Key of Knowledge
Page 10

Druids and chanting, balefires and the hum that was the breath of gods.
“Oh, gee, Dana. I didn’t know you were off today.”
With her teeth going to auto-grind, Dana shifted her gaze from the book in her hand to Sandi’s overly cheerful face. “I’m not off. I’m working the stacks.”
“Really?” The big blue eyes widened. Long golden lashes fluttered. “It looked like you were reading. I thought maybe you were on your own time, doing more research. You’ve been doing a lot of research lately, haven’t you? Finally starting on your doctorate?”
With a bad-tempered little shove, Dana put the book back in place. Wouldn’t it be fun? she thought, to get the big silver scissors out of the drawer in her desk and whack off that detestable bouncing ponytail?
She’d just bet that would wipe that bright, toothy grin off Sandi’s face.
“You got the promotion, the pay raise, so what’s your problem, Sandi?”
“Problem? I don’t have a problem. We all know the policy about reading on the clock. So I’m sure it just looked like you were reading instead of manning the desk.”
“The desk is covered.” And when enough was enough, Dana thought, you finished it. “You spend a lot of your time worrying about what I’m doing, slinking around in the stacks behind me, eavesdropping when I’m speaking with a patron.”
Sandi’s perky smile turned into a perky sneer. “I certainly do not eavesdrop.”
“Bullshit,” Dana said in a quiet, pleasant tone that had Sandi’s dollbaby eyes going bright with shock. “You’ve been stepping on my heels for weeks. You got the promotion, I got the cut. But you’re not my supervisor, you’re not my boss. So you can kiss my ass.”
Though it wasn’t quite as rewarding as hacking off the ponytail might have been, it felt fabulous to just walk away, leaving Sandi sputtering.
She settled back at the desk and assisted two patrons with such good cheer and good fellowship that both left beaming. When she answered the phone, she all but sang out, “Pleasant Valley Library. Reference Desk. May I help you? Hey, Mr. Foy. You’re up, huh. Ah, uh-huh. Good one.” She chuckled as she scribbled down today’s trivia question. “It’ll take me a minute. I’ll call you back.”
She danced off to find the right book, flipped through it briefly in the stacks, then carried it back to the desk to make the return call.
“Got it.” She trailed down the page with her finger. “The Arctic tern migrates the farthest annually. Up to twenty thousand miles—wow—between the Arctic and Antarctic. Makes you wonder what’s in its birdy brain, doesn’t it?”
She shifted the phone as she caught sight of Sandi marching, like a damn drum majorette, toward the desk. “Nope, sorry, Mr. Foy, no complete set of American Tourister luggage for you today. The Arctic tern nips out the long-tailed jaeger by a couple thousand miles annually. Better luck next time. Talk to you tomorrow.”
She hung up, folded her hands, then lifted her eyebrows at Sandi. “Something I can do for you?”
“Joan wants to see you upstairs.” Thrusting her chin in the air, Sandi looked down her tiny, perfect nose. “Immediately.”
“Sure.” Dana tucked her hair behind her ear as she studied Sandi. “I bet you only had one friend in elementary school, and she was just as obnoxious as you are.” She slid off the stool.
Speaking of elementary school, Dana thought as she crossed the main floor, started up the stairs to administration, she herself felt as if she’d just gotten hauled into the principal’s office. A lowering sensation for a grown woman. And one, she decided, she was sick of experiencing.
Outside Joan’s door, Dana took a deep breath, squared her shoulders. She might feel like a guilty six-year-old, but she wasn’t going to look like one.
She knocked, briskly, then opened the door without waiting for a response. “You wanted to see me?”
At her desk, Joan leaned back. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into in a no-nonsense bun that, oddly enough, flattered her.
She wore a dark vest over a white blouse that was primly buttoned to her throat. The material hung flat, with barely a ripple to indicate there were br**sts beneath it.
Rimless half-glasses dangled from a gold chain around her neck. Dana knew her shoes would be low-heeled and sturdy and as no-nonsense as the hairstyle.
She looked, Dana decided, scrawny and dull—and the very image of the cliché that kept children out of libraries in droves.
Since Joan’s mouth was already set in disapproval, Dana didn’t expect the meeting to be a cheerful one.
“Shut the door, please. It appears, Dana, that you continue to have difficulty adjusting to the new policies and protocol I’ve implemented here.”
“So, Sandi raced right up to tattle that I was actually reading a book. Of all the horrors to commit in a public library.”
“Your combative attitude is only one of the problems we have to deal with.”
“I’m not going to stand here and defend myself for skimming a couple pages of a book while I was working in the stacks. Part of my function is to be informed about books, not just to point the patrons toward an area and wish them Godspeed. I do my job, Joan, and my evaluations from the previous director were never less than exemplary.”
“I’m not the previous director.”
“Damn straight. Less than six weeks after you took over, you cut my, and two other long-term employees’, hours and paychecks nearly in half. And your niece gets a promotion and a raise.”
“I was hired to pull this institution out of financial decline, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m not required to explain my administrative decisions to you.”
“No, you don’t have to. I get it. You don’t like me, I don’t like you. But I don’t have to like everyone I work with or for. I can still do my job.”
“It’s your job to follow the rules.” Joan flipped open a file. “Not to make and receive personal phone calls. Not to use library equipment for personal business. Not to spend twenty minutes gossiping with a patron while your duties are neglected.”
“Hold it.” Baffled rage spewed into her throat like a geyser. “Just hold it one minute. What’s she doing, making daily reports on me?”
Joan flipped the file shut. “You think too much of yourself.”