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he was wearing khakis and a bright green sweater over a blue chambray shirt. “I have Glenfiddich, Black Label…”
“Coffee,” I said. “If you have any.” I hadn’t quite recovered from my overindulgence at the reunion Saturday night. Now, after an intense Pop Fiction seminar, I felt drained. It didn’t help when I returned from class and found the message on my office voicemail from Lonnie, Avery’s administrative assistant. President Mitchell would appreciate it if I could free up a few minutes in my busy day to speak with him in person—at my earliest convenience, of course—about a matter that must remain confidential.
“Lonnie,” Avery called into the outer office, “coffee, please. For two.” We talked about the Braque exhibit at the college art museum until Lonnie came in with a tray holding an insulated carafe and a monogrammed bone china coffee service. A fire crackled in the fireplace, its light reflected in the gold rims of the cups. I could have sat there for hours in that elegant room with its jewel-toned Persian rugs and its muted Hudson River landscapes, discussing art with Avery, but that wasn’t the purpose of the summons, and it wouldn’t have been a good idea, anyhow. Again I asked, “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” he echoed, and tightened his fine lips. “Well, Karen, we find ourselves in a situation…by we , I mean the college, of course…we find ourselves in an unanticipated difficulty into the midst of which I understand you have been inadvertently interjected.” He measured sugar into his cup.
I translated from administratese: The college has gotten itself into some kind of shit, and I’m involved. “Ah,” I said.
He waited for more, then smiled. “Never one to waste words, are you, Karen?”
“Well…” I replied, playing for time. Next year I would petition Enfield College for tenure. If I had been “inadvertently interjected” into something so serious the president had to handle it personally, I’d just keep my mouth shut until I found out what it was.
“I heard, of course,” Avery said, “about your unfortunate encounter with that intruder in the library last month, and now I understand Rachel Thompson has acquainted you with our recent loss of an entire set of nineteenth-century books. Baffling! Absolutely baffling!”
I nodded, and replaced my cup in its saucer. He was finally getting to the point.
“But there have been further developments I don’t believe you know about.” A phone rang in the outer office. Through the heavy mahogany door Lonnie’s greeting was nothing more than a murmur. Avery slid his gaze toward the door and waited. When it was clear that Lonnie wasn’t about to put the call through to him, he turned back to me and let out his breath in a big huff. “Rough day,” he said. “But I’m going to try to relax. Listen, Karen, there’s more stuff missing from the library, but right now I’m not in a position to tell you precisely what. After Rachel found out that the entire dime-book collection had been stolen, the library staff conducted an in-depth inventory. They discovered additional losses.” He looked very sober. “Over the past few months the library has lost at least five hundred thousand dollars in rare books and manuscripts.”
“My God, that’s…”
“A half million. And we have no idea where—or who—the leak is. Very distressing.” He raised his eyebrows, inclined his head for emphasis, offered me more coffee. I accepted. He poured more for himself, added milk and sugar. “We’ve got to investigate these losses closely in the next few weeks, and that will require the utmost discretion.” He gave me a direct and meaningful look. “Now here’s the tricky part. According to the guidelines of something called the ACRL—”
“What’s that?”
“The Association of College and Research Libraries. They mandate prompt and full disclosure of stolen rare books and manuscripts, in part to prevent them
“Coffee,” I said. “If you have any.” I hadn’t quite recovered from my overindulgence at the reunion Saturday night. Now, after an intense Pop Fiction seminar, I felt drained. It didn’t help when I returned from class and found the message on my office voicemail from Lonnie, Avery’s administrative assistant. President Mitchell would appreciate it if I could free up a few minutes in my busy day to speak with him in person—at my earliest convenience, of course—about a matter that must remain confidential.
“Lonnie,” Avery called into the outer office, “coffee, please. For two.” We talked about the Braque exhibit at the college art museum until Lonnie came in with a tray holding an insulated carafe and a monogrammed bone china coffee service. A fire crackled in the fireplace, its light reflected in the gold rims of the cups. I could have sat there for hours in that elegant room with its jewel-toned Persian rugs and its muted Hudson River landscapes, discussing art with Avery, but that wasn’t the purpose of the summons, and it wouldn’t have been a good idea, anyhow. Again I asked, “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” he echoed, and tightened his fine lips. “Well, Karen, we find ourselves in a situation…by we , I mean the college, of course…we find ourselves in an unanticipated difficulty into the midst of which I understand you have been inadvertently interjected.” He measured sugar into his cup.
I translated from administratese: The college has gotten itself into some kind of shit, and I’m involved. “Ah,” I said.
He waited for more, then smiled. “Never one to waste words, are you, Karen?”
“Well…” I replied, playing for time. Next year I would petition Enfield College for tenure. If I had been “inadvertently interjected” into something so serious the president had to handle it personally, I’d just keep my mouth shut until I found out what it was.
“I heard, of course,” Avery said, “about your unfortunate encounter with that intruder in the library last month, and now I understand Rachel Thompson has acquainted you with our recent loss of an entire set of nineteenth-century books. Baffling! Absolutely baffling!”
I nodded, and replaced my cup in its saucer. He was finally getting to the point.
“But there have been further developments I don’t believe you know about.” A phone rang in the outer office. Through the heavy mahogany door Lonnie’s greeting was nothing more than a murmur. Avery slid his gaze toward the door and waited. When it was clear that Lonnie wasn’t about to put the call through to him, he turned back to me and let out his breath in a big huff. “Rough day,” he said. “But I’m going to try to relax. Listen, Karen, there’s more stuff missing from the library, but right now I’m not in a position to tell you precisely what. After Rachel found out that the entire dime-book collection had been stolen, the library staff conducted an in-depth inventory. They discovered additional losses.” He looked very sober. “Over the past few months the library has lost at least five hundred thousand dollars in rare books and manuscripts.”
“My God, that’s…”
“A half million. And we have no idea where—or who—the leak is. Very distressing.” He raised his eyebrows, inclined his head for emphasis, offered me more coffee. I accepted. He poured more for himself, added milk and sugar. “We’ve got to investigate these losses closely in the next few weeks, and that will require the utmost discretion.” He gave me a direct and meaningful look. “Now here’s the tricky part. According to the guidelines of something called the ACRL—”
“What’s that?”
“The Association of College and Research Libraries. They mandate prompt and full disclosure of stolen rare books and manuscripts, in part to prevent them
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