The Dark Secret of Weatherend (18 page)

Emerson lit a cigar and blew smoke out into the frosty air. "Interesting question," he said as he smoked. "The human mind is an odd, contradictory thing, Anthony, and people are capable of holding two opposite views at the same time. With one half of his mind old Borkman must've wanted his miserable scheme to work. But there must've been a part of him—the nicer, more human part—that
didn't
want the plan to be set in motion. So that part of his mind made sure that a counterspell would be left behind, together with clues leading to its discovery."

"I'm glad," said Miss Eells soberly, "that I'll be going back to a thoroughly normal world of overdue books and kids yelling and throwing spit wads in the East Reading Room. Even Charley Petersen and his windup teeth will be a treat after Anders Borkman!"

With a shock it came back to Anthony that Miss Eells was not going to be fired after all.

"I'll bet you're wondering what sort of double-dealing and skullduggery we pulled to get Myra back in at the library, aren't you?" said Emerson, his eyes twinkling with suppressed amusement. "Well, friend, as strange as it may seem, the whole thing was perfectly legal. You see, after Myra did her little dance act up in the Genealogy Room that day, she assumed—indeed,
everyone
assumed—that there must be a clause in her contract that would allow the Library Board to fire her. But Myra's contract was drawn up years and years ago by old Mrs. Lesh, the former head librarian. Mrs. Lesh adored Myra, and she also knew that Myra was stubborn, cranky, and independent. So when she gave Myra her long-term contract, she put in a clause that said that she could not be fired
for any reason.
Myra hadn't read her contract carefully for years, so she had forgotten about that cute little clause. Anyway, if Myra wants to put on a pink leotard and go dance on the roof of the library, she can do it. Her job is secure until the day she retires, or until she dies."

Anthony was amazed, and he was delighted too. "Gee, Miss Eells, that's great!" he said, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm so glad! Is it true?"

Miss Eells smiled placidly. "Of course, I will have to put up with some unpleasant stares and hateful, backbiting remarks when I go back to work, but at my age I couldn't care less what the dowagers on the Library Board think. And I have to admit that the whole thing has its funny side. I mean, I would never,
ever
have done anything disgraceful like that if I hadn't been under a spell, but be that as it may... Well, I keep thinking of the way Mrs. Oxenstern looked when I dumped punch all over her. It was really a pretty rare scene."

"Rare indeed," sniffed Emerson. He looked discontentedly around, and then he shivered violently.
"Brrrh!"
he said, hunching up his shoulders and hugging himself.
"It really is cold out here. Why don't we all go back to Myra's place for a game of Scrabble and some hot buttered rum?"

Anthony and Miss Eells agreed happily, and the three of them climbed down from the sleigh and began crunching across the snow toward Miss Eells's car. Emerson had bought her a brand-new Cadillac to replace the Dodge. As they walked it suddenly occurred to Anthony that one last thread had been left hanging. He still didn't know what
pam
meant.

When he asked about it, Emerson chuckled. "Funny you should mention it," he said, "just as we are going off to embroil ourselves in a nice cutthroat game of Scrabble. It seems that there is an old eighteenth-century card game called
loo.
And in this game there's a trump card called
pam.
It happens to be the jack of clubs. Does that make everything clear?"

"You're becoming an expert on everything in your old age," said Miss Eells as they reached the car.

Emerson bent over and began unlocking one of the doors. "Now, I hope you're not criticizing, Myra," he said. "I could add a word or two about you. People tend to think of librarians as fussy, meticulous types, but after seeing your housekeeping and listening to some of the things you say, I have often wondered how you managed to get a job like—
aaah!"

Emerson straightened up suddenly and grabbed at the back of his neck. During his little speech he had had his back to the other two, and so he had not noticed Miss
Eells sneaking up on him with a lump of snow. With a sudden, swift motion she had stuffed the snow down the back of his neck. With a vengeful roar Emerson whirled and stooped. Hurriedly he made a snowball, and as his sister retreated toward the trees he let it fly. Miss Eells ducked, and the snowball flew over her head. There was a loud
whap
as the snowball hit someone who had just rounded a curve in the walk that led from the lake to the street. Miss Eells and Anthony and Emerson stared for a second, and then they broke up in uproarious laughter. It was Mrs. Oxenstern, of course.