I hadn’t needed to spell it out for Melba. Anyone who knew Godfrey in our high school days wouldn’t be a bit surprised.

Melba left after a few more comments on Godfrey and his behavior, and I was able to work for a while with no interruptions.

Around four o’clock I realized I was thirsty. I rummaged in my bag, but I had forgotten to bring any bottled water with me. Taking a large plastic mug with me, I headed downstairs to the staff lounge for the filtered water cooler there. Diesel yawned at me, declining to come with me.

The walk down and up the stairs would do me good. I spent so much time hunched over the computer that my back generally ached by the time I got home at night. I hardly ever remembered to get up and stretch the way I should.

I rounded the bottom of the staircase and walked down the short hallway to the back of the house. The room that had once been the study-cum-office of the master of the house had been converted into a congenial space where library employees could eat lunch, have some coffee, and relax.

I hadn’t expected to find anyone in the lounge at this time of the afternoon, but Willie Clark sat at one of the tables, frowning down at the legal pad in front of him. He put down his pen as he heard me enter and scowled at me.

Since this was Willie’s general greeting to everyone, I took no offense. He, too, had been one of my classmates in high school. He had never been friendly, but that probably wasn’t his fault. He was the kid who was always the butt of the joke, the one the football team—Godfrey was captain our senior year—never failed to harass. Even those who, like me, tried to be nice to him didn’t get very far. He hadn’t changed much as an adult, sad to say.

“How are you, Willie?” I regarded him with a smile as I filled my mug from the cooler.

“Fine,” he snapped back at me. For someone who served as the head of the library’s reference department, Willie was lacking in people skills. “Trying to work, if people will let me.”

As long as I had known him, Willie had been scribbling words on pieces of paper. I presumed he wanted to be a writer, but I never heard that he managed to publish anything.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you,” I said. I turned to leave, but Willie spoke again, and I turned back.

“Godfrey Priest came to see you,” Willie said. “Heard he got into a fight, too.” He smirked.

“Yes, he did,” I said. “I guess the whole town has heard about it now.”