The Chocolate Book Bandit Read Free Page A

board?”
    “No. No, she’s an honorary member. She always attends. It seems—well, rude to start without her.”
    Butch frowned.
    “And she’s here!”
    Miss Vanderklomp shot into the room as if she’d been propelled by a cannon. “Late, as usual!” Her voice was close to a shout, and, yes, it managed to be both nasal and very deep. She was tall, nearly as tall as I am, and I’m close to six feet. Her build was husky, and her silver-gray hair was cropped into a thick Dutch bob that stuck out over each ear. She dropped several file folders and a plastic water bottle onto the table. She plunked herself into a folding chair with such force I expected the chair to collapse. She reached inside her blouse—first the right shoulder, then the left—and adjusted her bra straps. Then she took a drink from her water bottle. It was the opaque kind of plastic, so you couldn’t see the color of its contents. It could well have held Pepsi, just as Tony had claimed.
    “Sorry for my dilatory habits,” she boomed.
    I was staring openmouthed. Tony’s parody of her had been unbelievably accurate. For the first time I fully appreciated his humor.
    But nobody on the library board laughed.
    Instead, Gwen spoke quietly. “Abigail Montgomery isn’t here either.”
    “She’s in the building,” Rhonda said. “I saw her when I came in. She’ll be along. Let the meeting come to order.”
    Apparently no one was concerned about waiting for Abigail, even though Abigail, unlike Miss Vanderklomp, was an official member of the board. In fact, she was the person I had been invited to replace. That seemed rather odd.
    The meeting went on. Abigail didn’t appear. No one seemed to notice.
    The business seemed routine. Minutes, various committees. There was a simple financial report from Butch Cassidy. This made me ask about Carol’s duties as secretary-treasurer, and Carol explained that the title “treasurer” simply indicated she chaired the financial committee. A library staff member kept any financial records, passing them on to the city treasurer.
    After twenty minutes I had concluded that Carol’s assessment of the board was right; they didn’t do much.
    Actually, there was not much need for them to take action. The staff and building expenses for the library were paid by the Village of Warner Pier. The city council, for example, had officially hired the new director. The board merely advised on programs and operations. They were more citizen representatives than officials.
    Butch Cassidy didn’t suggest any revolutionary changes at his first meeting. His report didn’t draw much reaction until he got to the final item.
    “I found a request for a change in hours among the director’s files,” he said. “I was surprised to learn that the Warner Pier Public Library has never been open on Sundays.”
    “The previous director didn’t recommend that,” Rhonda said.
    “In August a group of students requested that the library be open Sunday afternoons during the school year. This seems to be a reasonable request, and I’ve—”
    “Humph!” The syllable exploded from Miss Vanderklomp’s lips. “Think carefully, Mr. Cassidy! That might be a dangerous precedent!”
    Butch looked surprised. Then he frowned. “But it’s standard practice—”
    He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Before he could say another word, an enormous shriek echoed through the building.
    We all reacted. I jumped up and headed for the door. Gwen’s baby joined the clamor. The front legs of Dr. Cornwall’s chair hit the floor with a crash. Carol yelled out. “What’s that? What! What!”
    I was the first person out, because I’d been nearest the door. The noise was coming from across the main room. Peering between the stacks, I saw Betty Blake, the clerk who’d been checking out books, running toward the front of the building.
    I scurried after her. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”
    “Help! Call 9-1-1!”
    “What’s happened?”
    “I