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she hadn’t given me notice, but I supposed it would take more than my nosiness to make her relinquish her job.
    While I got ready for work, I thought more about Azalea’s reaction to my nosiness. Vera must have done somethingterrible to merit such loathing. I would have to be careful about mentioning Vera’s name in front of my housekeeper. I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. I’d embarrassed myself enough already. Maybe if I tiptoed lightly around her, Azalea would eventually forgive me. Otherwise her baleful presence might be too much to live with.
    I continued to mull over the issue while Diesel and I walked to work, but I was simply treading the same ground over and over. While I divested myself of my coat and scarf, Diesel leaped into the window behind my desk and settled down to gaze outside and eventually to nap. He meowed twice as I sat and switched on the computer. I obliged with a few rubs on his head and ears, and he rewarded me with a loud purr.
    After dealing with various e-mails, several of which required detailed responses, I focused my attention on cataloging. The Delacorte Collection was my current project, and I got a tiny thrill every time I touched one of the often-rare volumes, like the first editions of titles as diverse as
Pride and Prejudice
and
Whose Body?
I regretted the manner in which the college had obtained the books—a legacy from the late James Delacorte who had been murdered—but the opportunity to work closely with such gems was such stuff as catalogers’ dreams are made on.
    I smiled. Laura would appreciate my slight misquotation of Shakespeare, no doubt.
    Diesel dozed in the window behind me, and other than the occasional yawn or lazy warble, I heard only the music I played while I worked. Today I listened to Telemann horn concertos. The precision of Baroque music, I generally found, provided a certain orderliness to my thought processes.
    My concentration was so deep, in fact, that I worked foralmost two hours without a break. Only a series of sharp raps on the office door pulled me out of a state of deep concentration.
    I stood and stretched my back and arms as I glanced at the door. I figured the person who knocked was my friend Melba Gilley, who worked downstairs in the library director’s office. She visited Diesel and me at least once a day.
    The person who strode into the office was Vera Cassity. To my knowledge this was her first visit to the college archives, and I wondered why on earth she was here now.
    “Good morning, Mr. Harris.” She stopped two feet in front of my desk and frowned. Her shoulders twitched a couple of times.
    It took me a moment to realize that she expected me to take her coat—a mink I regarded with considerable distaste—and to offer her a chair. I hurried to accommodate her as I returned her greeting.
    The mink safely placed on another chair and Vera seated properly, I returned to my position behind my desk.
    “Tell me, Mr. Harris, do you enjoy your job here at the college?” Vera cocked her head to the right and regarded me with what she probably intended as a friendly smile.
    “Yes, I do, very much.” Behind me I heard Diesel mutter for a moment before he subsided. Vera’s presence bothered him, and I had to admit I felt faintly uneasy.
    “That’s good.” Vera’s head returned to an upright position, and her gaze bored into mine.
    The silence lengthened as I waited for the woman to explain the purpose of her visit. I was determined not to speak again until she continued.
    At last she spoke. “I’m sure you know my husband and I give a lot of money to the college.”
    I nodded. “I’ve heard about the scholarships for deservingstudents. Very generous of you.” When would the blasted woman get to the point?
    Vera nodded, her expression smug. “I heard that one of the lucky boys actually lives with you. Justin Wardlaw.”
    “Yes, he boards with me. He’s a fine young man and truly worthy of your scholarship.”
    Vera’s