He got busy staring at the floor sheepishly but watched Margaret Miller’s face out of the corner of his eye for hints as to how he was doing so far. Not well by the stern look on her face.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have a public printer here. I’ve requested one, but it’s not in our budget this year.”

“Oh,” he said and let himself deflate. “They said you had one in the back office.”

“Well, yes, but that’s only for staff use.”

Come on, lady. Don’t make me cry for you.

He nodded in somber understanding and clenched his jaw in a stoic restraint of manly emotion. Would a chin quiver be overkill?

“Can you think of anywhere else I can try?” he asked.

“Well, there’s a print shop, but that’s all the way over in . . .” Mrs. Miller looked up at the clock. “No, you’ll never make it in time.”

“It’s okay. Maybe they won’t mind that much.”

Margaret Miller sighed.

“Do you have it on a disk or something?”

“Thumb drive,” he said and held it out helpfully to her.

“What’s it called?”

“It’s just called ‘résumé.’ It’s the only file.”

She stared at it a long time. Deciding his fate.

“Follow me,” she said with a sigh.

She led him back into the stacks to the librarian’s office, which sat in a far back corner away from the front desk. She managed to hold her tongue for the first twenty feet, but then turned and began gently chiding him for being irresponsible. About how his uncle had stuck his neck out for him, and it was wrong to let him down like this. It almost seemed therapeutic for her, and he nodded and muttered apologetic “I knows” and “you’re rights” in the appropriate places. Seemed only fair.

She unlocked her office door and paused.

“Please forgive the mess,” she said.

She wasn’t lying either. Her desk was buried beneath a mountain of papers that ought to have come with an avalanche warning. Books were stacked on the floor, and all of her plants required water or last rites.

The only tidy area in the office was the workstation that sat next to a rack of servers. Again, he was impressed at Somerset County’s commitment to its computer infrastructure. But it sure wasn’t Margaret Miller, who didn’t know what or where a USB port was. Gibson had to politely point out where to plug in the thumb drive. However, she insisted on printing the document herself, which was fine. He’d embedded his virus into the résumé; as soon as she opened it, the program would install itself to the machine and then erase all record of its download. It would lie dormant until he activated it.