The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

haven’t read yet!”
    Upstairs it was a lot quieter. With the exception of a group of avid foodies drooling over the cookbooks they were packing over in the 640s, the aisles were largely empty.
    I grabbed a stack of boxes—provided, I noticed, by Shiffley Movers—and begin with the 000s, computer science. I was itching to be out doing something else. Something to help foil the mayor’s scheme. Something to help Chief Burke solve the murder. Or something to help Grandfather recover. Trouble was, I had no idea what to do on any of those fronts. But packing didn’t exactly occupy my whole brain, so I planned to pack until I thought of something better to do.
    After half an hour, a couple of employees from Rob’s computer gaming company showed up eager to help with the computer books, so I moved over to the 100s (philosophy), where I labored alone for about an hour.
    I was just starting on metaphysics (110) when a familiar face peered down my aisle.
    “Can I help?”
    Francine Mann.

Chapter 18
    I had to give Francine credit for nerve. Though I couldn’t help wondering what I should deduce from the fact that she was spending part of her Sunday helping to pack the library. Was it a sign that Terence Mann was in sympathy with feelings in the county? Or evidence of a rift in the Mann household?
    “Ms. Ellie can use all the help she can get,” I said. “Though I think they’re having more fun down in the cooking section.”
    “I think all the chatter is coming from the paranormal shelves,” she said, as she began assembling a box from the stack at the end of the aisle. “By the way, I was sorry to hear about your grandfather. Is there any more news?”
    “Still unconscious, but his signs are stable,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”
    “If there’s anything we can do for him or you, please let me know,” she said. “All of us down at the hospital, I mean.”
    It was a curious clarification. Did she think I’d spurn good wishes and a rather conventional offer of help if it came from her and her husband? I hoped that wasn’t indicative of how people had been treating her.
    “Terence won’t be staying on as county manager,” she said, as if reading my thoughts.
    “He’s resigning?”
    “He probably should,” she said. “Before they fire him. They called him on the carpet before an emergency meeting of the county board this morning. He’s been there for hours.”
    Rather useless, if you asked me, but no doubt the board members who had been so nervous at last night’s meeting were thrilled to take it out on someone.
    “How are you doing?” I asked. I suppose I should have said “I’m so sorry” or “How terrible” or something of the sort, but it wouldn’t have been sincere, and she probably would have realized that.
    “I just want the whole thing over with,” she said. “If they’re going to fire him, I wish they’d just do it. I’m going down to the town hall to pick him up in a couple of hours, and if he hasn’t resigned by then…”
    She shook her head and applied herself to the shelves.
    I nodded, and searched for something else I could honestly say.
    “This has been tough on you,” I said finally.
    She nodded.
    “I have no idea what’s ahead,” she said. “I’ll probably be staying on at the hospital for the time being. Assuming they’re okay with it. We need the income. It takes a while to get a job at Terence’s level. Of course, when he does get a new job, it will require moving. And right now it’s up in the air whether I’ll be moving with him.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. This time I could say that, no matter what I felt about her husband.
    “Or maybe I should just leave now,” she said. “It’s not as if the medical staff ever really accepted or supported me. In fact, they undercut me every chance they get, all because I tried to make a few minor changes in how things have always been done.”
    I could understand. I’d had a few run-ins myself with “that’s how we’ve always done it.”
    “I could just go home,” she said. Her voice cracked slightly, and I looked up with alarm at the intensity of emotion she’d packed into those five words. She was holding the shelf in front of her as if afraid she’d fall, and biting her lip to keep it from trembling. My first impulse was to give her a comforting hug, and with anyone else I’d have done it, but I was afraid it would shatter the fragile composure she was visibly struggling to regain, and I