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“I need another book, preferably Grisham or Crichton.”
“That’s easy enough. We have dozens.”
I followed her to the appropriate section, and she pointed to the Crichton options first. I grabbed the first one I saw, knowing I hadn’t already checked it out.
“I was also wondering whether you knew Bruce Huang.”
She frowned. “The town hermit?”
“I thought Otto Visconti was the town hermit.”
“No, Otto is reclusive, but he interacts with people in one form or another. Bruce is a straight-up hermit. He doesn’t interact with anybody.”
“And he never will, unfortunately. Bruce is dead.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “That’s a shame.”
“Can you tell me anything about him?” I was hopeful that information about Bruce might lead to information about the secret inside the house.
The sound of an electric wheelchair interrupted us. Hailey pulled me flat against the stacks until the threat passed.
“What do you want to know?” she whispered.
“Anything you can tell me. How long did he live there? Do you know if he had any relatives? Did he ever check out a book?”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes. He used the delivery service though. He never came in person.”
“There’s a delivery service?”
Hailey nodded. “It’s mainly for people who can’t get transportation or are housebound. Pete Alton is our driver. He’s been doing it forever. I rue the day he decides to retire.”
“I’d be interested to know which books Bruce borrowed and when.”
Hailey peered around the corner. “The coast is clear. Follow me.” She crept along the aisle, pausing every so often to listen, then continuing forward until she reached her office. “I can check the computer records. Close the door.”
I obeyed the order. Hailey kept her head lowered as she typed furiously on the keyboard.
“Why are you interested in Bruce?” she asked, still typing.
“Professional interest.”
“Uh-huh.” She scanned the screen. “Would you like me to print out his records?”
“You can do that?”
“I’m a librarian,” she said. “I can do anything.” She hit a button, and the printer came alive. “Crap. The vultures are circling.”
I turned. Through the glass panel, I saw a few white heads gathered outside the office. More like a wheezing flock of seagulls. A knock on the door followed my observation.
“Should I open it?” I asked.
Sighing, Hailey handed me the printout. “Yes. I have a duty to the public.”
I opened the door to see a woman leaning on a walker. “You’re not Hailey,” she said to me accusingly.
“I’m right here, Mrs. Watkins.” Hailey waved from her chair. “How are you today? It’s good to see you up and around again.”
“Hello, Hailey, dear. I was wondering if you have any books about canker sores. At least, I think that’s what this is. Let me show you.” Using her walker, she inched toward the visitor chair.
