Page 35 of Witch and Tell
“I don’t even want to go into detail about cats who”— she lifted her nose as if confronted by a laundry basket heaped with the high school football team’s dirty socks— “who smother babies in their cribs.”
“There’s no proof of—” started someone several rows ahead of me.
“Then where did these stories come from?” Wanda said. “We’ve all heard them, haven’t we? As the saying goes, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Not waiting for confirmation, she continued. “Romanticizing cats through books portraying them as innocent, wide-eyed creatures who do nothing but snuggle is worse than irresponsible. It’s deadly.” She returned to her notes. “The Wilfred library houses seventy-two children’s books with cats as major characters.”
So that’s what she and Ruth Littlewood had been doing. Cataloguing children’s books.
“Each of these stories,” Wanda continued, “is another instrument of pro-cat propaganda.”
Mrs. Wallingford stood. “Where’s the research showing that letting children read stories with cats in them hurts society?”
Hearing these words out loud drove home how absurd Wanda’s argument was. After a glance at the upstairs railing to make sure Rodney wasn’t up to any tricks, I relaxed in my chair.
“Do you really need research when common sense tells you everything you need to know?” Wanda replied.
“Birds,” came a firm voice from the front row. Ruth Littlewood. “Let’s not forget about the damage cats do to birds. There’s plenty of research behind that.”
Duke stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. I held my breath. Duke could come out anywhere on this issue, and however he settled, he was stubborn. And he was a library trustee. “I don’t hold with removing books. I believe in freedom of speech. The First Amendment, am I right?”
“Get this straight,” Wanda said. When I looked from one pugnacious set of jaw to the other, I could clearly see Wanda and Duke’s family resemblance. “I agree with you. I’m not advocating getting rid of the books altogether. I simply want them removed from sight.”
“Why not just limit access to them? Why take them away completely?” a woman to my right asked.
A moving bit of yellow caught my eye from the banister above Wanda. What was it? It looked like it was on wheels. Slowly, it jerked a few inches at a time. I didn’t, however, see Rodney. That didn’t mean he didn’t have something up his furry paw.Don’t make trouble, I willed him.
“Simply requiring parental permission to check out a book is not enough,” Wanda replied. “What if you— rightly, I might add—forbid your daughter to read a certain book, but she hears about it from her friend at school who didn’t have such protection? This little girl might grow up believing cats solve crimes, or wear hats and gloves, or want nothing more than to charm little kids. The culture spreading lies about these deadly and destructive animals has already spread too far. Let me reemphasize: our taxes go to support the library. Public money should not be spent on spreading damaging misinformation.”
Wanda had gone too far. Besides, she hadn’t been in town long enough to contribute a penny to the library’s budget. I would not hear another word. I stood. “Say you succeed at getting the library’s trustees to vote to pull all children’s books that have cats in them. Then what? Where does it stop?” I turned to Sheri. “Sheri rides her bike everywhere.”
She raised a hand. “Leave me out of this, Josie.”
“Just a minute. This is important. Say Sheri, concerned about the environment, decides Wilfred’s children should not be exposed to polluting vehicles. She might want all kids’ books with cars and trucks in them to be pulled from the shelves.”
Wanda looked at me in confusion. “Is this a joke?”
Mona shot up from her seat. “Talk about a joke. Cats have been vital, helpful members of society for millennia. The Egyptians revered them. Cats reduce dis ease by killing vermin. They provide loving company to the lonely. They’re beautiful, wonderful creatures.”
“Wonderful? Beautiful?” She made a noise that was a cross between a sneer and a raspberry. “They’re hateful, dangerous, vicious beasts. Nonsense. You wouldn’t want kids to read about making bombs, would you? As if it’s a joy?”
A creak and thump sounded from directly above Wanda. The moving yellow object was the retreat center’s wheeled mop bucket. I was horrified but couldn’t tear my eyes away.Rodney!I shouted silently, just as a rush of pine-cleanser-scented water poured from the banister above Wanda. The audience gasped, and people in the front row stood to shake drops of water from their laps and shoulders.
Wanda snorted and wiped her eyes. She was drenched from her head to her knees. She turned her head in time to glimpse black fur scampering away from the upturned mop bucket. I could practically hear Rodney snicker.
Her face purple with rage, Wanda forced words through her teeth. “Saturday night. The library trustees’ meeting. I count on seeing you there.”
Chapter Nineteen
I’d been the first person out the door of Wanda’s meeting and wasted no time getting back to the library. I planned to turn off the ringer on my phone and pretend I wasn’t home until the furor over Rodney’s antics wore off.
I arrived, breathless, to find a note on the library’s kitchen door, folded and crammed into the jamb. As I pulled it out and smoothed it, my first thought was that it was some anti-cat scribe. But no, it was from Tyrone Beaudrie. He didn’t have my phone number and couldn’t have texted.
I learned something about Ian, the note read.Come see me when you get this.
I looked at my phone. It was nearly nine o’clock, and the night was as black as Rodney’s belly. Too late to see him? His note sounded urgent.
I turned around and headed back down the hill toward the Wallingford Guest House. I could at least see if his light was on.
Wilfred’s streets were rapidly quieting. People who’d attended Wanda’s meeting were dispersing to their homes and boosting open windows to the cool night air. Inside they would lay out coffee cups for the morning and kiss children good night. The few trucks in the café’s parking lot showed that the tavern had its usual handful of late-night customers. Orson—or his Tohler replacement—would soon be gently easing them toward the door.