This was taking an interesting turn.
"Uh, Linda," I stammered. "I'm not sure that a few phone calls to Oregon and Colombia constitute any kind of proof that your dad's getting involved in drugs. And I really don't know why you're telling me all this stuff, or why you asked for me at the hospital, or whyŠwell, just, why? Why me?"
Linda paused for a minute, looking down at the floor and absent-mindedly petted the dog.
"Cheese, I don't suppose you know the kinds of things people have been saying about you since you got to town."
Oh man, here it comes, I thought. Small-town folks filling in the gaps of what they don't know about me, which was a lot, by making stuff up and passing it along. If this talk was even partially accurate, my future as town librarian was in deep trouble.
"No, can't say that I've heard much along those lines. What have the good folks of Old Town been saying about me behind my back?"
"Nothing really bad. It's just that most people kind of assume that you've led aŠcolorful life."
Colorful. Now there was an adjective that could mean almost anything. "I guess I can own up to a 'colorful' background without too much risk of self- incrimination," I said. "Does anyone have any gory details to indicate just how colorful my past might actually be?"
"No, not really. Just a few folks making guesses about where you're really from and stuff."
"Is that why you decided to talk to me about your dad? Because you think I've got some sort of experience in the drug trade?"
She paused for a second before looking up from the dog to look me in the eye.
"Well," she asked. "Do you?"
Oh, man, I thought. What's my next move here?
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