Fit to Die by J. B. Stanley

and was silently wishing three more bags of them would materialize out of thin air when Francis burst into the staff room.
    “Professor!” he whispered urgently, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Things are getting a little hairy at the computer terminals. Mrs. Hughes claims that Mr. Tuttle has gone way over the thirty-minute allotment but Mr. Tuttle refuses to budge. She’s threatening to sit right down on his lap if he doesn’t move. I tried to intervene but …”
    “That’s all right, Francis. Why don’t you have some lunch and I’ll handle this.”
    Clearly relieved, Francis strode over to the fridge and pulled out a lunch bag twice the size of Scott’s. “We’ve just got to come up with a stellar fundraiser idea, bro. I can’t take this kind of conflict,” James heard him say to Scott.
    James couldn’t agree more. The computers had become more and more popular with patrons of all ages and there was rarely a time during the library’s working hours when someone wasn’t anxiously waiting for one of the two PCs. And thirty minutes didn’t turn out to be very long when it took each of the archaic hard drives several minutes to complete even the smallest of tasks. The result had been friction among the patrons. The Shenandoah County Library was a place meant for peace and quiet discovery, not for patrons pacing with impatience or getting into heated arguments.
    Out in the nook between fiction and nonfiction where the two computer terminals were set up, Mrs. Hughes stood with her hands resting on her formidable hips and a deep scowl wrinkling her face. She was normally a cheerful, pleasant lady, and James always tried to get in her checkout lane at the Food Lion as she was the speediest cashier and bagger in Quincy’s Gap. She could process and pack a week’s worth of groceries in under three minutes.
    Mrs. Hughes latched onto James’s fleshy upper arm. “Oh, Professor! Thank the Lord you’re here! I’m trying to bid on an online auction and Mr. Tuttle here won’t get off this machine. I’ve been timin’ him since I came in and it’s been well over forty minutes since he first got on.”
    Mr. Tuttle, a small, balding, middle-aged man with a pasty complexion turned a pair of narrow eyes upon James. “Hey, I’m lookin’ for work here. Isn’t that a bit more important than somethin’ this woman wants to go shoppin’ for? I got a pile a bills at home high as the Appalachians, so I need more time on this here computer.”
    James indicated a sign hanging over the two computers. “You know there’s a limit, Mr. Tuttle. You’ll have to relinquish your machine until Mrs. Hughes has had her thirty minutes.”
    Mr. Tuttle slammed a fist down next to the keyboard. “Damnation, man! I’ve been out of a job for three months and I can’t even use my own library’s computer to look for a new one? What kind of public works joint is this after all? I paid my taxes like everyone else.” He stepped away from the computer and gesticulated angrily at a spinner rack containing romance novels. “Instead of buyin’ that trash, why don’t you spend our tax money on gettin’ some more computers in here?”
    As James opened his mouth to reply, a man with a briefcase tapped on the shoulder of the young woman using the second computer. James recognized her. It was Amelia Flowers, daughter of Megan Flowers, who owned the Sweet Tooth, the town’s only bakery. Amelia worked for her mother part-time and also attended classes at the community college. James knew that she was interested in fashion design.
    “My turn, missy.” The man plunked his briefcase down on the floor next to Amelia’s cavernous book bag.
    “One sec. I just need to print this article,” Amelia replied without looking up from the screen. She continued typing as Mrs. Hughes slid into the empty seat next to her.
    “Why, hello Amelia. You doin’ work for school?”
    “Hi, Mrs. Hughes. Yeah, I got a paper due for my History of Fashion