Connie hung up the phone in her office and went to the front desk. Margaret was checking out books for Mrs. Morgan, Pauline was on the phone at the reference desk, William was restacking books, and Phyllis, who usually worked in the office processing new books, was helping a gentleman with the microfiche reader. A young woman with waist-length, strikingly black hair and deeply tanned skin—a woman whom Connie did not recognize—stood browsing at the magazine and newspaper racks. Everyone was busy, but for a Monday morning, it was relatively slow. Looking out the window, Connie saw it was starting to snow, which might explain the morning’s lack of usual patrons.
“Oh, there you are, Constance.” Mrs. Morgan—one of only two people in the world who regularly used Connie’s birth name—adjusted her red gloves and buttoned her white faux fur coat. “Perhaps you could be of assistance. I’ve had my name on the waiting list for The Thorn Birds for quite some time. Can you tell me when it will become available?” She tucked a tuft of rebellious silver hair back up under her hat and patted it to make sure it stayed in place.
“Well, let’s see.” Connie walked around the desk to check the reserve file.
Mrs. Morgan followed her on the other side of the desk. She leaned toward Connie and cast a sideways glance at Margaret. “Margaret said I’m fourth on the list. Is that correct?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And if so, can that be right?” Her eyes shifted to Margaret again who was now busy with another patron, then back to Connie. “As I said, I’ve been on the list for quite some time now.” She straightened herself and placed her gloved hands on the desk, one on top of the other.
Connie caught the look that Pauline—phone cradled between shoulder and ear—shot at her from across the room, indicating Margaret. Even without the look, Connie knew what was going on.
“I’m afraid Margaret is correct, Mrs. Morgan.” Connie held up four index cards, the fourth one with Mrs. Morgan’s name on it. “As for it being right, I’m not exactly sure what you mean by that. Rest assured,” Connie nodded, placing a hand on Mrs. Morgan’s gloved hands, “we do have multiple copies, and we don’t allow renewals on books with waiting lists, so it shouldn’t be too much longer.” Connie smiled and withdrew her hand. “It is a very popular book, Mrs. Morgan.” She slipped the reserve cards back into the file before Mrs. Morgan asked to see them, which would not have been out of character for her to request.
“I suppose.” Mrs. Morgan huffed, tapping her red fingers on the desk. “I suppose I’ll just keep waiting like everyone else. Though, I must tell you Constance, lately it does seem that I have had to wait an inordinately long time for the books I put on reserve.” Mrs. Morgan adjusted her hat, tilting it just so. “I do trust that you are doing your best, Constance, and that’s all the good citizens of our fair city can ask of you.” She nodded. “I will wait patiently.” Mrs. Morgan picked up her small stack of books. “Thank you, Constance, and good day.” Mrs. Morgan said nothing as she passed by Margaret and exited the library.
“I trust that you are doing your best, Constance. Thank you, Constance, and good day.” Not smiling at the whispered mockery, Connie turned to Margaret.
“Margaret, if you wouldn’t mind.” Connie walked around the front desk toward the office and motioned with her head for Margaret to follow. “Pauline.” She waited for Pauline, who was still on the phone, to acknowledge her. “Margaret will be back in a moment.” Pauline nodded, and Connie caught the beginning of a grin.
Connie waited for Margaret to enter the office before closing the door. She kept one hand on the knob and the other planted on her hip. “Please tell me you haven’t been skipping over Mrs. Morgan on the reserve lists.”
Margaret started to answer, stopped, shrugged.
Connie sighed. “Margaret.” She shook her head. “You are a wonderful friend and a great coworker, and I know the history between you and Mrs. Morgan, but this has gone on long enough. I cannot have a city employee playing childish mind games with the mayor’s wife.”
Margaret snapped her fingers and pointed at Connie. “Gotcha, boss.” She was about to say something else, but stopped when she saw Connie wasn’t laughing or smiling or exuding any sort of happy vibes at all.
“As funny as it may be in a twisted library humor sort of way, and as much as Mrs. Morgan may deserve it, it nonetheless has to stop.”
In all seriousness—well, maybe not all seriousness, but as close to it as she could get under the circumstances—Margaret wiped the smirk off her face with one hand and said, “I will henceforth cease and desist from tampering with Mrs. Morgan’s reserve requests.” She seemed to get the message that Connie was serious, although that did not stop her from playfully rolling her eyes as she walked around Connie to leave the office.
Connie let go of the doorknob. “I saw that,” she said in a more relaxed voice. “Don’t go too far. City Hall called a few minutes ago.”
Margaret spun around, mouth agape, eyes wide.
“No, it wasn’t the mayor calling to inquire as to why his wife was getting the runaround by our resident psychotic librarian. It was Stella in the city clerk’s office. Apparently there’s a major storm coming that has the potential for ‘significant accumulation’ and the mayor is closing all city offices early. You tell Pauline that you both can leave as soon as you finish what you’re doing. I’ll tell Phyllis and William.”
“OK, boss.” Margaret opened the office door and looked over her shoulder at Connie. “Don’t forget Claire downstairs.”
Connie snapped her fingers, pointed at Margaret, and winked. “Gotcha.”