“I’ll admit it,” I said. “I was curious, like everybody else in Athena. And I even liked the first few. They were entertaining. But then he started writing those violent thrillers, and the plots got more and more unbelievable.” My mouth twisted in distaste. “Not to mention the violence against women. Surely you don’t still read him?”

Melba shook her head. “No, I quit a few books back. Same reasons as you.”

“Then why are you so excited?”

“He’s a bestseller, a celebrity,” Melba said. “How often does a celebrity come to Athena? We could use some excitement.”

I rolled my eyes. “Surely you’re not forgetting the time Roberta Hill spray-painted her husband pink when she caught him dead drunk and naked in Liz Graham’s trailer? I hear tell that was exciting, especially when he woke up and chased her with an ax down Main Street.”

Melba hooted with laughter. “Oh honey, I wish you’d been here. I’ve never seen anything so funny in my life. Delbert all pink, and his personal bits flopping all over the place. I was coming out of the bank when he and his wife went flying by. He’s lucky Roberta didn’t do something worse, like take that ax to his weenie.”

I laughed too, trying not to think about an axed weenie. From behind me I heard Diesel purring, like he was laughing along with us.

Melba’s cell phone rang. Grimacing, she pulled it from the holster at her waist. She handled it like a gunslinger with years of practice, twirling it in her hand before holding it still to read the display. “His Majesty wants me.” She answered the call to assure our boss she’d be with him right away. Then she ended the conversation and replaced her phone after another twirl.

“Duty calls,” she said as she stood. “I swear, that man couldn’t find his tiny rear end if I wasn’t there to show him where it was.” She snickered.

“That’s why you’re such a valuable administrative assistant,” I said. “You know where everything is.”

Melba grinned. “See you later, hon.”

I chuckled. Peter Vanderkeller, the director of the library, resembled nothing more than a garden rake. His size thirteen feet seemed out of proportion to his emaciated six-foot-four frame. Melba swears she’s never seen him eat anything, and most of the time I believe her. I’d never seen him put anything in his mouth other than a pen or a pencil. He invariably chewed on one during meetings.

The silence after Melba’s departure felt good. Quiet is the last word anyone would use to describe her.