficult to achieve for even the most talented, took second place to a new husband and a new career.

I had never really considered the idea that they might leave. Both she and Frank seemed content at Athena College. But circumstances changed, as did career paths. Faced with a tempting offer, Frank had every right to accept it. Taking Laura and my grandson with him.

My gaze dropped to the nearby chair where Diesel napped. As if he sensed my focus on him, he opened his eyes, blinked, and yawned. Then he stretched, his front legs extended off the seat of the chair that was barely large enough to contain him when he curled up. He offered me a couple of interrogatory chirps and a meow, and I smiled at him. He slipped down from the chair and padded over to me. He climbed into my lap and butted his head against my chin. I stroked his head and murmured to him what a sweet boy he was. He meowed again and butted my chin when I stopped my attentions to his head. I resumed, and he began to purr, that loud, rumbling sound that had earned him his name.

I realized I couldn’t allow myself to wallow in self-pity over my daughter’s possible move to another state. No good would come of it, and I had more than enough to do to keep up with the demands of the interim director job. I gave Diesel a last few strokes on his head, then informed him gently that I needed to get back to work.

He meowed once in seeming protest, but he climbed down from my lap and headed to the nearby closet where I had installed a litter box and food and drink bowls for him. I heard him lapping water as I turned my attention back to my desk and the work that awaited me.

My phone rang, and I picked up the handset. “Yes?”

Melba said, “I’ve got Lisa Krause on line one. She needs to speak with you for a minute.”

“Sure.” I punched the button. “Hi, Lisa. What’s up?”

“Charlie, I hate to do this, but I got an e-mail a few minutes ago from one of the out-of-state librarians who was going to be moderating one of the panel discussions. She’s had a family emergency and can’t come. Could you possibly take over for her? I can brief you on the panel and the participants later. It’s on Saturday morning.”

I had no desire to participate in a panel discussion, even as a moderator, but I could hear the tiredness and the frustration in Lisa’s voice.

“I’ll be happy to do it for you,” I said.

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. The panel’s on cataloging in the academic library, so I think you’ll find it interesting. I can come by later this afternoon, if that’s convenient.”

“Sure. I’ll be in the office until five or five thirty.”

Lisa thanked me again, and I ended the call.

A panel on cataloging ought to be interesting, I thought. I delved among the papers on my desk to look at the details of the session. Saturday morning, Lisa had said. I flipped a couple of pages, and there it was. The title of the session was Cataloging for the Digital World: Absolute Necessity or Waste of Time?

I frowned. I didn’t care for the title. I considered cataloging still a vital part of the digital world. The discussion ought to prove lively, I figured. I wondered who might be arguing that it was a waste of time.

My gaze lighted on the list of participants. I dropped the schedule on my desk and closed my eyes. Gavin Fong was one of the panel members.

FIVE

Two afternoons later, I stood on the dais of the Farrington House ballroom with Lisa Krause waiting for Forrest Wyatt to arrive. The conference started in five minutes, and Forrest had a welcome speech to deliver. If he didn’t show, I imagined I would have to fill in, and I hadn’t prepared for such a situation. I had my two minutes and nothing more.