Taking his cue, I turned back to the table to see Azalea standing a few feet away.

“You best be mindin’ your own business, Mr. Charlie.” Her fierce expression hit me like a laser, and it took all I had not to crawl under the table to escape from those eyes. Diesel did disappear under there. “What’s between me and that woman ain’t nobody’s business in this house. Ain’t never gonna be.” She stomped past me and moments later I heard the thud of her feet on the stairs.

FIVE

I felt about three inches tall, and to judge by Stewart’s expression, he was experiencing a similar amount of chagrin.

Stewart pushed away from the counter. “Guess I’d better head to my meeting, discretion being the better part of valor and all that.” He headed for the front door after treating me to a pale imitation of his usual cocky grin.

“Guess you and I had better hop it up the stairs, boy, and dress for work.” I got up from the table, and Diesel trotted toward the hall. With a rueful glance at my unfinished breakfast I followed the cat upstairs. With any luck I could get out the front door without encountering Azalea again. I was frankly surprised she hadn’t given me notice, but I supposed it would take more than my nosiness to make her relinquish her job.

While I got ready for work, I thought more about Azalea’s reaction to my nosiness. Vera must have done something terrible to merit such loathing. I would have to be careful about mentioning Vera’s name in front of my housekeeper. I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. I’d embarrassed myself enough already. Maybe if I tiptoed lightly around her, Azalea would eventually forgive me. Otherwise her baleful presence might be too much to live with.

I continued to mull over the issue while Diesel and I walked to work, but I was simply treading the same ground over and over. While I divested myself of my coat and scarf, Diesel leaped into the window behind my desk and settled down to gaze outside and eventually to nap. He meowed twice as I sat and switched on the computer. I obliged with a few rubs on his head and ears, and he rewarded me with a loud purr.

After dealing with various e-mails, several of which required detailed responses, I focused my attention on cataloging. The Delacorte Collection was my current project, and I got a tiny thrill every time I touched one of the often-rare volumes, like the first editions of titles as diverse as Pride and Prejudice and Whose Body? I regretted the manner in which the college had obtained the books—a legacy from the late James Delacorte who had been murdered—but the opportunity to work closely with such gems was such stuff as catalogers’ dreams are made on.

I smiled. Laura would appreciate my slight misquotation of Shakespeare, no doubt.

Diesel dozed in the window behind me, and other than the occasional yawn or lazy warble, I heard only the music I played while I worked. Today I listened to Telemann horn concertos. The precision of Baroque music, I generally found, provided a certain orderliness to my thought processes.