Baptism in Blood(96)

“Jesus,” he said to Clayton Hall.

The library’s big front doors were right in front of them. The doors were shut, so they wouldn’t let out any of the air-conditioning. Clayton opened one and ushered Gregor inside. Gregor landed in the lobby right in front of the plaque he had been thinking about, the one with the words WISDOM IS THE JEWEL OF GOD AND THE CROWN OF THE JUST MAN written on it. Gregor didn’t know much about the Bi­ble, but he did know this was a quotation from Ecclesiastics, one of the books of the Bible that Catholics accepted and Protestants did not. The Bellerton Public Library seemed to be more ecumenical than many of the church groups Gregor had heard of.

There were inner doors as well as outer ones. Every­one believed in air locks these days. The inner doors were made of glass. Through them, Gregor could see the few people who were in the library. They were mostly old peo­ple, reading newspapers at long wooden tables. There was a young woman at a little computer desk that served as the card catalogue these days, tapping things onto the keyboard with one hand and wrestling with a baby with the other. The baby was bright and cheerful and determined and strong. He kept getting away and having to be chased after.

Clayton pushed open one of the inner doors and said, “You coming? Or are you asleep on your feet?”

“Both,” Gregor told him. “It’s a good-sized library for a small town.”

“Have you been in here before?”

“Just as far as this vestibule. I poked my head in one of those mornings when I was wandering around, explor­ing.”

“It is a good library for a small town,” Clayton said. “The town council did a good job. They raised some money from taxes and some from fund-raisers and then they got a chunk from the state, and they used it wisely, if you ask me, No paying somebody’s second cousin to make a mess of the foundations.”

The young woman behind the checkout desk was not the one Gregor was looking for. For one thing, she was too young. For another, her hair was a bizarre shade of yellow that he had never seen before on anyone, anywhere. She was wearing a big silver cross around her neck on a deli­cate gold chain. So were at least three of the old ladies who were reading newspapers at the long table in the middle of the room. Clayton passed by them all, waving at the young woman behind the desk, whose name appeared to be Tisha. Then he headed for the staircase at the back and started climbing.

“Naomi’s office is on the second floor,” he explained. “That’s because she’s a really big noise with a doctorate in library science and everything. She’s also local, by the way. Doctorate or no doctorate, I don’t think the council would have hired her if she wasn’t local.”

“I knew she was local,” Gregor said.

Clayton looked as if he wanted to ask Gregor how he knew, but they were at the top of the steps now. There were more stacks up here, and more wooden tables and wooden chairs—but small ones this time, just big enough for one or two people. Gregor followed Clayton to the back of the big room and found himself facing three brown metal doors. One of them was marked MEN. One of them was marked WOMEN. The third was blank.

“Here we are,” Clayton said, knocking on the blank door. He didn’t wait to hear an answering summons. He just opened the door and stuck his head in. “Naomi?”

Naomi was sitting at her desk near the windows. She had her back to the door when Clayton opened it, as if she had been watching the birds in the trees as she waited for their arrival. As soon as she heard the door swing open, she turned. Gregor thought she looked paler and more strained than the first time he had seen her.

Naomi Brent had been holding a pencil in one hand when the door opened. Now she dropped it on the desk and said, “There you are. What kept you? You were just across the street.”

Gregor didn’t think anything had kept them. Clayton said, “Naomi, I’d like you to meet—”

“Mr. Demarkian and I have met,” Naomi cut in. “I’m sorry about my—demeanor yesterday morning, Mr. Demarkian. I wasn’t at my best.”

“You seemed fine to me.”

Naomi turned to Clayton. “I yelled at him,” she ex­plained. “I accused him of trying to make everybody who believed in God look like a rube and a dimwit. And he didn’t deserve it, of course. He wasn’t doing anything like that.”

Clayton grabbed one of Naomi’s visitor’s chairs and sat down at it. It was made of some kind of shiny metal and a vinyl meant to look like black leather, with no arms. Gregor got the impression that Clayton wished he could straddle it.