The Stargazey by Martha Grimes

door.”
    â€œJust what’s in this for you, Theo, old sweat?” asked Trueblood. “Why this agitation to close the poor two-room library and lose Una Twinny’s job for her?”
    â€œAbsolutely nothing. I’m merely trying to save the taxpayers money.”
    â€œCompletely altruistic motive, is it?”
    Theo, never popular in the first place, realized his popularity was taking a further plunge. He tossed his remaining whisky down his throat and rose. “I’m taking delivery on some books. Got to go.” He wheeled out as he’d wheeled in.
    â€œWe could privatize; that’s the direction the country’s going anyway,” said Melrose.
    â€œThere’s got to be some marketing, some PR. Get Twinny to sell lottery tickets? Rent videos? . . . Drink?” Trueblood asked Diane.
    â€œYou can’t dispense alcohol in a library,” said Diane. “Unfortunately.”
    â€œNo, no, old girl. I’m asking, Do you want another drink?”
    Melrose brought his fist down on the table and jumped his glass. “That’s it! I’ve got it! A coffee bar: espresso, cappuccino. Like they do in those great big bookstores in the States. I’m surprised Browne hasn’t come up with that for his place.”
    Trueblood, his refill forgotten, turned this over in his mind while firing up a jade-green Sobranie. “You know, that’s rather interesting, oldsweat. I say, it just might work. There’s that second room Una Twinny uses for storage, but there’s not much to store so it might just accommodate the coffee bar. I could get my hands on one of those espresso machines. Then there’s a fridge; that’d be easy. Furnishings—counter, stools, tables, and chairs, which, in all of the sales I come across, would be easily found. I can bear the cost of a lot of it; it’ll be dirt cheap. You bear the cost of the supplies—coffee, milk, biscuits. And I’d bet anything Betty Ball would contribute scones, croissants, whatever. Una Twinny is a good friend of Betty’s.”
    â€œBut who’d run it? Who’d do the coffees? Miss Twinny wouldn’t have time.”
    â€œThe library is only open three days a week.” Trueblood waved the difficulty away. “Someone in the village could do it. . . . ” He looked at Diane.
    Who looked back.
    Trueblood went on. “Well, someone will. Of course! Vivian, she’s just the person!”
    â€œShe’s in Venice,” said Melrose.
    â€œ Now she is. But she’ll be back soon.”
    â€œIf they’re not out dragging the Grand Canal for her.” This was Diane’s happy thought. “I tried to tell her before she left not to go. Neptune’s transiting her solar house.”
    â€œThat’s bad?” asked Melrose.
    â€œDreadful. Anyway,” Diane went on, brushing a bit of ash from her white sleeve, “if nothing happens she’ll be back next week. Friday or Saturday.”
    â€œHer horoscope says?”
    Diane rolled her eyes at Melrose’s obtuseness. “No, that’s what she said. The stars can’t track every little detail, after all.”
    â€œNo?” said Trueblood. “They’re certainly tracking my objets d’art. Now: our coffee bar. We’ll need a cat or a dog.”
    â€œA cat? Why in hell do we need a cat or a dog? To make the cappuccino?”
    â€œEvery library has something four-legged, old sweat. They’re to lie around and look content.” Trueblood sucked a piece of ice. “We couldjust borrow one from the village. What about Desperado?” The Broad-stairs cat was always mauling the other village cats.
    â€œDesperado? Are you joking?” said Melrose. “He’d eat everything in sight, besides wrestling us to the ground doing it. He’ll check out all the weight-lifting books.”
    Trueblood said, “Anyway, that’s just a