Page 17 of Box of Frogs
Sick. I pushed aside my disgust. ‘Do you still have the letters?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I threw them out.’
‘And the … animal bits?’
She made a face. ‘No.’
I wrinkled my nose. It didn’t give me much to go on. ‘Do you have reason to suspect anyone in particular?’
Julie raised her hands helplessly. ‘No. I have a list of people who’ve crossed the line. Fans, people like that. My agent drew it up for me. Mark has a copy. We’ve been through it but I don’t think there’s anyone on it who fits this profile.’ There was something about the way her eyes shifted that suggested she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Rather than put me off, I was more intrigued.
I tapped my mouth. This did indeed seem like a job for someone who believed they were a superhero – and it certainly beat tramping the streets searching for random people in need of help. ‘Okay,’ I began. ‘I’ll help…’
Her face broke into a wreath of smiles. ‘Thank you! Thank you so much!’ She reached into her pocket and drew out a key. ‘This is for my house.’ She passed it to me, grabbed a napkin and scribbled down the address. ‘I’ve got to be on set in an hour and I won’t be home till after eight, but you can go and make yourself comfortable. It’ll also give you some time to do your own investigations into yourself.’ She bounced up and planted a kiss on my cheek. ‘This is going to be great, Madrona. You won’t regret it.’
Before I could say another word, she scooped up her bag and launched herself out of the café as if she were afraid that I’d change my mind. The door had just clanged shut behind her when the waiter appeared with two plates in his hands. He glanced at Julie’s empty seat.
‘Ms Chivers has gone?’ He was visibly disappointed.
The salty aroma of bacon hit my nostrils. ‘Yep. Just as well too.’ I grinned at the plates as if they were long-lost friends. ‘I’m starving.’
***
Although I wanted to get to Julie’s house before she returned from work so I could investigate her home security, I had more than enough time to focus on my own problems first. I drew up a mental list, prioritising each item. As soon as I’d finished eating, I made a beeline for the city library, using the directions of various passers-by in order to get there. There were no signs of Timmons and his crew nor of tall Amazonian women nor, disappointingly, of green-eyed Dark and Despicable. That was a good thing, I tried to tell myself. I almost believed it.
The library building was satisfyingly old and impressive. Fashioned out of granite, it was a large, imposing, circular structure with towering grey stone columns at the front and smaller versions encircling the third-floor façade. It didn’t look in any way familiar to my poor damaged mind but I was still impressed. I loped up the stairs at the front and entered.
A sign dangling from the ceiling directed me to the line of computers. Sitting down at the only empty monitor, I tapped on the keys. A login screen appeared. With neither a username nor a password, I glared at it for a long moment, as if I could will it to permit me access through sight alone. When that didn’t work, I sighed audibly and stalked to the front desk.
The bespectacled clerk, whose attention was wholly on the screen in front of him and whose name tag proclaimed him as Ernest, completely ignored me. I coughed loudly. Without glancing up, he held up his index finger indicating that I should wait.
‘I want access to the computers,’ I said in an overly loud voice. Several people turned their heads to look at the person who was daring to interrupt the librarian from his game of Solitaire.
‘Just a moment.’ Ernest still didn’t look up.
I drummed my fingers on the reception desk and regretted it almost instantly when pain flared up through my arm from my finger. I yanked my arm back and cradled it against my body. Bloody hell, it hurt. ‘Ernest,’ I said. ‘If I were going to pick a name for a librarian, it would be Ernest. Are you called Ernie for short? Do you have a friend called Bert? Are you earnest, Ernest? You look earnest. I…’
He looked at me. Excellent. I smiled at him beatifically; that was better.
As if the weight of the world were on his shoulders rather than that of a few books, he sighed. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I would like to access the computers.’ I paused. ‘Please.’ See? I could be nice.
‘Are you a member of this library?’
Probably not. ‘Nope.’
‘I’ll need your name and address and two forms of identification. You’ll need to fill in this form,’ he said, pulling out a lengthy sheet of paper attached to a clipboard from a drawer. ‘And then you can book a computer.’
I stared at him. ‘I don’t want to move in, Mr Wiffle-Waffle. I just want to use a computer.’
‘Mr what?’
‘Ernest. Mr Ernest.’ I smiled again. It didn’t appear to appease him.
Using the tip of his index finger, he slid the bridge of his glasses up his nose. ‘We can offer you a temporary membership for today but you’ll still need to fill in the form. And show me ID.’
‘I don’t have any.’
