Louisiana Saves the Library (16 page)

“So it's my place.”

“You name the time.”

There was no good reason Louise couldn't invite him over on Friday night. But she hesitated. The way her pulse raced when he was near scared her a little. She didn't want a man walking all over her again. “I'll call you,” she said.

The sun had gone down, and a cold wind churned up the dirt in Sal's yard. Louise hurried to the truck and got into the front seat next to Sylvia.

“You sure took a long time,” Sylvia said. “We almost left without you.”

Louise didn't bother to answer. She should have told Sal how much she liked him and that she really wanted him to come over for dinner. She couldn't let her experience with Brendan destroy any possibility of another relationship. Now was not the time to worry about her love life, however. She needed to focus on the presentation to the police jury. “Sylvia, are you ready to do this thing?”

“Of course, girl.” Sylvia undid the top button of her blouse. “The presentation is loaded on my laptop right here. We're going to make it really hard for these people to say no.”

Hope drove down the street and turned on Main. They passed the post office and the elementary school before coming to city hall. The squat, nondescript brick structure was a mirror image of the library building. The parking lot was already full of pickup trucks and cars.

“Is this the entertainment for the entire town? Don't y'all have cable?” Sylvia said.

Hope cut the engine. “Beats me. I know I got things I'd rather be doing.”

The windowless beige room was just as cold as the chilly evening air. An empty table in the front had a nameplate and a microphone for each of the police jury members. Almost all of the audience seats were full. Louise recognized many of the faces on the right side of the room, although she didn't know all the names. She spotted Ms. Trudy, Eleanor, Eloise, and the B sisters and their mother clustered near the front. Mr. Foley and Mr. Henry were a few rows back.

She didn't like the look of the group on the left-hand side of the room. None of them were library regulars, and judging from their glowering faces, they weren't supporters.

A man wearing khaki pants and a press badge motioned them over to a group of empty seats near the back.

“Hey, Breaux,” Hope said as they sat down. “I brought our new librarians, Louisiana and Sylvia.”

“Y'all are in for a treat. These meetings are never boring.”

“Gerald Breaux writes for the
Alligator Bayou Gazette
. Heck, he writes the
Alligator Bayou Gazette
.”

“Now, that's not fair. I have a staff of two.” Breaux flipped open his reporter's notebook, took the pencil from behind his ear, and wrote something on the page.

The police jury members filed in and took their seats. Marty Pratt and Delilah Perkins could have been sisters. Both had frizzy, gray-streaked black hair and stood taller than most of the men on the jury. But while Pratt's dress was a conservative navy blue, Perkins wore a puffy polka-dotted frock and knee-high boots. The only jury member taller than the two women, Reverend McDonald, wore a three-piece suit. Beau Foster, the jury president, was balding and corpulent, like a taller version of Mr. Foley.

When Mrs. Gunderson entered the room, all talking ceased. She wore the same jacket-shirt and skirt she'd had on when she'd visited the library. She walked to the table in her chunky heels and adjusted the chair before sitting down.

“There's the Gund. Hattie Gunderson. She runs the show here. Those other folks are just for looks,” Breaux said.

“Yeah, I know who she is.” The sight of Mrs. Gunderson made Louise's stomach sink. This woman had the power to fire her, cut off all the funding to the library, even close it down if she wanted to. And, if Ms. Trudy was right, she wanted to.

Foster banged a gavel. “I call this meeting to order.”

Breaux passed Louise an agenda. “They're gonna discuss Redlight before your thing. I hope your seats are comfortable.”

“Juror Reverend McDonald will lead us in the prayer, and then Mrs. Gunderson will lead the Pledge of Allegiance,” Foster said.

“Oh, great, the Reverend Cheeseburger,” Breaux said. “He'll ask God to bless the entire blessed state before he's done.”

McDonald stood and bowed his head. “Our Heavenly Father, we thank you for all the great blessings we have received. We ask you to protect the men and women of the armed forces who are fighting for our freedom around the world. We ask you to bless all the children. All the children, Lord, who are hungry and helpless and homeless in this world. And let us not forget the unborn children. Lord Jesus, we must remember those innocent lives that have yet to begin. And thank you for the free market system, Lord, that wonderful system that has heaped so many blessings on our blessed country. Help us here tonight to make good decisions for our little part of this great country, Lord. Guide our steps and our hearts in all we do. Lord Jesus, we ask for your help in the decisions that will affect all the good and worthy people of our town, your town.”

Louise opened her eyes just enough to glance over at Sylvia. She was shaking, trying not to laugh. Who would he bless next? The catfish farmers? The prostitutes in New Orleans? The meeting might never begin.

The reverend sucked in a great quantity of air before continuing. “Lord, help us to make the right decisions in this room. Help us do the right thing for the people of the community, and especially the children whom you knew before they were even born, Lord. In your name we pray. Amen.”

Louise and Sylvia both missed saying the “Amen.” Sylvia put on an expression of studied seriousness as they turned toward a flag in the corner and recited the Pledge of Allegiance.

“First item on the agenda: Approving the agenda,” Foster said when everyone had returned to their seats. He proceeded to read the document in a slow, halting voice.

“Is he actually going to read the entire thing?” Louise asked.

“Word for word,” Breaux said.

By the time Foster was finished, Louise's palms were sweaty. She obsessively rehearsed the presentation in her head, not sure whether it was good enough. Too bad there wasn't a magically foolproof way to convince all the skeptics to support the library. They would need powerful voodoo to win over the frowning left-hand side of the room. Even the force of Sylvia's smile might not be enough.

“Do I have a motion for approval?” Foster said.

Pratt spoke up. “So moved.”

“That's my snitch,” Breaux whispered.

“I know her. She came to Sylvia's Zumba class,” Louise said.

“Really?” Breaux looked at Sylvia over his wire-rimmed glasses. “That would have been a sight.”

“Second,” McDonald said.

“All in favor let it be known by the sign ‘aye,' ” Foster said.

The jurors ayed.

Foster picked up the agenda and held it in front of his face. “Item two. Redlight. Mrs. Gunderson.”

Mrs. Gunderson cleared her throat. “Yes, as you all know, I feel that we made a mistake entering into a contract with this firm. When I get calls from people in the community about people running red lights or speeding, it's through neighborhoods. And we all know why Redlight won't put their radar equipment in subdivisions. They aren't concerned about safety. They're about making money. The sheriff's department needs to have its own traffic division to issue tickets, not this private company.”

“We still have two years on the contract,” Foster said. “There isn't anything we can do.”

“We need to explore our options.”

“None of us signed this contract. It was before we all were on the police jury. But we're bound to it now.”

“There are always options,” Mrs. Gunderson said. “What if we moved their equipment to a dead-end street? Or set it to only ticket people at twenty miles over the speed limit?”

“They talk about this every meeting,” Breaux said. “The horse is long dead and they're still beating on the poor thing.” He fixed the pencil behind his ear and leaned back in his chair.

“We can't do that,” Foster said. “The contract states that we have to leave the equipment where they put it.”

“We need to meet with their representatives. I make a motion that Mr. Foster and I hold a meeting with Redlight and our lawyer and discuss our options.” Mrs. Gunderson stabbed her finger into the table.

“Second,” McDonald said.

“All in favor, let it be known by the sign ‘aye,' ” Foster said.

The council ayed. Breaux rolled his eyes.

“Item three. The library budget. Mr. Foley?” Foster said.

Mr. Foley approached the lectern in front of the jurors and pulled the microphone down to his level. “Yes, sir. You all have copies of the budget for this month. You should also have a copy of my projected budget for next year. I always like to get a head start.”

Mrs. Gunderson flipped through her packet. “Mr. Foley, in future, if there are this many pages in something, I would prefer them to be numbered. It is hard to refer to a page when there are no numbers.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mr. Foley said, his shoulders slumping. “I'm sorry.”

Even though she'd witnessed it before, Louise couldn't get used to Mr. Foley's change in attitude around the police jurors. Her boss's voice sounded completely different—polite and placating as opposed to cynical and dismissive. He was like an ape in the presence of an alpha male.

“So, if you turn to, let's see . . .” Mrs. Gunderson made a show of counting. “Page nine. You have budgeted a thousand dollars more for supplies than last year. Do you really need that many pencils?”

“No, ma'am. But the cost of everything will go up next year. My supplier told me—”

“Cut back, then. And make sure the employees don't steal anything. Lord knows, those people you hire . . .”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Moving right along. On page three, you have budgeted an increase for utilities as well.”

“I expect our costs to rise. And we are keeping the library open slightly longer hours and on Saturdays.”

Mrs. Gunderson cut him off. “I notice that there are windows in the workroom. Perhaps, you could leave the lights off during the day and have your employees open the blinds. At least in the winter, when it wouldn't make the room much hotter.”

Breaux slapped his forehead. Mrs. Gunderson glared at him.

“Yes, ma'am,” Mr. Foley said.

“And what about these longer hours? Do patrons actually take advantage of them?”

“Yes, ma'am. My employees report a twenty percent increase in gate traffic since we have expanded our hours.”

Sylvia looked at Louise. They had provided Mr. Foley with the increase in patronage. He'd acted unimpressed, but now he was reporting it to the board without mentioning that he'd fought the extended hours until Sylvia threatened to quit. A jerk move. But maybe he'd finally come over to their side.

“That's good, I suppose. Except that more patronage doesn't bring in more money unless they forget to turn in their books on time.” Mrs. Gunderson turned the page with unnecessary force. “What about this line for ‘multimedia equipment'? I don't recall this from last year's budget.”

“Well, ma'am, technology is changing. We all need to stay in the loop.”

Louise and Sylvia exchanged glances again. Another surprise. Mr. Foley seemed to be considering buying DVDs and CDs for the library. The goat farmer might actually be smart enough to realize that he'd been wrong.

Louise daydreamed as Mrs. Gunderson picked through the rest of the budget. Maybe they should talk more about the children's programs during their presentation. Mentioning the Zumba classes could be a mistake since Mr. Foley had been so against the idea. Also, Mrs. Gunderson would probably be scandalized by Sylvia's proposal to hold a dance at the library. What about e-books? Should they talk about that more since it was something they actually agreed with her about?

Sylvia elbowed her. “Wake up. They're talking about the tax.”

“ ‘. . . to allow for the following to appear on the May 14 ballot. A one mill property tax to be levied by the parish in effect for ten years beginning in September.' ” Foster was laboriously reading from a legal document.

Louise's mind wandered again. She came back to reality when Mrs. Gunderson's aggrieved voice replaced Foster's weak one. “I feel that the library has not shown us what it can accomplish with the money it already has. Why should we ask the people of our parish to give more?” she said.

“The library is an important educational tool for our children,” Pratt said.

“Please. Everyone knows that most people just go over the border to Saint Jude Parish and check out books there. The people that still even use libraries, that is.”

“But as our libraries here get better, people will use them.”

“Really? I doubt it. Who even reads books anymore? Who has time?”

Foster banged his gavel. “I hereby open the floor for public comments. Is there anyone wishing to speak for the library?”

The board secretary, Regina Lewis, stood up from her chair next to the police jury table. Regina was a library regular and reader of cozy mysteries and gardening books. It made Louise feel a little more optimistic to see a library supporter.

“I believe we have a request to speak from two of our librarians, Sylvia Jones and Louisiana Richardson,” Regina said, smiling encouragingly at Louise.

“Please come forward,” Foster said. “State your names and addresses for the record.”