No Cats Allowed Page 2

  As the cat and I made our way downstairs, I prayed that we wouldn’t encounter our nemesis. The last person I needed to see right now was Oscar Reilly, because I was still way too angry with him.

  My prayer went unanswered, however. Diesel and I made it halfway to the front door from the foot of the stairs, and then I heard Reilly call out to me.

  “Leaving early today, Charlie?”

  I turned to see Reilly consulting his watch rather ostentatiously. He leaned against the door frame that led into the outer office where Melba worked. I wondered briefly where she was, because I was afraid she would go after him herself for that remark.

  I stared at Reilly for a moment, careful to keep my expression neutral, while I longed to walk over and punch that smirk off his face. I seldom had such strong adverse reactions to people, but there was something about Reilly that brought out the worst in me.

  Instead, I consulted my own watch, making a grand gesture of it. “Why, no, Oscar, I’m not,” I said in a tone that I might have used to respond to a toddler. “My normal hours are eight to three, and it’s now nearly twenty past. So actually I’m leaving late. I won’t claim overtime, though, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

  Diesel meowed loudly, and Reilly’s face darkened, whether at my tone or at the cat’s timely contribution, I had no idea. I had to suppress the sudden urge to laugh.

  Before Reilly could respond, I said brightly, “Diesel and I have an appointment with the head of HR, Penny Sisson. So if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way.”

  I didn’t wait to gauge the effect of my statement on Reilly. Instead I turned and headed for the door, and Diesel trotted beside me.

  The mid-March afternoon had turned cool, but not unpleasantly so. I could have used a light jacket, but the walk to the building that housed HR would warm me. Diesel had his own coat to keep him warm. The thick ruff around his neck had started to thin out as the spring and summer loomed.

  The Athena College campus had never looked lovelier—leaves on the trees beginning to show new canopies of green, the buildings basking in the glow of the afternoon sun, the whole scene one of solidity and respectability. The college had been founded before the Civil War, and a few of the original buildings remained. I sometimes fancied that, if I closed my eyes and listened intently enough, I would hear echoes of students and faculty of generations past as they went about their business on this historic campus.

  I smiled at my own whimsy and realized that my mood had lightened. Good for my blood pressure.

  The few students and faculty we encountered during our brief walk to the HR office all smiled and nodded pleasantly at Diesel and me. I knew I had a reputation around campus as an eccentric because I was often seen walking a large cat on a leash, but Diesel and I had not encountered anyone unfriendly in the several years since I’d adopted him and started bringing him to work with me.

  The building that housed the human resources department occupied the corner of a street a couple of blocks past the main part of the campus. Though designed with a nod to harmonizing with the older architecture, the structure looked too square and boxy to be anything other than what I called municipal modern. Diesel and I headed up the walk to the front door and stepped inside, where a blast of frigid air greeted us.

  I shivered from the onslaught, having warmed up from our walk over. I consulted a directory on the wall to find the number of Penny Sisson’s office, and I hoped that her space would be warmer.

  “Down the hall this way,” I told Diesel, who stood sniffing the air and staring in the opposite direction. He trotted obediently beside me as I strode toward the correct office.

  I identified myself to Penny’s administrative assistant. She smiled at me and the cat and told us to go right in. I thanked her, and we moved around her desk. Penny awaited us in the doorway with a welcoming smile.

  After an exchange of greetings, Penny invited me to have a seat. Diesel settled on the floor beside me, and I glanced around the office. Sun streamed in the windows, helping temper the cold air from the vents. Colorful photos and posters of various scenes in Mexico decorated the walls, and I recalled that Penny’s husband was a distinguished anthropologist who worked extensively in Mexico.

  “I appreciate your responding so quickly, Charlie.” Penny smiled again, a bit nervously this time. She ran a hand through her thick, black curls, and then pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “As I mentioned during our phone conversation, there has been a complaint about your bringing Diesel to work with you.”

  I nodded. “The previous library director gave me permission to have Diesel with me, and it was approved by the president.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.” Penny laid her hand on a folder on her desk. “I have copies of both letters in your file. The issue at hand is that the complainant claims to be highly allergic to cats and that having Diesel in the building is making him sick.”

  My blood pressure rose drastically, but I held on to my temper as I spoke. “I am assuming that the person who lodged the complaint is Oscar Reilly. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Penny said.

  “Then he’s a liar.” I saw no reason to hold back. “I saw him when I left to walk over here, and he displayed no signs of an allergic reaction of any kind. No sneezing, no tearing eyes, no blotchy skin. No sign at all. Surely if he were truly allergic, I would have seen signs of it before now, and I never have in the entire time that he has been working in the building with Diesel and me.”

  “Oh, dear.” Penny’s eyes widened. “That’s a serious accusation, Charlie.”

  “I will stand by it,” I said. “I am truly sorry that you have been put in the middle of this. I have no idea what game he’s playing, other than trying to harass me enough to make me quit. It’s not going to work, however. If he wants to keep Diesel out of the building, then he’s going to have to prove that he is severely allergic.”

  “I will note your response.” Penny opened the folder, picked up a pen, and started writing. After a few moments, she looked up. “Do you want to lodge a countercomplaint?”

  “Not at the moment,” I said. “Any further communication on this complaint can go to my lawyer, Sean Harris. Pendergrast and Harris is the firm.”

  I rose, and Diesel sat up and looked up at me. I smiled down at him. “I don’t think there’s anything more to say at the moment. Thank you, Penny.”

  She stood and came around the desk to extend her hand. I shook it, and we exchanged smiles. “I will be delighted to share your response to the complaint with Mr. Reilly,” she said. “Have a good day.”

  I bade her good-bye, and Diesel warbled for her. We left her office and wended our way through the building and back outside. As we headed in the direction of home, back the way we had come, I reflected on Penny’s choice of words. Why would she be delighted to tell Oscar Reilly how I had responded to his complaint? I wondered whether he had made other such malicious, and frivolous, complaints. If so, Penny was no doubt tired of having to deal with them. And him.

  Diesel meowed loudly, and I realized I was walking too quickly. I spotted a bench underneath a tree nearby and decided we should sit for a few minutes until I’d had time to cool down a bit. “Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s rest here for a while. Sorry for going so fast.”

  Once I’d made myself comfortable on the wrought iron, Diesel hopped up on the bench and leaned against me. I put my arm around him and rubbed his chest. He purred happily, and as I petted the cat, I could feel my temper cooling down.

  My thoughts couldn’t stay away from Oscar Reilly for long, however. What did he have against me? I wondered. I couldn’t think of a single thing I had done to make him annoyed or angry with me. He might have seen my disgusted expression, I supposed, when I observed him ogling women. Maybe he thought I would report him for that, and this was his way of launching a preemptive strike.

&n
bsp; I simply didn’t get it. The more I thought about it, the odder it seemed. Was he simply paranoid? Or overly sensitive? Perhaps he had picked up on the fact that I didn’t think he was fit for the position he held. Had I somehow given myself away?

  Then the memory surfaced, and I knew exactly why he was targeting me through Diesel.

  THREE

  I hadn’t given much thought to the incident at the time, but now that I reconsidered it, I figured it had to be the source of Oscar Reilly’s petty-minded attempt to get rid of me.

  The occasion was the first senior staff meeting held after Reilly stepped into the suddenly vacant position. He opened the meeting by giving us a short sketch of his background, chiefly as a financial administrator in various university positions. Having grown up poor in New England, he had worked hard to save money and to earn scholarships to put himself through school, although he had taken a couple of years longer than usual because he had to drop out at one point to work several jobs to help pay for his mother’s hospital bills. I thought the level of personal detail unnecessary in the situation, and it made me a bit uncomfortable.

  After he finished the story of his life before Athena, he stated twice how important the library was to the college’s reputation and accreditation and mentioned that he personally made great use of the online resources. He looked forward, he told us with an ingratiating smile, to working with the university’s board of trustees to raise money for a much-needed library addition. In particular, he said, he enjoyed working closely with the Ducote sisters, Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce, and gushed about how gracious and generous they were.

  The Ducote sisters had been trustees for many years and were always involved in fund-raising efforts, so I had no doubt Reilly had encountered them. But he mispronounced their surname, giving it two syllables rather than three. He did it several times, and after the meeting ended, I decided I had better tip him off to the fact that the sisters got annoyed when people didn’t get their name right.

  “Oscar”—he insisted that we address him by his given name—“if you have a moment,” I said as we rose from the table, “I need a quick word with you.”

  “Certainly, Charlie,” he said, offering me an expansive smile.

  I waited until the room was clear before I explained why I wanted to talk to him. He frowned when I told him the sisters’ preferred pronunciation of Ducote (du-COH-tee). I smiled when I finished and added, “I know you wouldn’t want to offend them.”

  Reilly shook his head. “Certainly not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting.” He turned and strode from the room.

  At the time I thought his manner and abrupt departure merely rude, but now I wondered whether he had also been angry because I caught him in a mistake and dared to correct him. At least, I reflected, I hadn’t done it in front of the group. He wasn’t particularly friendly after that incident, but I never suspected he would act maliciously or vindictively against me because of it.

  I could, of course, be letting my imagination run a bit too wild with this, but I couldn’t come up with any other reason or explanation for Reilly’s making a frivolous complaint.

  “I don’t know, Diesel.” I rubbed the cat a few more times before I stood. “Come on, boy, let’s go home.” We resumed our walk across campus but took a different route this time, one that would take us by the main library building. I remembered I had a book to return, and I could put it in the book drop by the sidewalk in front.

  As we approached the book drop, I glanced past it and noticed Oscar Reilly in the small parking area between the antebellum home that housed our mutual offices and the main library. He was talking on his cell phone, holding it to his left ear, while his right arm gesticulated wildly. He didn’t look happy, I decided as I put my book in the drop. He stood in front of his car, a late-model Mercedes, and he kept looking at the windshield while he talked and gestured.

  “Come on, Diesel, let’s cross the street here.” I looked down at the cat, who blinked at me a couple of times and meowed. I wanted to avoid Reilly, and thus far I didn’t think he had seen me and my cat. I was curious about what had him so worked up, but I didn’t care enough to go find out.

  When Diesel and I reached the sidewalk across the street, we walked a bit faster than usual. I wanted to be out of Reilly’s sight quickly. I didn’t trust my temper if I had to talk to him right now.

  “Harris.”

  My name boomed out at me from across the street, and with great reluctance I halted and turned. Reilly beckoned with his free hand.

  “Get over here. Now.”

  My blood pressure rose rapidly. For a moment I stayed where I was, furious at the peremptory summons. Diesel scuttled behind me and huddled against my legs. I tightened my grip on his leash. The last thing I needed was for him to bolt in fear.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I told him, though it took great effort to speak in a calm tone. “We’ll go see what he wants, and then we’ll go home.” I stepped forward. “Come on, now. It will be okay.”

  Diesel responded with a plaintive meow but came docilely enough behind me. I checked the street for traffic before we crossed. Reilly waited beside his car, his phone now put away.

  “What is it you want?” I asked, my tone barely civil.

  Reilly glared at me, his face flushed with anger. He pointed to the windshield of his car. “What do you know about this?”

  I almost laughed when I saw what had infuriated him. The windshield bore the slogan Oscar the Grouch in large, lurid pink lettering. The words took up the center portion of the glass. The rest of it was covered with what looked like petroleum jelly.

  I turned back to Reilly. “I believe that refers to a character from Sesame Street.”

  Reilly cut loose with a string of obscenities, but I simply stared at him. I really shouldn’t have tried to goad him, but I was still furious with the man. When the flow trickled to a halt, I said coolly, “If you are asking whether I know who did this, the answer is no, I don’t.”

  Reilly took a step forward, right hand curled into a fist, and I thought he was about to strike me. Before the scene degenerated further, however, a voice interrupted.

  “Step back, Reilly. Now.”

  My erstwhile attacker faltered, no doubt startled by the commanding tone. He turned to see who had spoken.

  I had already recognized the voice. The chief of campus police and a retired marine, Martin Ford brooked no nonsense, student, staff, or faculty. Relieved to see him, I stepped away from the still-glowering Reilly, making sure Diesel stayed by my side.

  “Look at my car.” Reilly gestured imperiously. “What are you going to do about that?”

  Chief Ford approached the car and examined the windshield. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. Looks like lipstick and petroleum jelly.” He turned to Reilly. “When was the last time you used your car?”

  “When I came back from lunch,” Reilly said. “Around one.”

  Ford checked his watch. “Ten to four. That’s well over two hours, say two and a half, for someone to do this.” He gestured toward the windshield. “Any idea why you’re being targeted like this? Third incident, right?”

  “Yes, it’s the third practical joke.” Reilly rubbed his forehead. “Why haven’t you caught the jackass who’s doing this?”

  “It would help,” Ford responded in a mild tone, “if I had an idea about why these things are happening to you. I repeat, any idea why you’re being targeted?”

  I figured I could have thrown in a few cents’ worth of reasons, but I kept my mouth shut. I was curious to hear what Reilly had to say.

  “None of this happened before I took over administration of the library.” Reilly’s fists clenched. “I’m simply trying to do the job I was asked to do by the president, but obviously some jerk doesn’t like what I’m doing. I haven’t done anything to provoke this kind of juveni
le behavior, I can assure you.”

  “I see.” Ford pulled out his phone and took several pictures of Reilly’s windshield. “Probably the work of a student you’ve somehow annoyed.” He put the phone back in its holster on his belt. “We’ll keep looking into these incidents, and eventually we’ll track down whoever is responsible.”

  “That’s what you told me two days ago,” Reilly said, obviously angry. “And yet it’s happened again. The president isn’t going to be happy when I report this to him.”

  Ford appeared unruffled by the threat. “I’m not happy, either, Reilly. Don’t blow this out of proportion. I told you, we’re working on it.”

  Reilly stared at the chief for a moment, then turned and strode to the back of the library administration building. Moments later, the back door slammed behind him.

  Ford turned to me. “Afternoon, Mr. Harris. And you, too, Diesel.”

  I returned the chief’s greeting, and Diesel emerged from behind my legs to let Ford rub his head.

  “Any idea what’s going on here?” Ford asked.

  I shrugged. “He’s not popular with the library staff. He has no idea how to run a library, and the staff resent him. I didn’t know about the practical jokes, but I guess someone is trying to get back at him for being such a jerk.”

  Ford arched an eyebrow. “Pretty strong words coming from you. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak that way about anyone.”

  “I haven’t had much cause to, I guess.” I grinned. “But Reilly brings out the worst in everybody.” I was tempted to share the story of Reilly’s complaint about Diesel, but I realized that wasn’t a good idea.

  Ford grimaced. “I want to catch whoever’s behind this and put a stop to it before it escalates any further. Right now it’s pretty harmless, but it could get ugly if it’s unchecked.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.” Despite the fact that I found the current prank amusing, I knew Ford was right. This behavior had to be stopped before someone got hurt.