Moonshadows by Mary Ann Artrip Page B

flickered into the upper stacks where the light was dim. Except for an occasional rustle of paper, the room was quiet.
    A man sat at a corner reading table. He stopped occasionally to scribble on a note pad. A few tables away, a young couple’s disagreement over something contained in the book in front of them was beginning to rise above a whisper.
    The dependable Mrs. Goldman, wearing her standard green felt hat, sat in her usual chair. The old lady came to the library every weekday at precisely two-fifteen, read the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times , and left around three-thirty. Janet had never known her routine to vary more than a few minutes in either direction. Now, as if to prove a point, Mrs. Goldman folded the newspapers, placed them back into their proper racks, and reached for her fur-trimmed chesterfield. Her rubber-tipped cane leaned against the side of the lamp-table on which rested her purse. Gathering these together, she shuffled toward the door. Janet looked at the clock. It was twenty-eight minutes after three.
    Hilda stood behind the counter and accepted a handful of change from some poor soul who had failed to get his books back on time. She frowned as she jingled the coins in her hand and Janet could hear the hateful thoughts running through her head: responsible library patrons do not let books run beyond their due dates . Yanking the small metal cashbox from a shelf under the counter, Hilda flipped open the lid and dumped in the money. She slammed the box beneath the shelf with a heavy thud. The collection was deposited annually, at the end of the year, so by now the box was pretty well full.
    Deciding that this was a good time to take a break, Janet rose from her chair and entered Miss Austin’s private office.
    “You wanted to see me?”
    “Yes Janet. Do come in and shut the door.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”
    Like an obedient child, Janet sat down.
    Miss Austin positioned her arms on the desk and laced her fingers together. “How are you, dear? Although you look tired, you seem to be bearing up well.”
    “I’m managing.”
    “I know Mrs. Lancaster’s death has been hard for you. Would you like to talk about it?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Nonsense, Janet. When something like this happens it’s always better not to keep it bottled up.” Her voice softened dramatically. “Tell me about your grandmother.” She puckered her lips. “Had she been ill for long?”
    “She hadn’t felt well, but no, not really ill.”
    “She didn’t suffer then?”
    “I hope not. The doctor said her heart just gave out.”
    “I guess the settling of the estate is going to be a big deal. I mean with so much money involved.”
    Janet made no reply.
    “I suppose the rest of the family has been summoned in for the reading of the will?”
    Janet didn’t bother to remind the woman that there were no other family members. Apparently she hadn’t thought the fact important enough to remember.
    “Has a date been set yet?”
    “Date?”
    “For the opening of the will,” she continued to probe.
    Janet was surprised at the woman’s persistence. “It’s already been read,” she said finally.
    “Really.”
    Again Janet made no reply.
    “Such an immense fortune must surely pose legal and dispensation problems. I suppose you’re now a very rich young lady and will be leaving us.” She grimaced an ugly sneer. “Were many people named in the final testament?”
    Janet, feeling slightly violated, rose from the chair. “I have no intentions of leaving the library. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work. There’s still lots to do before I leave for the day, and it’s getting late.”
    “Please forgive me for prying. I know I have no right. But I’m concerned—for the library—of course. Do you know if funding is to continue?”
    “Of course, it will.” Janet’s voice was unusually sharp. “Grandmother was very precise in her