About the Author: A retired newspaper editor, J. R. Lindermuth has published short stories in a variety of magazines, including Mystery Weekly Magazine, Crime & Suspense, Mysterical-E, Mouth Full of Bullets and others.
Late yesterday as I shelved returned books shortly before closing time, I overheard a conversation meant to be private.
I'm not nosy. I generally mind my own business, and I'm not inclined to eavesdrop on others. But there's nothing wrong with my hearing and you can't fault me for overhearing something I wasn't supposed to hear.
I'm Emma Sharp. I'm not going to tell you how old I am, except to say I'm what some refer to as a senior citizen these days. I've been at the Masonville Public Library longer than anyone else and if that alone doesn't qualify me to be head librarian I'd have less cause to complain. Experience should count more than any fancy degree like that cast in my face by Miss Fancy Pants McClure. Some might say I'm jealous because the board saw fit to give her the post rather than me. In my defense, I do what I'm paid for and don't make a habit of complaining—which usually doesn't change things anyway.
Fancy Pants McClure and a man were conversing in whispers behind the Science & Physics stacks, a section which doesn't get as much traffic as it should in my opinion. I recognized her voice right away. She has a slight lisp and—despite college and her best efforts—is unable to disguise her Pennsylvania Dutch accent when excited. I knew it was her, but couldn't place the man's voice.
Now it's not my business and I don't care if she wants to have a tete-a-tete with a man in the stacks. It was what they were discussing caught my attention.