Twelve Angry Librarians

Perhaps I should discuss this with Lisa Krause, tell her about the incident, and help her find someone to take my place on Saturday morning. Yes, I decided, that was what I needed to do. No point in exacerbating an already tense situation by putting Gavin and me together in a public setting again.

Diesel tapped my hand—the hand that had stopped stroking his belly. I smiled and rubbed a little more. “You’ve had enough of that,” I told the cat. “Time for me to get dressed, though I really don’t want to put on another suit and tie and go out again.” My dry-cleaning bills had gone up considerably, and I was at the point of having to buy a couple of new suits. Not to mention a few new ties. I had given most of mine away once I retired from the public library, and now I had only three. And maybe a few new dress shirts to go along with the new suits and ties. I could probably use another pair of shoes as well.

I sighed. This job was getting expensive. I gave Diesel one last rub and a scratch of the chin, and went to finish dressing.

Downstairs, Diesel and I found Stewart and Haskell in the kitchen. Haskell sat at the table, sipping a beer, while Stewart worked at the stove, adding ingredients to a large pot. Dante, his poodle, left his side and came to greet Diesel with a few licks. Diesel tolerated them for a moment, then put a paw on the dog’s head to stop him. He moved away from Dante and went to sit beside Haskell’s chair. Dante turned his attention back to Stewart, his eyes riveted on the stove.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked, chuckling at the two animals.

“Chili,” Stewart said. “There will be plenty of leftovers. Sorry you can’t stay and eat with us tonight.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I’m sure it will be much better than the finger food they’ll serve at the reception. I’ll probably help myself to a bowl or two later on when I get home.”

Diesel meowed loudly, and Haskell cracked a grin. He reached out to rub the cat’s head. “Better set aside a dish for Mr. Big here, too.”

“No, he can’t have any,” Stewart and I said in unison.

“Why not?” Haskell asked.

“Onions,” Stewart said. “They’re toxic to cats and dogs both, so Dante can’t have any, either.”

“I forgot that.” Haskell downed the rest of his beer. “I guess I’m not used to having these four-legged critters around much. My dad was allergic to cats, and my mama was afraid of dogs, so we didn’t have any around when I was growing up.”

“That’s a shame,” I said. “They’re a lot of company.”

“I’m getting used to it.” Haskell grinned. “Luckily for me, I’m not allergic or afraid.”

“You certainly are getting used to it.” Stewart turned and waved the ladle in his partner’s direction. “I’m not getting rid of my dog for anyone.”

Haskell looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Guess I know where I stand now.”

I grinned. “Never try to come between a man and his dog. Or his cat.”

Haskell laughed, and Stewart rolled his eyes at him.

My cell phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket. I recognized the number. Forrest Wyatt’s office. I had a sick feeling I knew why he was calling.

“Hello.” I identified myself, then waited for Forrest to speak.

Instead of Forrest, however, it was his administrative assistant, Margaret Foxwell. “Hello, Charlie. Sorry to bother you this evening, but Dr. Wyatt needs to see you in his office first thing tomorrow morning. Something serious has come up, he says. Can you be here at eight thirty?”

SEVEN

“Yes, I can be there. Eight thirty,” I repeated to let Margaret Foxwell know I had the correct time.

“Thank you. See you then.”

She ended the call before I had the chance to ask her why Forrest wanted to see me. I figured it had to be about the incident with Gavin Fong, but I could hope that it was something else entirely. Foolish, of course.

“What’s wrong? From the look on your face, it’s bad news.” Stewart frowned at me.

I stuck the phone back in my pocket. “Forrest Wyatt wants to see me in his office first thing in the morning.”

“Uh-oh, what have you done?” Stewart waggled the ladle in my direction, and Dante barked.

“Something really stupid.” I gave him and Haskell the bare outlines of my fight with Gavin Fong and a brief history of what led up to it. When I finished, they exchanged a glance, and then both started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, nettled by their response.

“I’d give anything to have seen you deck that guy.” Stewart shook his head, still grinning. “I’m surprised at you, Charlie Harris. I never suspected you of being a brawler. What are your children going to say when they hear about it?”

“And you soon to be a grandpa.” Haskell smirked at me.

“Ha-ha.” I felt like a complete idiot now. “I’m glad I could entertain you both.” I immediately regretted my snide comment. “Sorry, guys, I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“You’re not the first guy who’s taken a swing at a jerk,” Haskell said. “He might press charges, but you’ve got a good lawyer. Sean will take care of it.”