Curiosity Thrilled the Cat Read Free

garden, but somehow it’s not quite the same. Something, somehow, is different.
    I heard voices then, coming from the back of the library where the new digital card catalogue and computers were going to be located. Voices too loud for the library. Now that the major work on the building was finished we were open to the public again, but it was usually quiet in the early evening.
    I walked past the new shelving units, ready for books. Susan, one of my staff members, stood with her back to me, next to the boxes of computers waiting for the new electrical outlets to be installed so they could be set up and connected.
    “—do understand how frustrating this is,” I heard her say in her patient-mom voice. Susan had two preschoolers at home and nothing rattled her.
    “My dear, there is no conceivable way that you could fathom the depth of my frustration,” the man standing opposite her said. He made a sweeping gesture with both hands. Since he was well over six feet tall the movement looked very theatrical, and maybe that was what he’d intended. “How am I supposed to work under these insufferable conditions?”
    I came out from the row of bookshelves and moved to stand next to Susan. There were two pencils poking out of her Pebbles Flintstone updo. She gave a small sigh and an even smaller smile.
    “Susan, is there a problem?” I asked.
    “Mr. Easton was hoping to use one of our computers to send some e-mail,” she said. “His BlackBerry isn’t working.”
    Easton. Of course. Gregor Easton. The well-known composer and conductor was the guest artist for the Wild Rose Summer Music Festival at the Stratton Theater. He’d been in town practicing for about a week.
    “Mr. Easton, I’m sorry,” I said. “As you can see, our computer system isn’t ready yet.”
    “Yes, I can see that,” he said, making another flamboyant gesture with his arm. “And you would be?” He looked me over, taking in my plain white T-shirt, cropped yoga pants and messenger bag. I slipped the bag off my shoulder and reached up to set it on top of the metal cabinet we were using to hold most of the old card files. “I’m Kathleen Paulson,” I said, offering my hand. “I’m the head librarian.”
    I probably didn’t look like I should be in charge. I’ve always looked younger than my age, and my mother promised that once I was over thirty I’d be happy about that. Sometimes I was. This time I would have liked to look older and a little more imposing—hard to do when you’re only five and a half feet tall with a half-grown-out pixie haircut that sticks out in all the wrong places.
    Easton had to be in his early seventies, but his grip was strong and his hand was smooth and uncallused. A lot smoother than mine.
    “Miss Paulson, I’m sorry to say your library is in chaos.”
    I couldn’t help a glance around. The end wall with the stained-glass window had been reinforced and the window itself repaired and cleaned. Most of the new shelves were filled with books. The walls had been plastered and painted. The circulation desk was almost finished, and Oren’s sun seemed to shine over everything. So many people had spent so many hours on this building. It looked wonderful.
    I swallowed to hide my annoyance.
    He continued. “According to the guidebook in my hotel suite the library is supposed to provide Internet service.”
    “I apologize for that,” I said. “The guide arrived early and our computers arrived late.”
    “But your computers are here now,” he said. “Why couldn’t one of them be connected?”
    Connected? To what? Did he really expect us to unpack one of the computers right now and magically get it up and running so he could check his schedule?
    Susan and I exchanged looks. Her mouth was a straight, serious line, but the eyes behind her glasses were laughing.
    Easton gave me a practiced celebrity-greeting-the little-people smile. Unpack one of those computers just for him? When pigs fly, I thought.
    Unfortunately,