Taking a less direct way to the library, we avoided Lepcheck and the fountain. I made Mark put on my lavender cardigan. It wasn’t much of a fashion statement, but at least it covered the bloodstains on his white dress shirt. Luckily, he was wearing dark jeans, so I didn’t have to sacrifice my skirt. Just inside the service door, Mark slumped in a padded folding chair with growling Theodore stretched across his lap.

“Stay there.” I ordered both of them.

I hurried through the workroom and collided headlong into Jefferson Island, the cataloger. The collision was more painful for me, since Jefferson is six-four and three hundred plus pounds. A transplanted Georgian who detested the north with every fiber of his being, Jefferson had dressed conservatively in a white button-down shirt and gray polyester pants. He also wore a red leather bolo tie with a pewter Dachshund charm in honor of a childhood pet.

Now he regarded me through narrowed eyes. “Miz Hayes, please watch where you’re goin’. You nearly bowled me over.”

I rubbed my aching nose. “Sorry, Jefferson.”

“Rush, rush. All you Yankees rush. It gives me a headache. Even with all that rushin’, nothing gets done. Who gets the books on the shelf around here? Me, that’s who. Who—”

His bulk thoroughly blocked my path. Frustrated, I interrupted his pity party. “Move.”

Shocked, Jefferson stepped aside. “Pardon you, young lady.”

Lasha stood behind the checkout desk reprimanding a student worker. “If you put the books in the wrong place, you might as well as burn ’em, because we sure as hell are never going to find them.”