Characters in The Library Policeman

… Willie Aikens and Frank White and U. L. Washington and George Brett . . . Willie Wilson and Amos Otis . . . Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a gunslinger in an old Western movie . . . Paul Splittorff and Ken Brett . . . I can’t remember …

It was a shine. A flat, hard shine. For just a moment Ardelia Lortz looked as if she had a nickel in each eye. “Or?” he asked, and his smile suddenly didn’t feel like a smile—it felt like a mask.

Sam bent over and signed the book. The name above his was Arthur Meecham. Mr. Meecham had been down here on December 27th, 1989. Over three months ago.

… a summer’s day, with about a million acres of Sam Orday’s corn on one side and about two million of Bill Humpe’s corn on the other, all of it growin high over our heads and rustlin in that secret way corn has, even when there’s no breeze. My granddad …

He’s in the hospital over in Cedar Rapids with his neck dipped in about twenty pounds of plaster. Billy Bright just called me.

… break through— The train was roaring past the Junction City depot now, the depot where a man named Brian Kelly had once tossed Dave Duncan four bits and then told him to get in the wind. Less than three hundred yards away and coming fast. Sam pushed …

“It was in a book called—” But before he could tell Rudy what the book had been called, Bruce Engalls had grasped him by the elbow and was guiding him toward the bar. “Best damned speech I’ve heard at this foolish club in two years!”

A moment later he realized he also recognized Burt Iverson, Junction City’s most prosperous lawyer, and Elmer Baskin, the banker who hadn’t gotten to his Rotary speech but who had called later to …

“I went to the office to see you,” she said. “Cammy Harrington said she thought she saw you come in here. I wanted to apologize. Maybe. I thought at first you must have played some cruel trick on Dave.

But since Kenny moved away and Carl quit coming, I am the Speakers Committee. Now, you’ve got to help me. I need a speaker tomorrow night.

Concealed. It didn’t quite add up, chron-o-lodge-ick-a-lee speaking. In 1951, a man named Christopher Lavin had succeeded that saint Felicia Culpepper as head librarian. In 1964, Richard Price had become city librarian. Had Price succeeded Lavin?

… , all of them free, and ended his triumphant evening by puking on his own WELCOME mat shortly after Craig Jones let him out in front of his house on Kelton Avenue. When his stomach vapor-locked, Sam had been trying to get his housekey in the lock of …

The girl was Cynthia Berrigan, the Library assistant he had spoken to on Saturday night. Price said something to the girl. Sam thought she laughed.

… and U. L. Washington and George Brett . . . Willie Wilson and Amos Otis . . . Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a gunslinger in an old Western movie . . . Paul Splittorff and Ken Brett . . . I can’t remember all the names, but it …

and got all the players but one to sign em. The one who didn’t was Darrell Porter, the catcher. He was out with the flu, and he promised to sign the ball with his face on it as soon as he could. He did, too.”

… roaring past the Junction City depot now, the depot where a man named Brian Kelly had once tossed Dave Duncan four bits and then told him to get in the wind. Less than three hundred yards away and coming fast. Sam pushed past Sarah and knelt by the …

Stan Soames returned. He cocked a thumb at the driver of the fuel truck. “Dawson says I can borrow his car. I’ll run you into town.” “We could call a cab—” Sam began. Naomi was shaking her head.

A shadow danced in one of the aisles and Sam’s heart began to knock again. But it was only Doreen McGill’s shadow; she had bent over to make sure he had entered the correct time of day, and— —and HE didn’t cast a shadow. The Library Policeman.

“I didn’t want him to talk to you,” Naomi said. “I wanted to take him to Dr. Melden, but he refuses to go until he talks to you.” “Mr. Peebles,” Dave said feebly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Peebles, it’s all my fault, isn’t it?

Naomi shook her head. “The only Peckham I ever heard of around here was old Eddie Peckham, and he died years ago. I’m talking about Mr. Price. The librarian.”

… later he realized he also recognized Burt Iverson, Junction City’s most prosperous lawyer, and Elmer Baskin, the banker who hadn’t gotten to his Rotary speech but who had called later to congratulate him just the same. The breeze gusted, blowing …

… $5,000 to repair the extensive water damage the Library sustained during the Flood of ‘32, and Mrs. Felicia Culpepper took on the job of Head Librarian, donating her time without recompense. She never lost sight of her goal: a completely renovated Library, …

He had intended to return them to the Library that evening, but then Frank Stephens had called, wanting him to come out to dinner with him and his wife and their niece, who was visiting from Omaha (when you were a bachelor …

There was Willie Aikens and Frank White and U. L. Washington and George Brett . . . Willie Wilson and Amos Otis . . . Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a gunslinger in an old …

There was Willie Aikens and Frank White and U. L. Washington and George Brett . . . Willie Wilson and Amos Otis . . . Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a gunslinger in an old Western movie . . . Paul Splittorff and Ken Brett …

Guys like George Candy—who, it was said, could produce three million dollars in development money with one phone call . . . if he chose to make it.

I expected the dispatcher, you see—it was Hannah Verrill in those days—and I’d tell her what I had to say, and she’d pass it on to the deputy.

Ira Moggins had done that before Naomi’s time; it did not occur to her that l’affaire Ardelia had occurred long before Sam had come to Junction City.

Dave hugged him and said, ‘If you can’t go to the games, Joey, that’s okay; I’ll bring the Royals to you.’ “Joe stared up at him and says, ‘You mean in person, Uncle Dave?’

I carry the deaths of John Power and two little children on my conscience—not to mention the terrors I don’t know how many other children may have suffered—but I’m not …

… “Don’t punch a hole in the damn d—” At that moment he looked up and saw a shape much larger than Keith Jordan’s bulking behind the sheer curtain hung across the window in the door. His mind had been preoccupied, more concerned with the day ahead …

… Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a gunslinger in an old Western movie . . . Paul Splittorff and Ken Brett . . . I can’t remember all the names, but it was the whole damned roster, including Jim Frey, the field manager. “And sometime between when …

Sam, I am not just the head of the Speakers Committee—that would be bad enough. But since Kenny moved away and Carl quit coming, I am the Speakers Committee. Now, you’ve got to help me. I need a speaker tomorrow night.

“He knew he had to go fast, though. The doctors had told me and Laura the truth, you see, and I’d told Dave. Joe didn’t have much chance of pulling through. They’d caught onto what was wrong with him too late.

“I . . . I . . . I . . .” “I don’t want to hear your thick ecthcuses,” the Library Policeman said. He flipped his leather folder closed and stuffed it into his right pocket.

… “You know what they say, Lukey—one’s too many and a thousand are never enough.” Rudolph laughed. Lukey smiled . . . then laid the tip of his finger against the side of his nose again. “How about a quarter . . . wouldn’t have an extra quarter, …

Sam stood there for a moment, thinking black thoughts, then went to the telephone to call Mary Vasser, who cleaned house for him every Thursday morning. “Hello?” a faintly worried voice answered. “Hi, Mary. This is Sam Peebles.” “Sam?”

“My name is Naomi Higgins. I talked to you on the telephone earlier?” “Ah, yes,” Mike said. He rummaged on one of his cluttered shelves and brought out two books.

It was Naomi’s ramshackle mother. “Hello, Mrs. Higgins,” he said. “It’s Sam Peebles.”

“I thought about calling Mrs. Power, then decided it’d be better to call the Sheriff’s Office.

I closed my eyes tight. When I looked again, I saw it was a bunch of dolls old Mrs. Seger was gettin ready to make into a display. She saw me and flapped one of em at me—get away, you old drunk. But I didn’t.

“Who?” “Deputy Sheriff John Power. In those days, the Homestead County sheriff was Norman Beeman, and Norm’s the best argument I know for why sheriffs should be appointed rather than elected.

… They lived on the same block, and the story said they’d gotten in trouble the week before when Patsy Harrigan’s mother caught em smokin cigarettes in the back shed. The Gibson boy had a no-account uncle with a farm in Nebraska, and Norm Beeman was …

… and Amos Otis . . . Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a gunslinger in an old Western movie . . . Paul Splittorff and Ken Brett . . . I can’t remember all the names, but it was the whole damned roster, including Jim Frey, the field manager. “And …

“Yes.” “How do you know?” “When Phil Brakeman was running for the State House, I used to type up speeches for him all the time,” Naomi said. “He had one of those books.

The man, awkwardly buttoning his overcoat with an umbrella tucked under his arm, was unmistakably Richard Price; Sam knew him at once, even though he had only seen a single photo of the man in an old newspaper.

“You know what they say, Lukey—one’s too many and a thousand are never enough.” Rudolph laughed. Lukey smiled . . . then laid the tip of his finger against the side of his nose again.

Damn, that was a good talk, Sam!” “Oughtta take it on the road!” Rudy Pearlman said. His round face was red and sweating. “I darn near cried! Honest to God! Where’d you find that pome?” “At the Library,” Sam said.

Russ Frame, his PA friend, had jumped to a better-paying family practice in Grand Rapids early in 1989.

It was a picture of Simple Simon. He had been impaled on a spit over an open fire. He was clutching a great bundle of melting red licorice in one hand. His clothes were burning but he was still alive. He was screaming.

Sonja feels much better, and she wants us to finish the story, don’t you, Sonja?’ “ ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Sonja pipes up, just as pert as a robin in a birdbath. And their heads all came up.

“Well . . . I guess that is stretchin it a little. There’s a half-mile of packed dirt Stan Soames calls a runway. Stan’s front parlor is the office of Western Iowa Air Charter. You and Sarah talk to Stan. He’s got a little Navajo.

It had been Stu Youngman, wanting him to write a large homeowner’s policy. That had been the start of this week’s shower of bucks.

Naomi asked, and her voice was almost pleading. “Yeah, I am. Tansy Ryan from the post office, Tansy Ryan who goes to meetins with us, Tansy Ryan who used to be Tansy Power.

2 In Junction City, the last Friday of every month was Speaker’s Night at the local Rotarians’ Hall. On the last Friday in March of 1990, the Rotarians were scheduled to hear—and to be entertained by—The Amazing Joe, an acrobat with Curry & Trembo’s All-Star Circus and Travelling Carnival.

That’s what I was like. All of a sudden I wasn’t worryin about Patsy Harrigan, or Tom Gibson, or even Tansy Power. I felt like Ardelia was the one who was lookin at me, that Ardelia knew what I’d done, and she’d be after me.

“I think I did, a little. I was just confused for a second.” “Who is this Ardelia Lortz?” Tom Stanford asked, coming back. “That name rings a bell, but I’ll be darned if I know why.” “That’s just it. I don’t really know,” Sam said.

And since the first of January, Tom Wycliffe had been overseeing the Iowa State Patrol’s new Traffic Control Board.

… proboscis, plugging it the way the kids in that long-ago parking lot had plugged the tailpipe of Tommy Reed’s Pontiac. It tried to shriek and could produce only a blocked humming sound. Then it tried again to pull itself away from Sam. The ball of …

We named the place for Sarah. Of course, Tommy St. John spelled part of it wrong when he made the sign, but he meant well.” Dirty Dave fell silent for a moment, looking at his poster.

… There was Willie Aikens and Frank White and U. L. Washington and George Brett . . . Willie Wilson and Amos Otis . . . …

There was Willie Aikens and Frank White and U. L. Washington and George Brett . . . Willie Wilson and Amos Otis . . . Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a …

There was Willie Aikens and Frank White and U. L. Washington and George Brett . . . Willie Wilson and Amos Otis . . . Dan Quisenberry, lookin as fierce as a gunslinger in an old Western movie . . . Paul Splittorff and Ken Brett . . . I …

Then, just as I was gettin ready to take hold of Willy Klemmart and shake the shit out of him, I heard her comin back from the bathroom. I ran to my seat so she wouldn’t catch me.