With no excuse to linger, I went back to the offices. I stood in front of my little cubicle and studied the mess. None of my strategically placed items had been disturbed. Still convinced someone had rifled through my desk between the time I left on Tuesday and when I packed up to go on Wednesday, I tried to create some order. Something missing might be significant. Something added less so, as bags of donations and books recalled for weeding were dropped off as they came in, but it was worth taking a look.
I did a Post-it purge and turned to my files. I was sorting through articles and e-mails on upcoming programs when I came across a folded note handwritten with a Sharpie on yellow legal paper. It was clipped to an e-mail dated three days earlier. I smoothed out the paper and read:
Hi Greer!
Thanks for the book list—this is exactly what I was looking for! The anti-princess project has begun! I decided to buy some of these for the girls, but I’m having them sent to you here at the library. I didn’t think you’d mind—I want them to be a surprise. There’s some other stuff going on related to what we talked about, and I need your help with some research. I know I can trust you to be discreet. I’ll fill you in when I see you.
Thanks again!
Joanna
The e-mail was a booklist I had sent to Joanna on Monday morning. Several items had been highlighted. She’d asked for books for her daughters that featured girls who accomplished more than simply catching Prince Charming. Joanna had come in late one night the previous week, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, radiating righteous indignation. She marched up to the reference desk and promptly launched into a diatribe against fairy tales, kids’ movies in general and Disney in particular, the prevalence of purple, pink, and sparkle in little girls’ clothing, and marketing aimed at children. She wound up with a brief thanks for Hermione Granger, “a smart, competent character the girls can grow up with,” and bemoaned the fact that it would be years before her kids were ready for Katniss Everdeen.
Once Joanna was on a roll, there was no stopping her. I waited for her to wind down. Once I could get a word in, I agreed with her about Hermione and Katniss and asked how I could help.
“I need some books for the girls, as many as you can find, about girls who actually DO something. Save their village from a dragon, start a business, solve crimes, stand up to bullies, stuff like that. None of this Prince Charming nonsense.”
This was going to be no small task. I wasn’t a children’s librarian, so my knowledge of the literature was limited. My personal favorite, Fancy Nancy, was clearly not going to cut it. The Paper Bag Princess would work, but it was all I could think of and I wasn’t going to be able to pull a book list out of the air in the twenty minutes I had until we closed.
“Hmm,” I said, “that’s interesting. I don’t get a lot of requests like this, but I’m sure I can find some things for you.” This was librarian speak for “I’ve got nothing.”
“I have a few ideas,” I said, “but I’d like to check with Jilly.” Jilly was our Youth Services librarian. She was a walking encyclopedia of children’s literature. I smiled at Joanna. “We can look for a couple of things tonight, and I’ll get you a more extensive list in a few days.”
We chatted as we moved through the stacks. I tried to remember our conversation. Had she said anything significant? I didn’t think so, but she surprised me at the end. She thanked me for my help, and said she didn’t want her daughters to ever put their dreams on hold for a man. Odd, because I was sure she hadn’t. If she had her way, her girls wouldn’t either.
Except she wouldn’t have her way, because she was dead.
Who would save Sophie and Olivia from Prince Charming now?
I always thought you’d marry Ian, and go off and have all kinds of adventures.
Joanna’s voice again. Well, I hadn’t married Prince Charming. I’d married Danny, the best and truest friend I’d ever had. Now both Danny and Joanna were dead. Last night had brought another round of nightmares. The lid I’d kept on my emotions was being blown off with a vengeance. Grief and guilt were there, but the overwhelming feeling was rage. I was irrationally angry at Danny and Joanna for being dead, and livid at their killers. What could merit such a thing? Though if I were honest, at that moment I could have killed someone myself.
I put aside thoughts of Danny. Joanna was my immediate concern. I would miss her. We were unlikely friends from the beginning. I was the cool, detached New Yorker, a senior serving as RA to a bunch of transfer students. She was a sophomore from the western part of the state, full of ideals and energy. But we both had a fondness for the underdog and a willingness to bend the rules in the interests of justice. She talked me into helping with various projects, like getting donations for a West Village food pantry that served out-of-work actors, AIDS patients, and the elderly. We lost touch when I graduated, but she was kind to me when I first arrived in Raven Hill, inviting me for coffee and introducing me to people. We fell into an easy, casual friendship again, sharing laughs about village life, our outsider sensibility setting us apart. She could be a maniac, but she was a principled, funny maniac.
Had her latest crusade killed her?
What was that crusade? She had a lot of irons in the fire at any given moment. I had no idea what she might have wanted my help with. Joanna had
