Made His Toes Curl
"I don't understand. Where did the money come from?" the children's librarian said.
The reference librarian leaned back and nodded to the circulation librarian out working the curbside table. "Her."
"She's barely been here two weeks. Has she even met with the director?"
"Well, not her exactly. Seems our previous circulation staff budget was embellished by the tenure of our old coworker."
"She costs less so we get a new page."
"Bingo," the reference librarian said.
The children's librarian pushed back a lock of golden hair from her forehead. "Has anyone told Freddy?"
Before the reference librarian could respond, the circulation librarian called out to them. They rose and went outside.
"I'm so glad to meet you both," a woman said from across the curbside table. Older with a yellow baseball cap and a matching mask. "My daddy loved you both so much. Talked about you all the time. He passed away yesterday in his sleep."
The librarians introduced themselves. The children's librarian took the lead, saying, "I'm so sorry, but who was your father?"
"You must think me silly. Sheila Anchor. My daddy was Ansel Anchor."
"I'm sorry to hear about your loss," the children's librarian said. "Seems so sudden. He was just here this weekend."
"That art class made his toes curl. He talked about framing that picture he drew. We couldn't find it, though. Is it still here?" Sheila said.
The reference librarian said, "It could be in the meeting room. The art teacher left her supplies and things."
A severe looking man with gray hairs and no mask on his face said, "Excuse me. Don't mean to break up the memorial service, but I need some damn books."
The circulation librarian waved to him. They began talking at the other end of the table.
The children's librarian said, "We can go check."
The reference librarian hesitated, but she took his arm. They went inside. As they crossed to the meeting room, he said, "Shouldn't someone stay out there with Julie?"
"You wanna see what they painted in there?"
"Fair enough."
"Seems odd him dying like that."
"Old man dies in his sleep. Not that odd. Pleasant, really," the reference librarian said unlocking the meeting room door.
She said, "How will we know which is his?"
"Check for the signature 'Old Cranky Bastard' down at the bottom."
Except the meeting room was empty. No art supplies. No canvases. No paints. No easels. Nothing in the small kitchen either.
The reference librarian said, "Maybe she took it out the fire door?"
"Without a key? We would have heard the alarm," the children's librarian said.
Back at the table, they explained the art teacher must have the paintings and again offered their condolences. Sheila Anchor left, thanking them for treating her father so well during his last days. They promised to talk to the art teacher and put them in touch.
At the other end of the table, the maskless man said, "I don't have to. I been vaccinated so just give me my damn books."
"I still need your card number, sir. Or your name," the circulation librarian said.
The man stuck his finger in the librarian's face. "I'm gonna get you." His finger drifted to each of them. "All of you. I been vaccinated."
Then he left. The librarians were speechless.