The Good, the Bad, and the Emus(59)

I had a table full of books waiting for me at the library, so I headed there. But there was only one car in its parking lot, and a sign in the front door: CLOSED.

I was turning to go when the door popped open.

“Sorry!” Anne, the librarian, had opened the door and stepped out. “We’re closed because of the power outage.” She was wearing an LED headlight, similar to the ones Miss Annabel and the chief had, and thoughtfully flicked it off rather than shining it in my face.

“I know,” I said. I’d already figured out that the power outage explained why downtown was so moribund. Even more moribund than usual. Though I should probably still keep an eye out for those mutant cockroaches. “Just figuring out what to do with myself instead of the research I was planning.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’d let you in to work by a window, but I’m only staying a few minutes myself, to make sure everything’s secure. We’re in for a heat wave starting today. Temperatures predicted to be in the high nineties, heat index of a hundred and ten, so in an hour or so this place will be an oven.”

“I knew Miss Annabel had lost power,” I said. “But I didn’t know till I came into town that it was so widespread. Is the whole town affected?”

“Half the state is affected!” She sounded remarkably cheerful about it. Or perhaps she was one of those people who found some consolation in being the first to know and share the latest bad news. Of course, she was an improvement over the chief, who probably knew all of this and hadn’t said a word about it. Or maybe the chief didn’t care about the power situation beyond the borders of Riverton.

“Any prediction on when we’ll get power back?” I asked.

“Not a word.” Her expression turned grim. “That was one huge storm system last night—there’s hundreds of thousands of people in the dark, all the way from Northern Virginia down to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. They say they’re still assessing the damage and calling in crews from other regions. I’ve heard that before. Usually means we’re in for a long wait. We were out for three weeks with Hurricane Isabel and again with Irene.”

“Damn,” I said.

“Look, if there’s anything you particularly need looked up, let me know,” she said. “I can’t do anything online or with microfiche until the power comes back, but I can haul a few books home and do research where it’s a few degrees cooler. And if my sister down in Richmond gets power back before we do, I might go down and stay with her, and I’ll just be twiddling my thumbs.”

I thought about it for a few moments and decided to trust her. She was a fan of Grandfather’s. And a librarian.

“Any chance you could do some research on whether anyone here in Riverton has a particular reason to hate my grandfather?” I asked.

“You mean like antienvironmental nutcases?” she said.

“Or people whose business or political plans he’s thwarted,” I said. “Or people he’s embarrassed. Or fired. Or whatever. He makes a lot of enemies.”

“Yes, but he does a lot of good along with it,” she said. “I’ll see what I can turn up.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And don’t tell anyone.”

“Right,” she said. “Because I don’t want to get the next bottle of poisoned alcohol. Although according to our local EMTs, the poor man who drank the Scotch is going to pull through, largely due to your father’s figuring out so quickly what was wrong with him.”

I nodded.

“And look on the bright side,” she said. “Now you’re free to join in the emu roundup! How’s it going, anyway? Have they got many birds?”

“I was up there this morning for a while,” I said. “And when I left, they hadn’t started any actual rounding up. Nothing much can happen until they locate the birds.”

“They’re not still hanging around Pudding Mountain?”

“Pudding Mountain?” I echoed. “Is that different from Biscuit Mountain?”

“Completely different,” she said. “It’s where the ladies used to feed the emus.”

“You mean Miss Annabel and Ms. Delia?”

“Yes,” she said. “Only in the winter, when they thought the birds might have trouble foraging. A couple of times a week Ms. Delia would have Thor Larsen borrow his uncle’s truck, load up with grain at the feed store, and haul it up to where the emus hung out.”

“Did Miss Annabel keep it up after Ms. Delia’s death?”

“Yes,” she said. “Though poor Thor had to do it all by himself, since Miss Annabel doesn’t go out.”