“I’m warning you. You’re playing with fire,” said Hayden, waggling his finger at her. “That book contains dangerous themes of desertion and cannibalism—the mothers are sure to object.”

“You’re probably right,” said Bitsy, putting the book back on the shelf.

“You know I am,” said Hayden, flashing her a smile. “See you at the meeting.”

The meeting, thought Bitsy, biting her lip. That was another sore point. The fact that the board met at the same time Bitsy was occupied with story hour was not coincidental. She was convinced it was their way of letting her know she was not a decision maker. She was just the hired help, allowed to join the meeting only for the last half hour to give her monthly report.

It hadn’t always been like that. When she first took the job, the board had sought her advice, and had adopted her suggestion that the library be expanded. But as time passed they seemed to grow less receptive to her views, and began easing her out of their meetings. They’d also become increasingly intrusive, always poking their noses into her work.

Bitsy checked her watch and resumed her search. She had better find something fast; it was already a quarter to eleven and little Sadie Orenstein had arrived. She was slowly slipping a big stack of books through the return slot in the circulation desk, one by one, while her mother studied the new books. The Orensteins were ferocious readers.

Pulling out book after book, she shook her head and shoved them back on the shelf. It seemed as if she had read them all, over and over. Absolutely nothing appealed until she found an old favorite, Rumpelstiltskin.

She smiled at the picture of the irate dwarf on the cover. The kids would like it, too, she thought. She would have them act it out and they could stamp their feet just like Rumpelstiltskin. Tucking the book under her arm, and telling Sadie she’d be right back, she hurried to the office. She’d just remembered that she had left a file open on the computer and wanted to close it.

There she found Ed Bumpus, yet another member of the board of directors, busy disassembling the copy machine. Ed was a big man and when he bent over the machine his shirt and pants parted, revealing rather more of his hairy backside than she wanted to see. She stared out the window, at a snow-covered pine tree.

“We want copies of the addition finances for the meeting, but the danged machine won’t work,” explained Ed. He was a contractor and never hesitated to reach for a screwdriver.

“That’s funny. It worked fine yesterday. Maybe it’s out of paper. Or needs toner. Did you check?”

“What kind of idiot do you take me for? Of course I checked!” snapped Ed, growing a bit red under his plaid flannel shirt collar.