Page 28 of The Librarians
Sophie’s door opens. She beckons stiffly. “Jonathan, Hazel, will you two come in here for a second?”
“Sure,” says Jonathan.
“What—what about me?” Astrid pipes up.
“You can keep getting ready for the teen book club meeting tonight, Astrid. Thank you.”
Astrid doesn’t look so much relieved as befuddled.
Hazel gives her a squeeze on the arm before she follows Jonathan into Sophie’s office. It is a nice size for one person, but with five people crammed in, Hazel can barely find a place to stand without crowding into a silk ficus tree or a file cabinet.
Sophie introduces the visitors as Detective Hagerty and Detective Gonzalez, Hagerty being the man and Gonzalez the woman. And they are indeed on the premises to investigate Jeannette Obermann’s death.
Detective Hagerty, a white man with a craggy face and military bearing, gives his email to Jonathan and asks for the list of patrons who registered for Game Night as well as photographs taken during the event by library staff.
“Can we have everything ASAP, Mr. Webster?” asks Detective Hagerty.
“Call me Jonathan, Detective,” says Jonathan. “And I will take care of this right away.”
He glances at Hazel before he leaves. Hazel, on the other hand, keeps an eye on Sophie. The administrator, her hands braced on the back of her swivel chair, looks a normal amount of rattled for someone who likes order and orderliness dealing with a sudden influx of chaos. But behind a wastepaper basket, which blocks the detectives’ view but not Hazel’s, Sophie is grinding the toe box of her gleaming black heel into the carpet, as if the pressure from her left foot is the only thing that keeps the seams of Hell from ripping open.
Detective Hagerty turns his attention to Hazel. “Now, Ms. Lee, you sat next to Ms. Obermann during Game Night, at the same table.”
Hazel does not request the use of her given name. She is perfectly comfortable being addressed as Ms. Lee. “That is correct, Detective.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions for us?”
“Of course not,” says Hazel.
“Normally you’d be able to use the meeting room, but our English conversation group is in there right now,” says Sophie. “Hazel, why don’t you show the detectives to the staff office? I’m sure everyone will understand.”
Hazel nearly raises a brow. Is she reading too much into it or is Sophie implying that the police are inconveniencing the librarians?
She smiles at the detectives. “This way, please.”
At the door, Hazel glances back at Sophie, who is slowly sinking into her chair, her face a rigid mask.
The staff office boasts a decent tally of square footage. But with four full-size desks, two on each side of the traffic lane leading to the drive-through pickup on the far wall, as well as a number of rolling bins, rolling carts, and crates, luxuriously spacious it is not.
The other librarians have decamped elsewhere for now. Hazel thought she and the detectives would move some chairs around and maybe even push a desk out of the way so they can all fit around the same desk. But after Detective Gonzalez sets up the recording equipment, Detective Hagerty sits down directly behind that desk, and Detective Gonzalez takes Jonathan’s usual spot across the traffic lane, which leaves Hazel no choice but to lean on the fore edge of the desk opposite Hagerty’s: She’d be too far away if she sits down behind this desk, the space between the desks is too narrow to fit a chair, and she does not feel like dragging a chair to the side of the desk currently occupied by Hagerty,
Astrid, temporarily free from the gaze of the law, brings in a few cans of chilled sparkling water and a plate of individually packed gluten-free cookies. Hazel smiles as she thanks Astrid, but Astrid departs looking no less stressed: Hazel is wedged between two desks, which cannot be a reassuring sight for Astrid.
“Ms. Lee, please state for us your name, age, occupation, and place of domicile,” begins Detective Hagerty.
His opening is nearly identical to Detective Shariati’s from the day before. But Hazel already knows that his interview will be conducted in a very different tone. She also knows that she will not cooperate to anywhere near the same extent.
She answers his inquiry. The edge of the desk cuts just under her bottom, not exactly comfortable, so she boosts herself up to sit on the desk.
This apparently jaunty position does not please Detective Hagerty. He taps the pen in his hand twice against the top of his desk. “You started working here only one day before this Game Night event.”
“That is correct,” she replies.
It occurs to her that if the police are in the dark, desperately seeking clues, this coincidence might not appear one hundred percent benign.
Sure enough, a small silence descends, as if the detectives too must ponder the likelihood of her stumbling into a job that throws her into the environs of not one but two suspicious deaths as soon as she starts working.
“Where was your previous place of employment, Ms. Lee, and how long did you work there?”
