Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

possible. But the deadline is next Monday, by 8:00 a.m." She handed me her business card. "You can call or text." She stood up, and we shook hands again. "Thank you for considering this. I know Jennifer would be very grateful for your help."
    I wasn't so sure about that.
    I called to see if my supervisor, Dr. Loomis, was in her office. She was, so I headed up there.
    Dr. Loomis was also a tiny woman, but I’d never seen her in black. She seemed to have an endless supply of tailored pastel suits. She wore her gray hair in a bun, so she looked the part of the stodgy old-school librarian. In reality, old-school was the last term I’d use to describe her. She was as tech savvy as any of us and read PC Magazine for fun. I loved working for her.
    I explained the situation to Dr. Loomis. She was intrigued. “How interesting. I’ve never known anyone with a hoarding problem.”
    “What do you think about me appearing on the show?”
    “It’s fine with me. I agree that it’s a good idea not to use your last name. But you’d better check with HR to make sure they have no objection.”
    That would have to wait until morning. It was 5:00, and HR didn’t stick around after five. I said goodnight to Dr. Loomis, went back to my office to gather my stuff, and headed for the bus stop and home.
    Pete’s home, that is.
    Maybe mine too? I really needed to make a decision.
    I really hated making relationship decisions.
    Pete’s schedule was more flexible than mine, and he didn’t have any late afternoon classes . So he usually beat me home and had dinner nearly ready, and tonight was no exception. He was a good cook, and tonight he’d made a salmon pasta salad. I changed into sweats and a t-shirt, and we ate on the small front patio of the townhouse. There was a nice screen of privacy hedge between us and 17 th Street. We could hear traffic but couldn’t see any.
    While we ate, I told Pete about my visit from Raven. He was also surprised that she had listed my name.
    “I really think she was kind of desperate. Apparently her family has refused to participate.”
    “Huh. From what I remember of them, that ’s not a shock.”
    I looked at Pete in surprise. “Hey, that’s right. You were partners with Kevin while all that was going on.” Pete was an ex-cop. He and Kevin were partners during Kevin’s first six years with LAPD. They were still best friends.
    “Oh, yeah. I lived through that divorce right with Kev. It’s been a long time, but I bet I knew Jennifer better than you did.”
    “Well, then, you should be on the show too.”
    Pete looked horrified. “Oh, hell no. No way.”
    “Why not? You don’t have to be interviewed, you can just be one of the people who helps. And wouldn’t it be interesting to study what goes on between Jennifer and the psychologist in person instead of just what they edit to show on screen?”
    He glared at me. “You just don’t want to go by yourself.”
    “You’re right, I don’t. But it’s going to take a whole weekend – wouldn’t you rather spend it together?” I had him. “And you’ll probably get some great anecdotes to use in your classes. And Val might be there.” Although I doubted it. “It’ll be fun.”
    “No, it won’t. But you’re right about getting material for lectures.” Pete sighed. “Okay. But if anything goes wrong, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
    “Hey, what could go wrong?”
    Ha.

    The next couple of days were hectic. Our two-hour reference shift was the closest thing to downtime that Liz and I had , and we were able to analyze Clinton’s visits. He seemed to be working on a theme. The word of the day on Tuesday had been orphrey , “a band of elaborate embroidery decorating the front of certain ecclesiastical vestments.” On Wednesday, the word was cucullate , a botanical term meaning “having the shape of a cowl.”
    On Thursday, when Clinton approached the desk, we were ready for him. We both sat back in our chairs, with our palms pressed together in a position of prayer.
    Clinton tipped his head slightly to the side. He seemed to be suppressing a smile. “The word of the day is gyrovague .” He stepped back and bowed, then winked at us and walked away.
    I looked up the word. “Ha! It means ‘a peripatetic monk.’”
    Liz made a face. “Remind me what peripatetic means?”
    “Itinerant.”
    “Huh. Is Clinton trying to tell us he’s a traveling monk?”
    “Nah. He’s probably just on a single subject kick.”