you?”
“They don’t have a clue, and if I had any idea where she was, I’d get on over there and tell Mona to get her butt in here, but I don’t. Do you?”
“No, obviously, or I wouldn’t be calling 911.”
“I know you’re her friend, so if you find her, tell her what I said.”
“I will. How do you know I’m her friend?”
“She talks about you. How else would I know?”
“Of course. Are you her friend too?”
“Damn straight. My name’s Brian. Does she talk about me?”
“Oh, Brian. Of course she does. I’m glad it’s you.”
Well, when had I turned into such a total liar? Not that I cared at that moment. The idea of Mona not calling in before missing work was just too bizarre. A few lies were a small price to pay.
“Keep in touch, Charlotte.”
“You too, Brian.”
After I hung up, I wondered if I should have confided in Brian. He was a 911 dispatcher too. He might be able to help me find her. And he might know how long she’d been acting this way.
Five minutes later, I parked the Miata at the Woodbridge Public Library and headed grimly to the reference section where Ramona was reigning reference librarian on this blowy morning. Luckily, the library opened at nine on Monday mornings. Unluckily, the usual crowd of entitled readers had managed to stagger in and occupy the best spots, reading the Wall Street Journal , the New Yorker , and Consumer Reports . They gave me their normal poisonous glances. Ramona waved and trotted over with a click of her cowboy boots. Her chambray shirt was a lighter blue than she usually wore and the silver earrings chunkier.
“Thank heavens, a friendly face,” she said. “Even if a worried one. I am up to my patootie in prima donnas here today and you, Charlotte Adams, are a welcome relief.”
“Glad to help.” I grinned. “Not everyone’s that glad to see me.”
“Information needs?” she said. “For here or to go?”
“Here, if possible. Do you know Mona Pringle?”
“Nine-one-one operator. Sure.”
“That was just a pro forma question. I am well aware that you know everyone who grew up in Woodbridge.”
“Well, maybe not everyone, but I did get around. I’ve known Mona since the year I had a summer job with the parks department and she was a little kid.”
“You have?”
“Sure.”
“Did she have rough time?”
The earrings jingled as Ramona nodded her head. “It was like she was a wearing an invisible ‘kick me’ sign, that could only be seen by mean kids.”
“Good analogy.”
“Maybe it was more of a ‘boot me to the moon’ sign or ‘beat me up’ notice. You get the picture. She was such a nice little kid. I used to remind her that Ramona had the name Mona in it too, so I’d make extra sure she didn’t get bullied on my watch.”
“Did that work?”
“It seemed to make a difference.”
“That’s a relief. It’s sort of a private matter, but I need to get in touch with Mona. It’s quite urgent. I’m sure that she’s not at work, and, anyway, I’ve been told not to try to reach her there.”
“I can’t snoop into her library records,” Ramona said with a frown. “They’re confidential.”
I gasped. “I wouldn’t ever suggest that. Never. I thought perhaps there was some information that was on public record that you could—”
She shrugged. “There are the old city directories.”
“Didn’t they stop printing those a long time ago?”
Ramona rolled her eyes. “But she had to live somewhere even a long time ago. Just check out the family name and see where the Pringles lived around town.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a bit panicky and seeking instant solutions.”
“Information worth having is not necessarily instant,” Ramona said with a big, blue booming laugh. This time the poisonous glances were directed at her.
I checked out the printed City Directory for Woodbridge from the last date they were available. There was one Pringle in the index. On Spruce Street. Not all that
“They don’t have a clue, and if I had any idea where she was, I’d get on over there and tell Mona to get her butt in here, but I don’t. Do you?”
“No, obviously, or I wouldn’t be calling 911.”
“I know you’re her friend, so if you find her, tell her what I said.”
“I will. How do you know I’m her friend?”
“She talks about you. How else would I know?”
“Of course. Are you her friend too?”
“Damn straight. My name’s Brian. Does she talk about me?”
“Oh, Brian. Of course she does. I’m glad it’s you.”
Well, when had I turned into such a total liar? Not that I cared at that moment. The idea of Mona not calling in before missing work was just too bizarre. A few lies were a small price to pay.
“Keep in touch, Charlotte.”
“You too, Brian.”
After I hung up, I wondered if I should have confided in Brian. He was a 911 dispatcher too. He might be able to help me find her. And he might know how long she’d been acting this way.
Five minutes later, I parked the Miata at the Woodbridge Public Library and headed grimly to the reference section where Ramona was reigning reference librarian on this blowy morning. Luckily, the library opened at nine on Monday mornings. Unluckily, the usual crowd of entitled readers had managed to stagger in and occupy the best spots, reading the Wall Street Journal , the New Yorker , and Consumer Reports . They gave me their normal poisonous glances. Ramona waved and trotted over with a click of her cowboy boots. Her chambray shirt was a lighter blue than she usually wore and the silver earrings chunkier.
“Thank heavens, a friendly face,” she said. “Even if a worried one. I am up to my patootie in prima donnas here today and you, Charlotte Adams, are a welcome relief.”
“Glad to help.” I grinned. “Not everyone’s that glad to see me.”
“Information needs?” she said. “For here or to go?”
“Here, if possible. Do you know Mona Pringle?”
“Nine-one-one operator. Sure.”
“That was just a pro forma question. I am well aware that you know everyone who grew up in Woodbridge.”
“Well, maybe not everyone, but I did get around. I’ve known Mona since the year I had a summer job with the parks department and she was a little kid.”
“You have?”
“Sure.”
“Did she have rough time?”
The earrings jingled as Ramona nodded her head. “It was like she was a wearing an invisible ‘kick me’ sign, that could only be seen by mean kids.”
“Good analogy.”
“Maybe it was more of a ‘boot me to the moon’ sign or ‘beat me up’ notice. You get the picture. She was such a nice little kid. I used to remind her that Ramona had the name Mona in it too, so I’d make extra sure she didn’t get bullied on my watch.”
“Did that work?”
“It seemed to make a difference.”
“That’s a relief. It’s sort of a private matter, but I need to get in touch with Mona. It’s quite urgent. I’m sure that she’s not at work, and, anyway, I’ve been told not to try to reach her there.”
“I can’t snoop into her library records,” Ramona said with a frown. “They’re confidential.”
I gasped. “I wouldn’t ever suggest that. Never. I thought perhaps there was some information that was on public record that you could—”
She shrugged. “There are the old city directories.”
“Didn’t they stop printing those a long time ago?”
Ramona rolled her eyes. “But she had to live somewhere even a long time ago. Just check out the family name and see where the Pringles lived around town.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a bit panicky and seeking instant solutions.”
“Information worth having is not necessarily instant,” Ramona said with a big, blue booming laugh. This time the poisonous glances were directed at her.
I checked out the printed City Directory for Woodbridge from the last date they were available. There was one Pringle in the index. On Spruce Street. Not all that
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