can explain to him how this happened.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s going to think he knows already,” Angel said dismally. “But I would never in this world .. .” She shook her head, finishing the rest of her sentence in her head.
* * *
I had to help Angel dress, she was so deeply shocked. I tried not to burble, since she was upset, but I was so excited by proxy that it was hard.
A baby.
“How can I work?” Angel said, but not as if she was really concerned.
“Pooh, as a bodyguard? I don’t need a bodyguard anymore, now that Martin’s out of—that mess,” I said soothingly. “If you still want to help me out around the place, we’ll work something out. Maybe I could keep the baby for you? Some?”
She heard the yearning in my voice.
“This should be happening to you,” she said with a faint smile on her thin lips.
“Oh, Martin’s worried about his age,” I said, and thought right away of kicking myself: Shelby Youngblood was Martin’s age, forty-seven, and Angel was twenty-eight to my thirty-two and a half. “Anyway,” I said bracingly, “you tell him to call Dr. Zelman, okay? He may get kind of upset, having had a vasectomy and all.”
“Oh, I just bet he will,” she said grimly.
Angel walked out to the car in a state of stunned silence. I made sure she was in the car and then I ran back in to get my purse, which I’d left in the examining room. You could tell I was excited and upset, since normally I’d be as likely to leave my arm as my purse. I explained to Trinity Zelman, who waved me on back, and Linda was waiting at the door to the examining room with the purse in hand.
“Knew you’d come back for it,” she said. “Give me a call, now!” She hurried down the hall to the little lab, and I turned to go out, passing the first examining room on one side and Dr. Zelman’s office on the other on my way to the waiting room. Dr. Zelman’s office door was typically ajar, and I heard Mr. Dryden’s pleasant accentless voice inside. He’d finally gotten his five minutes with the doctor.
“I see that the widow has urged me to talk with you about her husband’s condition,” Dr. Zelman was saying without much enthusiasm. “So I’ll answer your questions.”
I walked slower.
“In your opinion, was Jack Burns an alcoholic?” Dry-den asked directly.
“Yes,” said Dr. Zelman. “Just this past two or three years, he came to me on several occasions with drink-related injuries. He’d hit his head when he fell, one time. Another time, his car had hit a tree. There were a couple more things like that.”
“Did it seem to you, from what you knew of Jack Burns, that his judgment was impaired?”
“Yes, he . . .” and then I had no excuse to loiter, though I dearly wanted to, because Trinity came out of the reception area and started to go to the doctor’s office with some files.
I had more to think about than I could cram in my brain. I’d dropped Angel off at home, promising to take her prescription for maternity vitamins to the pharmacy on my way home from work. Angel clearly wanted some time to herself, and I could understand why. Telling your forty-seven-year-old vasectomied husband that he’s about to be a dad was not an enviable proposition. I wanted to talk the situation over with Martin, but of course I couldn’t tell him Angel was expecting until she told her own husband. So probably it was just as well I had to go to work.
The Lawrenceton Public Library is a large two-story block with a low addition to the rear of the building for offices. This brand-new addition, achieved mostly by a bequest from an anonymous patron, a few other donations, and matching community improvement funds, is easily the nicest part of the library, and it’s a pity I get to spend so little time in it. It consists of a large employee break room with a row of bright lockers for personal possessions, a microwave, refrigerator, table and chairs, and a stove; Sam Clerrick’s office (with space outside for a secretary, though now he only has a volunteer part-time); and a “community interest” room, where various clubs can meet free of charge if they are careful to schedule it well ahead of time. And there’s a nice employee bathroom.
The rest of the library, where I get to