I dropped her hand and resisted the urge to pull out my handkerchief to wipe it. My tone was stiff as I replied, “No need to apologize, Ms. Duffy. Diesel is pretty large for a domestic cat, and he’s been known to startle people before. He’s a gentle giant, though, I can assure you, and has always been welcome at the library.”

Ms. Duffy’s grimace lingered. “Is he yours?”

I nodded.

“Sorry, but I can’t stand cats. He might be gentle, but if I go back in there, I’ll just have another panic attack.” Mrs. Taylor patted her shoulder.

Despite my irritation at her brusqueness, I felt sorry for her. Irrational fear can wreak havoc in a person’s life, and I could only imagine the terror she felt because of her phobia. “Perhaps I could help you now, out here, so that you don’t have to go back in the building. Or I can take Diesel home, and you can get help from one of the other library staff.”

Ms. Duffy shook her head. “No, don’t bother. If there’s somewhere to sit outside, you might as well help me here. At least the weather is pleasant. Not too hot, with a little breeze.” She glanced about and spotted the bench in front of the shrubbery near the front door. She headed for it, and Mrs. Taylor and I followed. I would have to overlook the woman’s less-than-gracious behavior.

The two women sat, and I stood in front of them because the bench was made for two. Mrs. Taylor spoke for the first time since her introduction. “Della is a collector, Mr. Harris. I’ve known her for a dozen years or so.”

“Charlie, please.” I forced a smile, though Mrs. Taylor had been anything but rude. I addressed the other woman. “I suppose you read about the library’s planned event with Electra Barnes Cartwright.”

Ms. Duffy nodded. “Carrie here also e-mailed me, and I can’t tell you how excited I was to hear such wonderful news. I’ve been a fan of Mrs. Cartwright’s since I was ten years old, and the thought of actually getting to meet her . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“We know, dear.” Carrie Taylor patted the other woman’s arm. “Both Charlie and I are fans of EBC’s, too.”

“Do you always refer to her as EBC?” I asked Mrs. Taylor.

She grinned. “I’m so used to it now I hardly realize I’m doing it. It’s convenient shorthand, and the readers of my newsletter are used to it, too.”

“Her full name is rather a mouthful.” I turned to Ms. Duffy. “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

Her response was tart. “I want to know when I can meet Mrs. Cartwright.”