Twelve Angry Librarians Page 5

  “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.”

  “I know it’s embarrassing, Charlie, and we didn’t help by laughing.” Stewart appeared contrite. “But Haskell’s right. I don’t imagine Forrest is going to fire you over this. Admonish you, maybe, but once you tell him the background to all this, I think he’ll be understanding. He’s not a jerk himself.”

  “No, you’re right,” I said, feeling a bit relieved. “Still, I should have had better control of my temper. There’s just something about that guy that really gets under my skin.”

  “Yeah, I know the type,” Haskell said. “Guys like that don’t have a clue how obnoxious they are. Nothing is ever their fault. Somebody’s always got it in for them because they’re smarter than everyone else.”

  “That’s Gavin all right.” I shook my head. “I’ll be happy when this conference is over, and he’s gone back to Podunk, Alabama. Well, thanks, guys, for looking after Diesel. I need to get going.”

  Diesel and Dante had curled up together near the stove to keep a close watch on Stewart. I gave them both a few head scratches before I left. Diesel meowed when I headed for the back door but otherwise didn’t appear overly upset at being left with his buddy Dante and the two human cat-sitters.

  During the drive back to the Farrington House for the reception I counseled myself to steer clear of Gavin Fong this evening. Surely in a crowd of a couple hundred people I could manage that. Surely he would be as eager to stay away from me.

  I found a spot for my car in the parking lot behind the hotel and made my way inside through a back entrance. As I approached the foyer to the ballroom I spotted Lisa Krause in conversation with a tall woman with light brown hair. I recognized her as Donna Evans, the catering manager at the hotel. As I neared them, Donna nodded and moved toward the closed ballroom doors. She opened one and slipped inside. Lisa turned in my direction. She came toward me with a tired smile.

  “Hi, Charlie, you just getting here?”

  I nodded. “I went home to freshen up and change after the opening ceremony. How are things going?”

  “As far as the food and the service for the reception, everything is fine. You know how efficient and well organized Donna is.” Lisa sounded pleased, but she suddenly frowned.

  “Yes, I do know,” I said. “But something seems to be bothering you. What is it?”

  “I’ll give you one guess.” Lisa sighed.

  “Gavin Fong.”

  She nodded. “He’s a gigantic pain in the derriere, that’s for sure. He tracked me down about thirty minutes ago with a couple of complaints. The refrigerator in his room wasn’t working properly, and one of the lights was on the fritz and kept blinking on and off. I think he expected me to attend to them personally.”

  “Instead of simply notifying someone at the front desk?”

  “Yes. I told him that’s what he should have done because I am neither an electrician nor a refrigerator repair person. Then he had the nerve to tell me it was my job to deal with menials like repairmen, that he had far more important things to do. Then he just turned and walked off.” She made a growling sound. “If I’d had something to hit him over the head with, I swear I would have done it right then and there.”

  “I’ve tried it, and it doesn’t work,” I said in a rueful tone.

  “What do you mean?” Lisa asked.

  I told her briefly about the incident earlier in the afternoon. She giggled when I finished. “Oh, Charlie, I’d give anything to have seen that. I may end up doing it myself before this conference is over.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” I said. “I’ve been called to a meeting first thing in the morning with Forrest Wyatt, and I have no doubt what it’s about.”

  “He’s certainly not going to fire you over this,” Lisa said. “At least, I don’t think he would. I’ll be happy to tell Dr. Wyatt what an absolute jerk Gavin Fong is.”

  “I don’t know that Forrest would consider that a mitigating factor,” I replied. “And, really, it isn’t. I am the one at fault, and I’ll simply have to deal with the consequences.” I shrugged. “Now, enough about that. How is everything else going, these annoyances aside?”

  “Fine as far as I can tell,” Lisa said. “Of course there really isn’t much going on this evening other than the reception. When the presentations and everything start tomorrow, that will be the test. I’m always sure I’ve overlooked something, but the committee is great, and everyone is working hard to make sure things run smoothly.”

  While Lisa and I were talking, people continued to come into the ballroom foyer. The noise level rose steadily as people chatted, and the room grew more and more crowded.

  “I’m sure it will be a great conference.” I checked my watch. A few minutes before seven. “I guess the doors will be opening soon.”

  Lisa nodded. “Donna went in to have a last check. She’s a stickler for the schedule, so I don’t have to worry about complaints that the reception started late. You know how librarians are about their free food.”

  We shared a laugh over that. We both knew all the attendees would be on tight expense budgets, and any meal they could get for free was all to the good. Institutional travel budgets had been cut way back in recent years, and most librarians were lucky to receive funding to attend one professional meeting a year.

  The ballroom doors opened promptly at seven, as Lisa predicted.
People began flowing inside. Lisa and I held back for a moment to let the crowd spread out before we entered.

  The catering staff had set up five stations around the room where attendees could line up to fill their plates, and there were three bar stations as well. The vendors exhibiting at the meeting contributed to the expenses for this reception, and I spotted a couple of the sales representatives I had met since taking over the interim director job.

  Lisa excused herself to circulate through the crowd. I knew she wanted to make sure the attendees were happy with the food and drink on offer. I joined the line at one of the food stations, picked up a plate, napkin, and plastic fork, and surveyed the options on the table. There were several kinds of hors d’oeuvres, and I loaded my plate with enough to sate my appetite for the next hour or so. Next I went to one of the cash bars and bought myself an expensive glass of diet soda. I found a spot next to the wall with a table in front of it, set down my drink, and prepared to nosh.

  I polished off about half the plateful before I heard a voice call my name above the muted roar of conversation in the ballroom. I glanced around in an effort to spot the person trying to hail me, and after a moment there emerged through the crowd two women, one short with white blond hair, the other of average height with brown curls streaked with blond highlights.

  I set down my plate, wiped my hands quickly, then stepped forward to enfold Marisue Pickard and Randi Grant in a hug. After a moment I released them and stepped back. Marisue, the shorter of the two and as rake thin as ever, wore a severely tailored navy skirt and jacket, relieved only by a crisp white blouse. This look was a far cry from the casual hippie style she had favored in graduate school. Randi, taller and plumper than Marisue, sported more relaxed attire, a peasant-style skirt and blouse, a large-beaded necklace, and numerous bracelets on each wrist.

  “It’s wonderful to see you both,” I said. “I’m surprised I didn’t see you earlier, though, at the welcome. Still, I’m just glad you’re here.”

  Marisue and Randi exchanged a glance and laughed. “We’ve been to enough of those welcome to our fair city things,” Randi said airily. “Frankly, I was more interested in a nap after we drove nearly eight hours to get here.”

  “I don’t blame you.” I patted her arm. “I hate driving long distances these days.”

  Marisue snorted. “Don’t let her kid you, Charlie. I did all the driving. When she wasn’t snacking or talking, she was dozing in the passenger seat.”

  Randi tossed her head. “Not my fault if you’re so obsessive about driving that you won’t let anyone else behind the wheel.”

  I laughed. “I see you two haven’t changed that much, after all. Still bickering just like you used to in grad school.”

  “If you can’t give your best friend a hard time, then you’d have to take it out on some unsuspecting person instead, right?” Marisue grinned.

  “Right,” Randi said. “Besides, she’s a tough broad. She can take it.”

  “I’d say you are both pretty tough broads,” I said.

  They both laughed, then Marisue said, “Sorry to change the subject, but we overheard a few people talking a little while ago. They were saying something about two men getting into a brawl earlier this afternoon. Know anything about that?” She and Randi watched me closely.

  I felt my face redden. “Come off it, you two. You know perfectly well it was me and Gavin.” I managed a laugh.

  Randi shot me an impish grin. “Sorry, kiddo, we couldn’t resist roasting you a little. Tell me, did you blast him a good one?”

  “You’re even more bloodthirsty than I remember.” I shook my head. “I hit him hard enough for him to go down on his bum, I suppose. I don’t think I really hurt him, though.”

  “Probably more damage to his dignity than anything.” Marisue nodded. “With him that’s worse than physical pain.”

  “I’m glad you did it, whatever the reason,” Randi said. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to do it when I worked with him. But of course I couldn’t—couldn’t afford to lose my job, and he wasn’t worth that.”

  “Same here,” Marisue said. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone so self-involved, and so impressed with his own so-called intellect.”

  “Why he’s not six feet under pushing up daisies already, I don’t know.” Randi sniffed. “If anybody was ever asking to be murdered, it’s Gavin Fong.”

  EIGHT

  I felt a sudden, brief chill at Randi’s jesting words. Surely no one would actually murder Gavin Fong. I didn’t want to go through all that again.

  Marisue snorted with laughter. “The police would never be able to solve it. Too many suspects.”

  Randi nodded. “Yeah, way too many. Every single person who ever went to school with him or worked with him.”

  “I grant you he’s a colossal annoyance most of the time,” I said. “But what has he done that would make someone see killing him as a solution?”

  Marisue shot Randi a pointed glance. “Tell you what, you fill Charlie in while I go get us some wine. If I’m going to talk about Gavin, I need fortification.” With that, she turned to make her way through the crowd toward one of the bar stations.

  Randi eyed the nearly empty glass of diet soda I picked up. “Sure you don’t want something stronger yourself?”

  “No, I’m fine with this. I have to drive home. I’m not staying in the hotel, and I presume you two are.” I downed the rest of my drink and set the glass down on the table.

  “We are,” Randi said. “We’re sharing a room the way we always do. I have to say, this is a lovely old hotel. Dripping with Southern charm that makes this California girl feel like she ought to be seeing Scarlett O’Hara come sweeping around the corner just any little ole minute now.” She grinned when I winced at her attempt at a Southern accent on those last few words.

  “Stick to being a California girl, all right?” I smiled at her. “Now, what all are you supposed to be telling me about Gavin?”

  Randi scowled. “Did you know that both Marisue and I coauthored journal articles with him?” After I nodded, she continued. “I say coauthored, but Marisue and I each did most of the research for, and the writing of, our respective articles. Since we worked with Gavin at the time we did the research—in separate institutions, that is, me first in Colorado and then her later in Kansas—he decided that his name ought to go on the articles, too. Because we had to submit them to him before we could send them to the journal, and he edited them to improve them. Substantially enough that his name ought to be included.”

  The bitterness in her tone didn’t surprise me. Gavin had obviously hijacked their work in each instance in order to give himself a free publication credit. I wondered if all the other articles and chapters on his résumé came about the same way.

  “Why would you have to submit them to him first?” I asked.

  “Said it was his responsibility as the head of the department to make sure anything published by one of his staff members was quality work.” Randi snorted. “Pure invention on his part. There was no such regulation in place. He simply wanted to horn in on someone else’s work and get a free credit out of it.”

  “Didn’t you try to protest?” I couldn’t believe Randi hadn’t raised a stink about it. She was not the suffer-in-silence type.

  “I tried to,” Randi said. “Our director at the time, however, thought the sun rose and set out of Gavin’s derriere, unfortunately for the rest of us. She refused to believe me. When she left abruptly after Gavin was there about sixteen months, a new director came in, and she didn’t like him at all.”

  “What about Marisue? I’m sure you told her about this and warned her before she had to work with him.”

  “I did,” Randi said. “But guess where my former director ended up? She couldn’t wait to get Gavin there, and poor Marisue found herself in the same situation as me.”

&
nbsp; Marisue reappeared with two glasses of wine, one red, one white. She handed the red to Randi.

  “Got the picture?” Marisue asked after a sip of wine.

  I nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised by Gavin’s behavior. I remember back in grad school, when we were assigned group projects, anyone who got stuck with him in the group complained that he did very little.”

  “Enough to get by, that was all,” Marisue said. “He was in a group with me for one project. He did the absolute minimum, but he was the first to criticize anyone else’s work.”

  “What I can’t figure out,” Randi said, “is why he thinks the world owes him a living? Why does he get a free ride while the rest of us have to work?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Marisue replied. “He’s managed to get away with it for years, though.”

  “He’s applied for my job,” I said. “I’m acting as interim while they search for a director. I don’t understand how he’s gotten to the level of library director with his last two or three jobs.”

  Randi shrugged. “You got me. I guess because he looks good on paper, and he probably interviews well.” She emptied her wineglass.

  “I think I know whom he uses as his references,” Marisue said. “They’re former supervisors of his who were either too naive or too stupid to see through him. He’s like a virus. He creeps in and takes over before you know just how awful he is.”

  “Are you part of the search committee for your job?” Randi asked.

  I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve already told the college president I can’t recommend Gavin for the position. For one thing, he changes jobs about every three years, and has done so for a long time.”

  Randi cackled with laughter. “Not by his choice, I’ll bet. Two years in, I’m sure a sensible person has seen through him and urges him to move along, and that person will say anything to a prospective employer to get rid of him.”

  “Exactly.” Marisue glanced at her watch. “Charlie, sorry for us to run off right now, but we promised to meet a friend from South Carolina for dinner tonight.”