Once I was alone in my office again I sat down at my computer to update Mary Jo’s record. I was just finishing up when there was a knock at my door.
Fatima marched in. Six foot one, proud, and physically fit, Fatima was like a warrior queen in a prison guard uniform. She was also a riot. I grinned. “What brings you here?”
She pulled a face and waved a dusty leather-bound book at me. “These girls have been watching too many movies.” She sat down on my desk and flipped the book open.
Well, look at that.
The middle of the pages had been carved into, and sitting hidden in the hole was a makeshift shank. “That’s a new way to hide a weapon.”
“In Jane Austen,” Fatima huffed. “They defiled Mr. Darcy for this shit. Don’t they know that man is fine? No shank hole should be defiling such a gentleman.”
I chuckled. “I don’t think they care about how much of a gentleman Mr. Darcy is.”
“See, that there is the problem. Instead of using library books to hide weapons, they should be educating themselves. No wonder they cut the freaking library budget.”
“I heard they did that.” I knew how much getting the women into the library, for reading groups and to teach them computer skills, meant to Fatima. “I’m sorry.”
She sighed heavily. “Shit, I knew it was coming. I’ll just make do with what I got. Anyhow, how was your date last night?”
“I told you it wasn’t a date.” Andrew and I didn’t date.
She shook her head in disappointment. “You need your head checked. So does this idiot you’re hooking up with. Nothing sweeter than coming home to your man after a long day at work.”
I looked at the gold wedding band she was subconsciously touching. “That’s not what you said last week when you were complaining about Derek forgetting to do the laundry, or the week before, when his idea of doing food shopping consisted of buying a year’s supply of beer and Cheetos.”
Fatima scowled at me. “Do you remember absolutely everything?”
“Pretty much.”
“It’s annoying.”
“Noted.” I laughed.
“Okay, so I want to kill Derek as much as I want to make sweet love to the man, but it’s nice living with my best friend. You should get yourself one and kick that Dr. Commitment-Phobe to the curb.”
“I told you, I like not being in a relationship.”
She grunted at me like she didn’t believe me, but the truth was I did like keeping things casual. I’d never had a serious relationship in my life. I came and went as I pleased. I made all the decisions in my life and got to live each day my way.
And on the days I got a little “fris-frisky” I had Andrew on speed dial.
“I’m setting you up.” Fatima got up from the desk with determination. “How do you feel about chocolate?” She winked at me.
Laughing, I shook my head. “Chocolate is very nice, but right now I am happy with my casual dose of vanilla.”
“That particular slice of vanilla is boring.” She huffed and her pager beeped. She checked it and all amusement fled her features.
“Everything okay?”
“Fight in the yard. Gotta go.”
“Be careful!” I called after her.
“Always am.”
The door slammed closed behind her and I felt a wave of uneasiness in my stomach. The uneasiness wouldn’t go away until she returned to let me know she was okay.
As I turned back to my computer my eye caught on the book Fatima had left on my desk. Curious, I took the old book in hand, feeling sad that the classic had been mutilated. I flicked open to the front pages and felt even sadder. The book was printed in 1940. A vintage copy of Pride and Prejudice would have some value. Not a lot, but some. Mostly its value was in its history.
And someone had destroyed it, completely oblivious to all that.
I flicked through the broken pages to the end and was just about to put the book down with a sigh when my thumb brushed over the back binding.
Hmm. It felt a little spongy—a little thicker than it should. With curious fingers I prodded at it. A faint line at the bottom near the spine drew my gaze. It looked like the paper that covered the leather there had been cut and opened and then resealed.
Why?
I pressed at the thickness.
There was something in there.
My heart rate started to speed up a little at the mystery of what the book might contain.
I looked up at the glass windows around my office. No one out there. No one watching.
The book and Mr. Darcy were already defiled so it wasn’t like I could do much further harm—I picked and picked at the line until eventually I was able to rip the paper back.
“What the . . .” I stared down at what had been placed inside the binding of the book. Tipping them over onto my lap, I stared at four small envelopes.
There was a name and address scrawled on all four.
The same name and address.
Mr. George Beckwith
131 Providence Road
Hartwell, DE 19972
Had an inmate hidden these letters in the book?
And when?
My fingers itched to rip open one of the envelopes.
The phone on my desk blared to life, making me jump. “Dr. Huntington,” I answered.
“An inmate on their way up. Yard fight. Nothing more serious than a deep cut.”
“Thanks,” I said and hung up. Without thinking about why, I stuffed the four little envelopes into my purse and hid it under my desk. I glued the paper back down on the binding of the book and put it aside for Fatima for when she came to collect it.