Abigail . . .”
Carol slammed her fist on the table. “Abigail! Abigail! Saint Abigail! I’m sick of it. Abigail was a hard worker, but she was just a person! She was a nitpicker to end all nitpickers! I used to get so tired of her that I could barely hold my tongue. And now she’s dead, and she’s still causing trouble!”
With that Carol got up and walked out of the room, leaving Gwen, Mr. Cornwall, and me sitting there blankly.
“Wow!” I said. “A little pent-up resentment there, I guess.”
“Not pent-up anymore,” Mr. Cornwall said.
Gwen shook her head sadly, and Bailey gave a sudden cry from her sling.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Gwen said soothingly. “She’s just upset. People get upset. But they get over it.”
Would she? Carol’s reaction to Abigail’s death and the investigation into it seemed extreme. Would I have to report it to Hogan?
This wasn’t shaping up as a very polite meeting.
That thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard another loud voice coming from outside the meeting room. This time it was a man’s voice.
“No! No, I can’t allow it.”
“Mr. Cassidy! I must look for some personal property!”
That voice I recognized. It was Miss Ann Vanderklomp.
“No!” And the male voice was Butch Cassidy. “I’m responsible, Miss Vanderklomp. And you may not break the crime-scene tape and go into the basement.”
Chapter 11
Gwen, Corny Cornwall, and I all jumped up and rushed out of the meeting room. Butch Cassidy sounded as if he needed all the help he could get.
The door to the back hall and basement was only a few steps away, and he and Miss Vanderklomp were nose to nose outside it. They ignored us newcomers completely.
“Mr. Cassidy,” Miss Vanderklomp said. “I wish to remind you that this is the Vanderklomp Memorial Library. My family donated this building to Warner Pier, and I am accustomed to having a small say in how the institution is run.”
“And I’m accustomed to staying out of jail,” Butch said.
“Jail? I beg your pardon! Why would you be threatened with jail?”
“Because the authorities sealed that door, and they want it left that way. I am in charge of the library operations, so it’s my responsibility to see that the door remains sealed.”
“But some of my personal belongings are stored there. I must access the area.”
Butch frowned. “You are a private individual. You can’t use library space for personal uses.”
Miss Vanderklomp took a deep breath. She seemed to fill up like a parade balloon. With her gray bob, tall stature, and blocky build, all she needed was a pair of wooden shoes to look like a giant representation of the proverbial boy who stuck his finger in the dike. I almost looked for her mooring ropes, hoping we could keep her from floating away. Or maybe cut them and let her go.
But as she expanded, she turned slightly. And she saw her audience. Apparently she hadn’t noticed we were there earlier. And we deflated her.
She stepped back and seemed to become smaller. She smiled her most gracious smile and adjusted her bra straps.
“Mr. Cassidy,” she said, “I do apologize. I’ve been making a scene about nothing. Please forgive me.”
She nodded regally to Butch, then to the rest of us. And she walked into the meeting room, her head held high, clutching her water bottle.
We all followed. Mr. Cornwall raised his eyebrows, but he came along, just the same way I did. None of us asked a question or made a comment. We just went back to the meeting room.
But I sure did wonder what was in that basement. Miss Vanderklomp had already come by my office to quiz me about getting in there. Now she had apparently made a frontal attack on the underground section of the library, and Butch had barely stopped her from tearing off the crime-scene tape and invading the area.
What was down there?
As we filed in I realized that Carol had rejoined us, and Rhonda had also arrived. We all took our seats like ladies and
Carol slammed her fist on the table. “Abigail! Abigail! Saint Abigail! I’m sick of it. Abigail was a hard worker, but she was just a person! She was a nitpicker to end all nitpickers! I used to get so tired of her that I could barely hold my tongue. And now she’s dead, and she’s still causing trouble!”
With that Carol got up and walked out of the room, leaving Gwen, Mr. Cornwall, and me sitting there blankly.
“Wow!” I said. “A little pent-up resentment there, I guess.”
“Not pent-up anymore,” Mr. Cornwall said.
Gwen shook her head sadly, and Bailey gave a sudden cry from her sling.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Gwen said soothingly. “She’s just upset. People get upset. But they get over it.”
Would she? Carol’s reaction to Abigail’s death and the investigation into it seemed extreme. Would I have to report it to Hogan?
This wasn’t shaping up as a very polite meeting.
That thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard another loud voice coming from outside the meeting room. This time it was a man’s voice.
“No! No, I can’t allow it.”
“Mr. Cassidy! I must look for some personal property!”
That voice I recognized. It was Miss Ann Vanderklomp.
“No!” And the male voice was Butch Cassidy. “I’m responsible, Miss Vanderklomp. And you may not break the crime-scene tape and go into the basement.”
Chapter 11
Gwen, Corny Cornwall, and I all jumped up and rushed out of the meeting room. Butch Cassidy sounded as if he needed all the help he could get.
The door to the back hall and basement was only a few steps away, and he and Miss Vanderklomp were nose to nose outside it. They ignored us newcomers completely.
“Mr. Cassidy,” Miss Vanderklomp said. “I wish to remind you that this is the Vanderklomp Memorial Library. My family donated this building to Warner Pier, and I am accustomed to having a small say in how the institution is run.”
“And I’m accustomed to staying out of jail,” Butch said.
“Jail? I beg your pardon! Why would you be threatened with jail?”
“Because the authorities sealed that door, and they want it left that way. I am in charge of the library operations, so it’s my responsibility to see that the door remains sealed.”
“But some of my personal belongings are stored there. I must access the area.”
Butch frowned. “You are a private individual. You can’t use library space for personal uses.”
Miss Vanderklomp took a deep breath. She seemed to fill up like a parade balloon. With her gray bob, tall stature, and blocky build, all she needed was a pair of wooden shoes to look like a giant representation of the proverbial boy who stuck his finger in the dike. I almost looked for her mooring ropes, hoping we could keep her from floating away. Or maybe cut them and let her go.
But as she expanded, she turned slightly. And she saw her audience. Apparently she hadn’t noticed we were there earlier. And we deflated her.
She stepped back and seemed to become smaller. She smiled her most gracious smile and adjusted her bra straps.
“Mr. Cassidy,” she said, “I do apologize. I’ve been making a scene about nothing. Please forgive me.”
She nodded regally to Butch, then to the rest of us. And she walked into the meeting room, her head held high, clutching her water bottle.
We all followed. Mr. Cornwall raised his eyebrows, but he came along, just the same way I did. None of us asked a question or made a comment. We just went back to the meeting room.
But I sure did wonder what was in that basement. Miss Vanderklomp had already come by my office to quiz me about getting in there. Now she had apparently made a frontal attack on the underground section of the library, and Butch had barely stopped her from tearing off the crime-scene tape and invading the area.
What was down there?
As we filed in I realized that Carol had rejoined us, and Rhonda had also arrived. We all took our seats like ladies and
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