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I left his office with relief that I suddenly wasn’t tasked with a local history initiative or a community survey and feedback project. As soon as I’d sat down at the desk, though, Zelda showed up and my relief was short-lived. I winced. If Zelda was approaching me at the desk, it meant she must really have something on her mind. Ordinarily, Zelda was the type of library volunteer who would snarl at patrons who approached the desk and interrupted whatever I was working on, even though I’d asked her not to.
I said, “I didn’t think you were on the volunteer calendar today. You’re not working at the repair shop this morning?” Zelda was a receptionist at an auto repair shop. She basically kept the place running smoothly. She’d taken the repair shop from a disorganized mess to a success with her skills in appointment scheduling, parts procurement, inventory management, and basically being some sort of administrative magician for the shop.
Zelda shrugged. “The owner is stepping in today. It’s bring-your-kid-to-work day, or something. He’s got his daughter there, and some mechanics are bringing their kids, too.” Her face was set in grim lines. “Kids playing in the mechanics’ toolboxes, Kids taking over the customer waiting room with games of tag. Kids running everywhere. Sounded like my worst nightmare.”
I was sure it did, and vice versa. I’d seen Zelda around kids at the library before, and she always seemed to scare them half to death with her austere appearance and unpredictable temper.
Zelda plunged right into what was on her mind. “I need to talk with you about the neighborhood block party. It’s all a complete disaster.”
It appeared Zelda was in a real state over it. She was the homeowner association president, a job she treated as if it were the presidency of the United States. The block party had been decided on by the rest of the board, and she didn’t seem to be exactly overjoyed by it. Zelda was mostly a law-and-order HOA president. She was the one to drive slowly through the neighborhood, looking for tall grass, weedy driveways, and improperly stored trash bins. Fun was the last thing on her agenda. She was also the sort of person who, if tasked with doing something fun, was going to want it all to go like clockwork. Zelda’s Type-A nature would allow for nothing else.
Zelda grimly continued, “Everybody in the neighborhood has got to respond to me, and they haven’t been. They need to sign up for different foods and drinks. I’ve got this spreadsheet I made for the potluck to keep it all straight and organized. The residents need to sign up and let me know what they’re bringing.”
“Maybe they’re not sure yet if they’re going to attend,” I said with a shrug.
“Another problem!” snapped Zelda. “I need to have attendance confirmation right away. Yeah, it’s fine if you don’t know if you’re part of an event two weeks out, but this is happening almost immediately. I’ve emailed a bunch of people and they’re not responding to me.” She looked very much as if she might need one of her many daily cigarettes. Then she had a small coughing fit to indicate how much, in actuality, she needed to quit the habit.
“Okay,” I said, using a steady voice to keep her calm. “What other things do you need to get confirmation about?”
“Volunteer sign-ups,” she said crisply. “Set-up, clean up, emergency preparedness. All of that.”
I frowned. “Emergency preparedness?”
“Of course! We’re talking about a large number of people. All kinds of bad things could happen when people get excited.”
I was rather doubtful that anyone would get that excited during a neighborhood block party. The event comprised kids playing, people eating potluck, and some beer consumption. But Zelda appeared to be taking the safety aspect very seriously. I guessed it wasn’t a bad area to go overboard with.
Zelda continued, “It would be good if people listed on the spreadsheet whether they knew CPR. Maybe other people could monitor the kids to make sure they were safe.” Zelda’s expression showed that she was definitely not going to be part of the safety contingency.
“So you’re trying to get a lot of information from the neighbors in a short period of time,” I mused.
Zelda scowled at me. “I’ve been trying to get people to respond for weeks! Weeks!”
I said in a soothing tone, “I know you have. You’re one of the most organized people I know. The problem is the folks in the neighborhood. Some people don’t check their personal emails frequently. You could manually put paper in people’s mailboxes,” I said.
Zelda said, “You mean put the signups in their mailbox? But then they’d have to walk it down to me or I’d have to go around collecting them.” Judging from her face, this was a completely unacceptable solution. Then she gave me a ferocious look. “Putting things in people’s mailboxes is illegal. Those spaces are reserved for the US Postal Service.”
“I’m thinking something a little different from that. Just put a colorful flyer in the newspaper slot under their mailbox. Not inside the mailbox, itself. Remind them that the full event details and the sign-up spreadsheet are in their email inbox. Tell them you need it today. Maybe having something on a physical piece of paper would be better for some people.” I didn’t tell her that there were plenty of younger people who barely even checked their personal email.
Zelda grumbled something I couldn’t hear. “Guess I’ll do that. It’s a lot of work, though.”
I said nothing to this because I definitely didn’t want to be signed up for reminder duty.
Zelda said, “I’ve been working on other stuff, too. I got a city permit, so we wouldn’t get in trouble for throwing an event without letting the town know.”
Of course she did, although I couldn’t imagine Burton would come over to break up a block party. I had the feeling that Zelda had been obsessing over this event since talk of it first started. I’d thought when she got the job at the auto repair shop and when she started volunteering at the library that she would stop obsessing over minor details like she had been. But it looked like there was still room in her day to worry over things.
“I’ve got extra tables for people who need them,” said Zelda, ticking off items on her fingers as she spoke. “Grayson is getting the keg of beer. We’re using the money from our HOA dues for the alcohol.” Zelda looked distinctly irritated over this. “People need to sign up for food so everyone doesn’t have cheese pizza out. I keep waking up at night having nightmares that everybody is going to pick up cheese pizza on their way home from work, and that’s the only option for people to eat. We’re gonna need drinks, paper products. All that stuff.”
I said, “Wasn’t there some discussion about not doing the potluck and just having a food truck come out to handle the food and drinks? I know there’s an Asian fusion truck that’s supposed to be great. And there’s a taco truck that parks in the square near the library. Sometimes I’ll grab a taco from there for lunch. They have a chicken Tinga taco with a smoky chipotle-tomato sauce that’s to die for. Having a food truck would mean you wouldn’t have to organize anything. It would be a lot less hassle for you and our neighbors, too. The truck would have their own plastic cutlery and napkins. They’d probably put out trash cans if we asked them. And we wouldn’t have to worry about having a diverse menu. There’d be something for everybody.”
Zelda glared at me, and I realized immediately that I’d said something I shouldn’t. Even though she disliked the planning aspect of the block party, she clearly relished her control over the event and wasn’t about to relinquish it. “Too much money!” she barked. “The HOA might need those funds for later.”
I had the feeling that the homeowner’s association was basically sitting on a pot of gold. Zelda was definitely the type to save for a rainy day. Who knew how much was in that account? She clearly wasn’t even happy about having a keg for the block party paid from the fund.
I said in a reasonable voice, “I feel like the HOA hasn’t spent any money in a long while. What types of things do you think might come up that it’ll have to handle?”
“Landscaping and grounds maintenance for the entrance to the neighborhood,” she muttered.
I’d noticed that it had not taken her a while to come up with that example. “Well, we always have enough in our budget for that kind of work.”
“What if a hurricane comes through and blows trees down?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.
“I guess that would be an additional expense,” I agreed. “Although you know we’re not prone to extreme weather here. At least, we haven’t been so far.”
“We’re not doing a food truck,” said Zelda with finality in her voice. “Now, back to the planning for the event. I also need volunteers for other things,” she said, eyeing me through narrowed eyes.
I was ready for this. I’d known for a while that signing up for a tossed salad wasn’t going to cut it as far as Zelda was concerned. The problem was that she saw me too often, and it was too easy for her to accost me and pressure me to help. “What do you need help for?” I asked.
Zelda started enumerating things on her fingers again. “I need help for the cleanup crew, for one.”
I frowned. “Cleanup crew? I figured each homeowner would just take in the garbage from their property.”
This seemed to make Zelda look rather deflated. Maybe she wanted everything to be complex and a problem to figure out. Perhaps she was deliberately making everything more complicated to make her role more important. It should be a fairly simple, fun event. “Oh. Well, I guess that’s true. But I need someone to hang signs at the ends of the street saying ‘no parking.’ Because of the kids running around, the street will be closed off. The city seemed fine with that. Naturally, if emergency vehicles need to come through, we’ll allow that.”
Very generous, I thought dryly. “I’m happy to help put signs up for you, Zelda. No problem.”
Now Zelda looked more cheerful. “Good. Okay, well, that’s nice. Thank you.” It was all said grudgingly, which made me feel as though I hadn’t perhaps volunteered quite enough between the tossed salad and the signs. Then she glowered again. “There’s one more thing.”
I cursed myself for not escaping while I had the chance. “What’s that?” I asked, summoning politeness from somewhere deep down inside me.
“The trivia,” growled Zelda.
“Trivia?” It was such a quick change of subject that she lost me along the way.
“Trivia night!” said Zelda. “At the library!” She was now staring at me as if I’d lost leave of my senses.
“Oh, right. Yes, that’s coming up tonight.” I paused. “Were you interested in coming to it?”
I could hear the doubt in my voice. It wasn’t that I thought Zelda wouldn’t be good at trivia (although I couldn’t imagine that she would be good at it). It was more that I was surprised by Zelda bringing up a library event at all. As far as I was aware, Zelda’s only involvement with the Whitby library was her volunteer work shelving books.
“What are they like?” she demanded. “The trivia nights.”
I considered this. “Well, we’ve done it a few times, although it hasn’t been on the calendar lately. It’s seemed pretty fun in the past. We’ve had a good turnout the times we’ve held it. The staff takes turns coming up with questions. And whoever doesn’t come up with questions can join in the game, too. Wilson and I are the ones coming up with the questions this time, so I’ll be the emcee. He can get fairly esoteric with the subjects he comes up with, but I think I even things out with my questions, which are more general.” I frowned. “I’ve meant to do some promo online for trivia night, with Fitz in the photo. Maybe I can do a last-minute post.”
Our social media engagement always skyrocketed whenever Fitz’s furry face was part of the promo. He’d turned out to be an excellent and very patient model. It always amazed me how he seemed to realize how to sit still and pose for the camera in a very fetching manner. He’d intuitively tilt his head, arch his back, or even flash his charming feline grin. He was a natural.
“Is it full?” Zelda asked. When I didn’t answer quickly enough, she said louder, “Are all the spots filled up?”
“No, I’m sure it’s not full. Do you want me to register you for the trivia, just in case we get a lot of late participants signing up?”
Zelda nodded. “I’ll be here.”
“Hello, hello!” came a chipper voice. “How are you lovely ladies today?”
It was Luna, my colorful coworker. Luna had a fun, offbeat sense of style, which today included a flowing brown sundress covered with whimsical sunflowers. She’d paired this with knee-high socks sporting rainbow stripes. Tattoos peeked out from below the hem of the skirt and above the socks and covered her arms, and a nose-ring sat coyly on her nose. It was an outfit that wouldn’t have worked for anyone else but Luna.
Zelda looked grimly at Luna, which didn’t seem to faze Luna at all. Zelda grunted a greeting in response. Then she turned to me again, eyes accusing. “Why were you late today? You weren’t even close to being on time. Weren’t you supposed to be the one to open up the library?”
A smile tugged at my lips. Zelda was far more indignant than Wilson had been about my tardiness this morning. “I was unexpectedly held up,” I said lightly. I wasn’t going to give Zelda any more than that.
Zelda grunted again and said, “Better get back to it.” She pushed her cart of books to shelve and trundled herself after it.
Luna waited until Zelda got out of earshot, then said, “Okay, spill it. What really made you delayed this morning? Late night with Grayson?”
I shook my head before quickly filling her in. Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Dr. Sullivan? But he’s my doctor. He was such a nice guy. What am I supposed to do now? He was the greatest.”
“That’s what everybody is saying. Linus told me the same thing this morning.”
Luna asked, “Is Linus doing okay after finding him? That must have been awful for him.”
“Luckily, he never saw Victor’s body. Honestly, aside from him being upset about losing his doctor, I think Ivy had it worse. Poor dog. I could tell she felt really conflicted. Part of her wanted to pull him over to the body and part of her wanted to obey Linus. She was crying most of the time after we put her in the car. I think Linus said he would be here later today, so we’ll have to check and see how he and Ivy are doing now.”
Luna was barely listening. “I just can’t believe anybody would murder Dr. Sullivan. That’s so crazy. He was the best doctor . . . everybody loved him. He was one of those people who really made you feel seen. Do you know what I mean? He was so attentive whenever you were talking to him, whether it was about medical problems or stuff going on in your life. This makes me really sad.”
I could tell Luna was really sad. What was remarkable about this is that Luna was almost always in a cheery mood. I felt the sudden need to lighten things up a bit.
“On a totally different topic, you’ll never guess who’s coming to trivia night tonight,” I said.
“Jeremy is,” she answered placidly. Jeremy was Luna’s boyfriend, a boyish charmer with tousled hair and dimples punctuating his frequent grins. Although Luna was quite a bit older than Jeremy, their relationship was remarkably close. Just the mention of him made the sparkle come back into Luna’s eyes.
“Besides Jeremy,” I said.
Luna shook her head.
“Zelda,” I said. I enjoyed seeing Luna’s eyes widen again, this time in amazement.
“You’re kidding me,” she said. “Zelda wants to play trivia? Did you bribe her to attend? Were our attendance numbers too low or something?”
“Nope. She just wanted to come. She brought it up with me and everything.”
Luna raised a pierced eyebrow. “Well, she’s going to be in such a terrible mood when she loses. You know how good Jeremy is at trivia.”
I didn’t know this, but I wasn’t at all surprised to hear it. Jeremy was a bright guy who seemed to be interested in a lot of different things. Plus, from what I noticed, he had a memory like a sponge. “And I guess you and Jeremy are on the same team,” I said dryly.
“Of course! That’s how it works. You can team up or go solo. I didn’t help with creating the questions this time, so I can participate.” Luna glanced across the room and said in a lower voice, “Don’t look now, but there’s a woman heading your way with a determined expression on her face. You’re about to get pulled away.”
“It could be somebody for you.” I knew better, though. Ordinarily, anyone searching Luna out would have a kid or two in tow.
“See you later,” said Luna, making her escape back to the children’s area.