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What the hell is it doing here? More importantly…howdid it get here?
The door was locked. I just proved that. And even if it wasn’t, what kind of burglar leaves things behind in a house that they broke into? Because someone had to have snagged the book, snuck into my house, and left it here sinceIdefinitely didn’t.
Not remembering if I locked the door or not is one thing. There’s no way I’d forget about stealing a book from work and leaving it on the kitchen table I barely use these days.
But if I didn’t… who did?
* * *
The book is still sittingon my kitchen table when I go down for breakfast the next morning.
I really, really hoped it wouldn’t be. If it was gone, I could’ve pretended that finding it there was a part of a dream or something.
Of course, in order to dream, I’d have to have been able to fall asleep first, and after I came downstairs and found the book last night, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Not when all I could think about was the old grimoire that I purposely dropped back onto the table before I bolted back upstairs as though it would disappear once I turned my back on it.
But it didn’t, and after I brew an extra large coffee to get me through the day, I snatch the book, throw it inside my oversized tote so that no one knows I have it, then head off for work.
I hate being late. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves, but I lost track of time when I came downstairs and had to face the fact that the book was still in my house. By the time I’m heading out—and after I make sure I lock my house up again—I kick past the new pile of acorns and half-walk, half-jog to the library, knowing that I’ll be walking in three minutes past the start of shift.
Thankfully, Moira’s not standing near the counter, ready to chew me out. So far, it’s only Jake, and he’s just putting his phone away when I rush in, the heavy tote banging my hip.
“Hey,” I say, moving around him so that I can sign into the computer.
“Hey,” he says back. He’s holding a coffee of his own, fresh from Dunkin’, and he uses it to salute me. “Looks like we’re working together again.”
Obviously.
I give him a small, tight-lipped smile before I yank the heavy book out of my bag with him watching.
Maybe he didn’t notice…
“What’s that you got there?”
I don’t like to lie; it’s up there with being late. However, since I can’t really explainwhyI have this book, I decide to come up with an alternate version of the truth for Jake.
Tapping the cover, I tell him, “Someone dropped it in the depository yesterday. I shelved it, but I found it sitting on top of one of the leaf piles under the front window. Weird, huh?”
Taking the book from me, Jake scans the library tag I printed out for it yesterday.
“What’s even weirder is that no one even checked it out,” he tells me after peering at the computer screen.
I didn’t think they would. “Huh. I wonder how it got out of the library.”
Jake shrugs, dropping the book onto the rolling cart we use for go-backs. “I don’t know, but that reminds me. Did you see there was another break-in last night?”
Yeah, I think to myself. If not the library—which at least has some kind of security system—then someone got into my house last night.
Why? No clue.
Who? I haven’t the foggiest idea.
But at least I brought the book back. Jake took it from me, and now that it’s out of my hands, I’d like to forget about it as quickly as I can…
Talking about the constant burglaries isn’t the best choice for a change of subject, but I can’t say that it doesn’t serve as one hell of a distraction for me.
I shake my head. “No, sorry. I didn’t get the chance to check my phone this morning.”
Oh, no. I was too busy obsessing over that strange book, wasn’t I?
