Jamie Brodie 01 - Cited to Death

through this mail and find the ILL requests. I’d been working in a groove for about an hour, separating books, articles and junk into stacks, when someone darkened my door. "Hey, you! Back to the salt mines, eh?"
    I looked up to see Diane DeLong leaning against the door frame. Diane had been in my library school cohort, and we'd remained friendly, although I wouldn’t call her a good friend. In school, she’d been the class gossip. Telephone, telegraph, tell Diane. Somehow she’d found out that I was in the hospital, and had descended on my room daily to “cheer me up.” She was a high school librarian in Pasadena, and was just starting her summer vacation. Diane was a lifelong Goth, with punk tendencies. She was dressed in black from head to toe, except for her lime green Mohawk.
    “Hey, yourself. What are you doing here? And how did they let you in?"
    Diane smirked. "I don't think your boss saw me. As to what I'm doing here..." She picked up a stack of paper and sat down. "I've got some bad news, and I wanted to tell you in person. You might want to sit down too."
    I sat. "If it’s about Dan Christensen, I know. I saw his obituary in the paper this morning."
    “Ah. You guys were involved, weren't you?"
    "We were - um - kind of – do you know what happened to him?"
    "My sister-in-law is a nurse at Cedars, and she said they're not sure, but they think it was a seizure. He had seizures, didn't he?"
    I remembered a row of prescription bottles in Dan’s medicine cabinet. "Yeah. He did. But he was at work? How did no one see it?"
    "Apparently he'd stayed at work late on Friday evening. The cleaning crew found him yesterday morning when they opened his office."
    "I can't believe this. He'd been there since Friday night?"
    "They think so. The library isn't open on the weekends. The police came, but they said it wasn't a suspicious death."
    "Had you kept in touch with him?"
    "To some extent. But I didn’t see him very often." Diane looked sympathetic. "Were you guys very close?"
    "Not really. We just fooled around some. And it was only for four months. After graduation I never saw him again."
    Diane made a disapproving face. “Hmph. You’re going to the funeral, aren’t you?”
    “I hadn’t planned to.”
    “Well, I think we should. I don’t think Dan had many friends. It would be nice for his family if a few people who knew him and didn’t hate him showed up.”
    “When is the service? And where?”
    “It’s a graveside service. Forest Lawn in Glendale. Thursday afternoon, 2:30.”
    “I don’t know if I can take any more leave. I’ve been gone for two weeks.”
    “So check with your boss. It’s not all day, it’s just a couple of hours. Do you have anything scheduled that afternoon?”
    I pulled up my calendar. “No.”
    “Well, go ask her. I’ll wait.” Diane leaned back, looking smug.
    I sighed. Dr. Loomis was a force to be reckoned with, but so was Diane. I decided the request would go down better in person, and went upstairs to Dr. Loomis’s office.
    Madeline Loomis was my supervisor, the head of reference for the research library. She was a tiny woman, but formidable. She looked like an old school librarian, with her bun of gray hair and her glasses on a cord around her neck, but she was the first to encourage us to adapt technology into our work. She carried her iPad around with her like a totem and used it for everything. She was an excellent boss. Our love for her was only slightly tinged by fear.
    Dr. Loomis was in her office, alone, with the door open. This was my lucky day. I stuck my head in her office. "Good morning, Dr. Loomis."
    She looked up and smiled. "Jamie! Welcome back. Come in, sit down. How are you feeling?"
    I went in and sat. "Not bad. Almost back to normal."
    She narrowed her eyes at me. "But not entirely back to normal."
    "Well, no. I still don't have a lot of energy. But that will come back now that I'm back to work."
    She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Jamie. You still have more sick leave accumulated than anyone in this building. I want you to promise me that if you don't feel up to working, you won't come in. I'm already impressed with your work ethic. You don't have to keep impressing me with it. Understood?"
    "Yes, ma'am."
    She nodded sharply. "All right. Now that we have that clear. What can I do for you?"
    I steeled myself. "One of my library school classmates passed away over the weekend. His memorial service is Thursday afternoon in