When I unlocked the door and pushed it open, I dropped Diesel’s leash, then I went around the room turning on lights. By the time I finished, Diesel was settled on his favorite perch—a bed placed on the wide windowsill behind my desk. I unhooked his leash, coiled it, and stuck it beside his bed.

Diesel purred while I readied myself for the workday. My jacket and satchel stowed, I sat at my desk, turned on my computer, and began to organize my day mentally.

I worked two days a week here as a cataloger and archivist, although I enjoyed what I did so much that I never really thought of it as labor. During my career as a librarian in Houston, I had spent much of my time as an administrator. Being able to catalog again was almost heaven after dealing for so long with budgets and personnel. I was content to be here with Diesel and the rare books.

I had barely begun to read my e-mail when I heard a tap at the door.

“Morning, Charlie.” Melba Gilley advanced into the room. She was as sleek as she had been in high school. Spectacular figure back then, and she still did. I liked Melba a lot, and she liked me, but so far we had both been content with simply reestablishing our friendship. I wasn’t ready to date yet, and now that I was approaching fifty, I wasn’t sure when or if I would be. I didn’t want the emotional complications a new relationship would bring.

“Morning, Melba,” I said. “How are you?”

Melba plopped into the chair by my desk, picked a nonexistent piece of fluff from her immaculate aubergine pantsuit, and said, “Excited. Aren’t you?” She looked past me at the window. “Morning, Diesel, honey.”

Diesel warbled a response but didn’t leave his bed.

“About what?” I frowned. What had I forgotten?

“The big reception tonight. What else would I be excited about?” Melba smiled. “It’s not every day Athena welcomes home a golden boy.”

“Oh, that,” I said. “Big deal.”

Melba shook her head at me. “Charlie Harris, you can’t tell me you’re not curious to see what Godfrey Priest is like after all these years. I know y’all didn’t get along in high school, but surely you want to see a famous author in the flesh.” She laughed.

I shook my head at her. “He was a jerkwad thirty-two years ago, and he’s probably an even bigger jerkwad now, just a rich one.”

“He’s had four wives,” Melba said. “Or so I hear tell. But I guess he can afford the alimony, as much as he makes off his books.”

“He hasn’t made much off me,” I said. “At least not since his first few books came out.”

“So you have read his books.” Melba almost crowed in triumph.