Twelve Angry Librarians

“Charlie, what the heck happened to you? Have you been in another fight?” Stewart laid his cards on the table and jumped up to examine me. “Look at you. Your hands are scraped, and you’ve got dirt on one side of your face.”

“Not a fight.” I grimaced. “Well, a one-sided one. I was attacked a little while ago in the parking lot at the Farrington House.”

“Did you see who did it?” Haskell went immediately into cop mode while Stewart led me to the sink to wash my hands with antibacterial soap. Diesel followed, still complaining, though in more muted tones. Dante danced around, barking occasionally.

“No.” I winced as the soap made contact with the cuts in my hands. “But I’m pretty sure I know who was responsible.” I explained about seeing Gavin Fong peering in the window at Helen Louise’s bistro. “It was shortly after that when I left to go to my car. I’m sure it was him.”

“Do you still have your wallet? Cell phone?”

I felt like an idiot. I hadn’t thought about that. I remembered feeling my wallet in my pocket, however, when I fished my keys out. “I have my wallet. I’ll have to check for my phone when Stewart finishes with my hands.”

“In a moment.” Stewart rinsed my hands under the warm water, then dried them with paper towels. He patted my jacket pocket where he knew I usually kept my phone. “It’s there.”

“So not robbery,” Haskell said. “Then I reckon it probably was that guy, trying to get back at you. How are you feeling? Any symptoms of concussion?”

“No, I feel all right, only bruised on my right shoulder, and my hands of course. Oh, and I’ve got a bump on the head.” I smiled at Stewart. “Would you mind making me an ice pack for it?”

“I’m on it,” Stewart said. “You sit right down there and take it easy.”

“Thanks.” I did as he told me. Now that I was home, and my immediate needs were being addressed so efficiently, I felt able to relax. “It was a cowardly thing to do, to hit me from behind so that I couldn’t defend myself, but I almost can’t blame the jerk. I never should have punched him today.”

“Maybe so.” Haskell frowned. “But he shouldn’t get away with it. If only you had seen him, you could press charges.”

I shrugged, and my shoulder twinged. “I didn’t see him, so there’s nothing more I can do. I will do my best to avoid him the rest of the conference, I promise you.” Lisa Krause would have to find someone to take my place for the panel discussion on Saturday. The less contact I had with Gavin the better.

Stewart handed me a plastic bag with ice wrapped in a towel. I held it to the bump on my head. The coolness soon began to soothe the ache.

“There were no witnesses?” Haskell seemed determined not to let it go.

“No, I don’t think so. A security guard found me on the ground, but he thought I was drunk. When I told him what happened, he said he hadn’t seen anyone besides me.”

“I guess that’s that, then,” Haskell said. “The main thing is you weren’t badly hurt.”

“As far as we can tell,” Stewart said. “I’m going to keep an eye on you, Charlie, to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” He grinned and batted his eyelashes at me. “Just a warning, so that when I creep into your bedroom at two a.m. and wake you up, you know why.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. I didn’t relish the idea of being awakened during the night, but I knew arguing with him would not achieve anything.

“I appreciate your concern,” I said. “Not a word about this to anyone else yet, if you please. I will tell the family, but when I’m ready to. Are we clear on this?”

Both men nodded, Dante barked, and Diesel meowed loudly. “I guess that covers everyone.” I shared a laugh with Stewart and Haskell before getting slowly out of my chair, keeping the bag of ice in place at the back of my head. “I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down for a while, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine, but I’m coming with you to make sure you get up the stairs all right.” Stewart’s tone brooked no argument.

He kept a hand on my free arm as we moved out into the hall and up the stairs. Diesel ran ahead. Haskell held Dante back in the kitchen. The last thing I needed was to take a tumble because the poodle got under my feet.

In my bedroom, Stewart helped me ease my jacket off and then my dress shirt. He pulled down the neck of my tee shirt to examine the sore shoulder. “Looks like it will be nicely colored by the morning. Let me get you another ice pack for it. I’ll be right back.”

He was out the door before I could say anything. I managed to get my shoes off by pushing them off my feet and letting them fall where they might. I went into the bathroom to take some aspirin, then came back to sit on the side of the bed, ice pack against my head, until Stewart returned. In the meantime, Diesel watched me anxiously, head-butting my free arm a few times. I spoke to him and assured him I would be okay.