Chapter 6
Ispent the two hours I was in the rare books room sorting the different damaged books into categories…
And then re-sorting them.
I stared at the newly dented books thanks to me and my dumb clumsiness, then decided to hide them in plain sight amidst the other damaged books. If anyone saw them, they would simply assume they were part of my to do list from the fire.
But good God, I had to pee. I had practically chugged half of that 20 oz coffee on my walk to campus and now, two hours later, my bladder was ready to explode.
With my favorite true crime podcast on, and I paced the room, trying to keep moving and hoping to God Adam came back soon. Otherwise, my options were going to be leaving the room—and the books—unguarded for ten minutes. Or I could pull a Jules and relieve myself here in the presence of Louisa May Alcott’s journals.
Okay, so that wasn’t a real option. But the former wasn’t a great option either.
The stack of damaged books taunted me. What if hiding the dented books in plain sight was stupid? What if keeping them out in the open meant someone would discover them sooner?
Crossing to them, I grabbed Robinson Caruso from the middle of the pile where I had stashed it and sat down at the small table in the center of the room where I’d dumped my bag out.
“Where do you want to hide, Robinson?” I whispered, turning the cover over in my hands.
The dent at the corner of the cover wasn’t a big one, thank God. But it was noticeable enough.
On the other side of the door, I heard tapping and beeping as someone punched in their code.
It was probably just Adam, I thought and jumped to my feet, book still in hand. His class should be over by now.
But what if it isn’t? There was no guarantee that the next person to walk through that door would be Adam.
My heart slammed in my chest and I looked down at the incriminating book. Shit. There was no way I’d make it to my pile to stash it in time!
Panicking, I shoved the book into my leather messenger bag and snapped the flap shut.
The handle turned and in walked an older man with patchy white and black hair and a cropped beard. I froze in my spot, panic gripping my lungs.
“Hello,” he said, smiling, not seeming the least bit surprised to find anyone else in the rare books room.
I stood there, fake grin plastered on my face, palms sweating, looking completely guilty. “I’m working on restoring the damaged books,” I blurted out and pointed to the piles stacked across the room over my shoulder.
I shifted my weight back and forth, then crossed my legs to keep myself from nervously peeing my pants.
The man looked me up and down briefly, the smile spreading on his face. “Adam told me you might say something ridiculous.”
“Adam?”
“Yes. I’m Dr. O’Macklin, the head of the English department. And you’re Harper Meyers, I presume?”
Despite the fact that I was still wiggling like a dying worm on a hook, I reached out and took Dr. O’Macklin’s hand. “Yes, of course. It’s nice to meet you in person, Dr. O’Macklin.” I recognized the name from the email contracts I had received about this gig the morning after that dreaded phone call. “Where’s Adam?”
“He’s been held up by some students who wanted to go over their papers with him after class. So, he asked me to come relieve you so you could check to see if your supplies had arrived at your apartment yet. Thing is, you two don’t have to guard the books damaged by the fire. I sent out a notice yesterday to everyone who has a code to this room that it is not to be used until you are finished with your restoration.”
“Wait… so… no one is going to be coming into this room during the time that I’m here working?”
Dr. O’Macklin nodded. “That’s right. It’s forbidden. And if anyone other than me, you, or Adam does come into the room, please come tell me straight away. However, I have the app for the door lock on my phone,” he said, holding up his iPhone. “And it alerts me every time a code is used. So I’ll know if anyone uses their code to enter.”
I exhaled deeply and the tension in my shoulders relaxed for the first time since we knocked that bookshelf over. “That is such a relief. So… I can leave, right?”
“Absolutely. And you can leave any supplies here that you need so that you’re not carting them back and forth every day. Rest assured, your stuff will be safer here than in your apartment even.”
“Oh thank God. Plus, I have to pee so badly.”
He chuckled and gestured for the door. “Well, grab your stuff and go right ahead. Don’t let me hold you up. And nice job on that suffix of your adjective.”
I froze, staring at my bag.
The bag that now housed a damaged, expensive antique book.
I gave a nervous giggle that tittered, echoing through the small room. “Well, I did study at Oxford,” I said, with a not-so-humble brag. “They’d have a conniption if I didn’t get my suffixes right.”
“Noted,” Dr. O’Macklin said, his laugh booming like Santa.
He was waiting for me. Waiting for me to grab my things to walk me out.
There was no way to slip the book out of the bag and successfully hide it without raising some major red flags.
With trembling hands, I scooped my keys, wallet, and my Kindle off the table, shoving what I could into my pockets. Then, grabbing my phone, I paused the podcast that I’d been listening to.
Far more tenderly than a bag should require, I lifted the strap and ducked into it, carefully situating it on my hip. I didn’t have a lot in my bag, but even the tiniest thing could damage such delicate, old paper.
Cringing, I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d taken my nail clippers out when I got to the apartment.
I could slip into the bathroom, wait enough time for Dr. O’Macklin to leave, then come back to put the book back into the room.
But, he’d just said he receives alerts and can see who uses their code for that room and when. How suspicious would it be if just after he walked me out, I went right back in? If he asked, I could lie. I could say I forgot something in there and had to retrieve it.
Yes, that would work.
It had to work.
He followed me out of the room, but didn’t shut the door behind himself. He just stood there, propping the door open with his foot.
I couldn’t leave Dr. O’Macklin in that room without me. No matter how badly I had to pee.
He pointed to the left. “The restrooms are just down the hall and on your right.”
I paused a brief moment, looking at his hand still on the door handle, foot propping it open. “Are you staying to work?” I asked, tilting my chin toward the open door.
I had to make sure he wouldn’t go back into that room without me. Even though I was pretty sure we could trust him, I didn’t want to take my chances.
He looked down at his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, no. Just a force of habit holding the door. Making sure all my students are out first and that no one’s taken anything.”
Oh God. He knows. He’s onto me. “Do they… um… take things a lot?”
He shrugged. “Rarely, but it happens. Usually it’s an accident.”
His sentence was punctuated with the slamming of the door shut causing me to jump.
“You must have sensors?” I asked. “Something that sets off an alarm if they do happen to leave with one?”
Dr. O’Macklin snorted. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? Truthfully, though, there’s only five people with codes to this room… six, now including you. So if something goes missing, there’s a very short list of suspects. Shorter now that it’s just you and Adam allowed in there for a couple weeks. And when we bring students in here for mini-field trips, we make them leave their bags outside.”
He paused, assessing me with one hand sliding into his pocket. “I thought you had to use the restroom?”
With a wobbled smile, I swallowed my whimper and said. “I’ll walk out with you. Stagefright in public bathrooms, you know?”
I breathed a little easier when his hand slipped from the doorknob and he joined me on our slow—far too slow for my filled bladder—stroll out the front door of the library. “You sound so much like my daughter,” he said wistfully. “She’s plucky and funny, just like you.”
“Plucky and funny, huh?” I’d been called a lot of things… but plucky was a new one. “Is she a librarian, too?”
He shook his head. “Far from it… an actress. She’s in school at NYU.”
“Oh, a Tish Bitch!” I said without thinking.
Dr. O’Macklin stopped walking briefly. “Tish Bitch?” he repeated.
Horrified, I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I said that to you. I’m so sorry. I promise it’s an affectionate term we have for people in that program?—”
He let loose another booming laugh, this time, his head flung back and his shoulder shook with the sound. “Tish bitch,” he said once more. “That’s rich. Oh, she’s going to love that when we talk next.”
Not for the first time in the past five minutes, I sighed in relief. “I guarantee you she’s heard it before.”
He smirked and resumed walking. “Yes, but not from her collegiate dear ol’ Dad. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’ve never told a joke in my life.”
“She’s in undergrad?”
“Just a sophomore.”
“She’ll come around,” I said, smiling.
Despite my sweat addled brow, damp palms, and pounding heart, I liked spending time with Dr. O’Macklin. I looked forward to when I could do it without the fear of a felony being hung over my head.
I held my breath as we exited the library, half convinced that an alarm was going to blare and several campus security guards would tackle me to the ground. But no such thing happened.
I walked right out of that library with a book worth well over five hundred dollars tucked securely in my bag.
And no one even batted an eye.