We were halfway to my office when she yelled, “Ouch.”
“Is something wrong?”
Ms. McMillian rubbed her arm. “Yes, something is wrong. Something pitched me.”
Oh, this wasn’t good. That something that pinched her had to have been the ghost. She looked at her arm and then looked around, searching for the culprit.
“Perhaps it was a spider that bit you,” I said.
“You have spiders in the library? Why are you allowing that to happen? Someone could be bitten, like me. Call an exterminator,” she said as she flashed a glare my way.
She’d only taken one step forward when she stumbled and fell to the floor, landing on her hands and knees. I’d seen the ghost run up behind her and give a giant shove. How would I explain this one?
Chapter 11
A spider certainly couldn’t push her to her knees. Venom shot from her eyes as she peered up at me from her vantage point on the floor.
I hurriedly reached down to give her a hand up. “Are you okay?”
Ms. McMillian smacked at my hand. “I don’t want your help.”
This ghostly encounter had escalated quickly, and I wasn’t sure what I would do to remedy the situation. All that flashed in my mind was the word fired. Fired. Over and over again. At least she finally managed to get to her feet. And it didn’t look as if anything was broken, so that was a plus.
Right after the ghost had pushed her, the ghost just faded into the air. Gone in an instant. But now after this attack, I had to face the reality that this ghost wasn’t friendly. I had no idea when the spirit would pop up and do more damage. I had to get rid of her immediately before someone got hurt.
“Do you care to explain what just happened?” Ms. McMillian asked breathlessly.
I stared at her, speechless because I had no idea what to say. I tried to come up with something quickly in my mind because her glare grew worse by the second.
“I think the floor was uneven.” I stumbled over my words worse than she had stumbled when the ghost pushed her.
“Was uneven?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Is uneven,” I corrected myself.
Ms. McMillian smirked. Clearly, she wasn’t buying it. I moved my foot over the floor, pretending as if I was raking it across an uneven board. And even though that was a reasonable explanation for what had happened to her, I knew I’d made a mistake with using this excuse. She’d be mad and ask why I hadn’t fixed the floor?
She placed her hands on her hips. “If you knew about it, then why didn’t you have it fixed immediately. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Yes, yes, it is,” I said, trying to appease her.
“So if you knew about it then why haven’t you fixed it?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
“It just now popped up right before you came,” I said.
Ms. McMillian smirked. “Right. Like I’m supposed to believe that.”
“Well, anyway, please watch your step.” I motioned for her to follow me.
She eyed me up and down for a moment before finally walking behind me. I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure she was still following me. And to make sure the ghost didn’t attack again. Once maybe I could explain away, but not twice.
I guided her toward my office door, hoping that we could change the subject. Plus, I wanted to get out of the path of the ghost in case she returned. Although more than likely she’d just pop up in my office if she really wanted to get to us again.
I wanted to rush Ms. McMillian out of the library so that I could get on with finding the ghost. Getting rid of the ghost was at the top of my to-do list. But how would I do that? Simply asking the ghost to leave wouldn’t work. I supposed a call to the demonologist was in order. Porter and I had known each since I’d arrived back in town. He was the best in the business. And I needed the best at Bilson Library. This might not be a simple angry ghost case. It could be a demon.
Demons liked to disguise themselves so that people wouldn’t know that they were evil spirits. They were tricky like that and sometimes it was hard to determine the truth. It took a bit of research and waiting before the true identity played out.
After opening my office door, I gestured for Ms. McMillian to enter the small room. She gave me another angry look before stepping into the space and over to my desk. Why was she here anyway? This could have been handled over the phone. She always made unannounced visits. I suppose to catch me in situations like the one she’d stumbled upon today.
Ms. McMillian sat in a brown leather chair across from my desk. She placed her hands in her lap and crossed her legs. It appeared as if she was making herself comfortable and planned on staying for a while. I needed to replace the leather chairs with uncomfortable ones. I’d add that to my to-do list. That way when she sat at my desk she won’t want to linger.
I took my time walking across the office, trying to stall. Unfortunately, it was so tiny in this space that it only took a few seconds to reach my desk. A portrait of the last librarian hung above the credenza on the left wall. She stared at me every day and I was pretty sure she watched every move I made. I had offered to buy a new portrait for the office. Maybe a nice landscape, but the library board insisted that the former librarian’s portrait must always stay in the office. So I forever had a guardian while doing my work.
Now that I sat behind my desk, avoiding eye contact with Ms. McMillian was no longer possible. She stared at me as if she wanted to say something, but she might be actually a bit afraid to speak. My stomach somersaulted because I thought maybe this was when she really would fire me. Maybe she didn’t know how to form the words, although in the past dealing with her, I thought she’d be more than happy to just spew the sentence like a gushing river. Should I start the conversation? It looked as if she gave me no choice.
“What brings you here today, Ms. McMillian?” I asked, trying to sound calm and confident. “The budget?”
I was prepared to fight for what the library needed.
“Not the budget. I just said that in case someone was listening to us out there. I heard you were at your friend’s wedding last night and there was a murder.”
There was no way I could deny that. It was in the paper today. Kind of hard to ignore that headline.
“Yes, that’s right,” I said, bracing myself for the worst.
Her expression softened just a bit and then she blurted out, “I knew the woman who was killed. I need your help.”
Earlier she said she didn’t want my help and now she did? Her personality changes were giving me a headache.
My eyes widened. “What can I help you with?”
“I’m afraid that they might think I murdered her.” She rushed out the words.
It almost felt like she had hit me with her words. I was shocked.
“Why would they think something like that?” I asked.
“Because I was there last night.”
“The wedding?”
“Yes, I don’t think many people saw me go in. I actually went upstairs and talked to Tabatha. But I promise you I didn’t kill her. She was perfectly fine when I left, but we argued. When the police find out they’ll probably blame me.” She clutched both sides of the chair as if were keeping herself from jumping up.