by Lila K Bell
I’d told the contractors it was for the care and longevity of my purse collection. Sadly, they believed me.
The best part? My parents hadn’t even noticed the change. Gramps had, of course, but he never said anything about it, and in four years has never once pried. Have I mentioned that I love my grandfather?
I walked along the wall of books until I found an empty place on the shelf and slipped A Christmas Carol into its new home. One hundred books in seven years. An accomplishment I was rather proud of.
Not all hundred sat in the room, of course. I would have run out of space years ago if I hadn’t sold many of them to more appropriate carers. There was also the matter of not wanting to be caught with the full collection if my secret was ever discovered. On top of that, many of the books I’d targeted had been for the thrill of the steal rather than love of the content. The History of Engineering, for example. It was worth around fifteen thousand dollars and had been sitting forgotten in someone’s garage.
I sold that sucker for every penny it was worth and the money went into getting a good bedlift for Gramps. What else did I have to do with it?
Having made sure Dickens was safe and sound, I tucked them all in by sealing the door closed, then returned to my bedroom and changed out of my burglar garb for something a little more “home appropriate,” as my mother would say. Tonight, it was a pair of purple yoga pants and a long lavender T-shirt. No doubt Mother would have a conniption if she saw it, but that was only part of why it remained my favourite outfit.
The house was quiet when I stepped out of my room and headed downstairs for the kitchen. I listened for Gramps’s TV upstairs, but there was nothing. He might have gone to bed early, but I thought it more likely he was sitting in his favourite chair with a book or some crossword puzzles.
My parents refused to admit he still had his wits about him. They seemed to think he did nothing but sit in his room and stare mindlessly at the television. They were trying to convince him he would be happier in a home where he would have someone watching over him, but so far he’d refused. He had Bea Thompson, his wonderful and generous home care nurse, and that was enough for him.
Frankly, it was enough for me, as well. He was the only reason I was still living at home, and I wanted him to be comfortable. At eighty-three, I wasn’t sure how much longer he had left, and I wanted the rest of his days to be spent however he chose to spend them, not trying to cut down his enjoyments because they weren’t healthy. Who cares about healthy at eighty-three?
I readied my tea and took it into the sun room. The book I was reading sat on the table next to my chair, and I curled up in the seat with a blanket to tuck in. While I had my own room upstairs to hang out in, the sun room was my favourite room in the rest of the house. Even at night, it gave a perfect view of the sky from three directions. All the perks of being outside without the bugs.
“Hey, chickadee.” At the sound of Gramps’s voice in the doorway, I jumped, sloshing tea on my T-shirt.
“What are you doing up?” I asked him.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, walking around the side of my chair to take the one beside me. His cane was tight in hand, and he eased himself onto the cushion. There wasn’t a lot wrong with him, but the arthritis in his hip gave him a constant battle.
“Pain bad?” I asked.
“Changing weather,” he said. “You know how it is. Have you been out?”
I stared at him quizzically until he leaned over and plucked a leaf out of my hair. Something I’d missed after the climb up to my room. Oops.
“Just for a walk,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep either.”
“One of those nights, eh?” Gramps took my hand in one of his and patted it with the other. “Just be careful out there, Fi. You’ve always been one for adventure, but maybe it’s not the worst idea to slow down before you get in over your head.” He patted my hand again, then released it. “But you know me, I’m just an old worry wart. You know best.”
“I promise to be careful, Gramps. I’m just trying to have a little fun, not cause you any stress.”
“I know, chickadee.” The front door opened and closed, and Gramps’s gaze rolled toward the ceiling. “We get enough of that around here.”
“What are you two doing up?” Mother asked as she stepped into the room.
The collar on her fur coat was rolled up toward her ears, the strap of her purse digging into the seam. Even after a night out, her makeup was flawless, stripping at least twenty years off her sixty… in the right light. Father stood beside her, his greatcoat stiff on his shoulders, his moustache neatly trimmed.
“We were discussing the fate of the world,” Gramps said. “Did you have a good night, Rosie?”
The corner of Mother’s mouth twitched at his name for her. She preferred Rose.
“It was lovely, thank you. The Thursgoods always know how to put on a fine dinner.” She eyed me. “Fifi, what on earth are you wearing? I thought you got rid of those clothes ages ago.”
It was my turn to cringe. My parents and their friends were the only people in the world who called me Fifi. As though I were a pet poodle instead of a woman nearing twenty-five. Honestly, I think they would have been happier with the poodle.
“What can I say? I can’t bear to get rid of clothes that still have good wear in them.”
“What do you say to a scotch, Hayden?” Mother asked Father, turning the conversation away from me.
He nodded and left the room to go to the kitchen.
“You two should go to bed,” Mother said before she followed him. “You both have plans tomorrow.”
With that, she left us, leaving Gramps and me to exchange the Glance of the Patient Sufferers.
“She’s right, though,” he said after a moment. “I’m meeting with Dr. Ludlow in the morning. Wouldn’t do to be late.”
He used his cane to rise onto his wobbling legs and took a moment to steady himself. When he was sure he wouldn’t fall, he bent over to kiss the top of my head and rested his knobbled fingers on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re safe, chickadee.”
He left me to my tea and I stared up at the sky, too distracted now to think about picking up my book.
Tonight I’d completed my hundredth heist.
And already I was itching for my next.
***
My appointment for the next day, as my mother so formally referred to it, was yoga class with a few of my parentally appropriate friends.
There were three of them — Lucy, Jeannie, and Frances — and we’d known each other since our incredibly expensive, though not terribly worthwhile, preschool days. Our mothers were friends, and their mothers had known each other, so it was all one big happy rich family.
“Oh my goodness, did you hear about Melanie Buckswaith? She’s getting ready for her thirtieth birthday, and her parents are booking a DJ instead of a live band!” Jeannie said around sips of her smoothie.
I chewed on the straw of mine, pretending to be distracted by a chunk of banana that was stuck at the base of it. My smoothie was the only one with chocolate and no protein powder, something that never failed to raise a few eyebrows in this group.
Frances laughed at Jeannie’s incredulity. “Don’t be so mean. You know you’re planning to go anyway, even if it is a DJ. You’d never pass up the opportunity to see her brother.”
Jeannie flushed pink. “You say that as if I weren’t a married woman.”
As though we hadn’t all seen her diamond ring a million times, she flashed her left hand in our direction.
“You say that as if it matters,” Lucy said, and although she spoke with a smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Of the three of them, Lucy was the one I got along with best. She was just as rich and just as snobby as the rest of them, but with a caring, compassionate streak that allowed her the semblance of a real human being in the right circumstances. She turned to me. “What did you think of yoga class today, Fi? You haven’t been too impressed with Magdalen’s forms la
tely.”
I appreciated the change of subject. “She’s fine, I guess. I just think she moves like a robot. There’s no looseness. It’s like she’s trying to bend herself in half just to prove she can instead of enjoying the stretch.”
Jeannie laughed, a high-pitched noise that carried through the smoothie bar, drawing glances our way. “Who gets enjoyment out of exercise? She pushes us to be better. I like that.”
I offered a smile in response and tuned out as the conversation moved on to other things. It took a few repetitions of my name to bring me back.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if you read the news this morning. It looks like that Midnight Mackerel struck again,” Frances said.
“Minstrel,” Lucy corrected.
“Whatever. Whoever it is, they’re getting bolder. Tony Hutchings was in the house at the time. He was even in his office for part of the night, but still this thief sneaked in and grabbed some valuable book.”
“I think it must be a ghost,” Jeannie said. Her eyes widened when the rest of us stared at her. “What? How else do you explain the fact he didn’t see who it was?”
“Whoever it is,” I said, “they’re going to make a mistake sometime, the way they’re taking so many risks.”
I returned my attention to my straw to keep from smiling. With anyone who chose to speak about the Minstrel, I always took a stance against the mysterious thief. They were going to screw up, they must have all kinds of gizmos at their disposal to make the thefts easier, I couldn’t wait to find out who it is so they can be brought to justice.
You know, the usual nonsense that had so far served to deflect any suspicion away from me. Not that anyone would consider me a viable suspect. I was too proper.
“Well, I know my parents are installing extra security on their upstairs windows to make sure he stays out of our house,” Frances said. “We’re hosting the Brookside Yacht Club gala next month and they don’t want any scandal ruining Daddy’s chances of making president.”
Good to know, I thought. Not that it mattered. Frances’ parents would be strained to explain what a book was.
“I think it’s fascinating,” Lucy said, the corners of her eyes creasing with genuine warmth and interest. “To have the kind of courage to sneak out and get what you want without anyone knowing who you are? Tell me you don’t all wish for that kind of freedom once in a while?”
I rolled my eyes with the rest of the girls, but inside I was smiling. Lucy had pegged it.
I’d always known she was the smart one.
***
I made it out of lunch unscathed and spent the rest of the day running errands and working out in our basement, where my parents had set up a gym they’d used all of half a dozen times since they’d purchased the equipment.
I dined with Gramps while my parents were out — again — and when he was safely upstairs and tucked into bed, I slipped out my bedroom window and headed across town.
I had no intention of breaking into anyone’s house tonight. Once in a week was more than enough, I told myself, trying to ignore the itch that was pushing me toward the next book I had my eye on.
Tonight was all about coming down from last night’s high, and letting my contact know I had another possible item up for sale.
It was a twenty minute walk to the Eagle’s Gate, a restaurant aimed at locals who wanted to escape the usual fine dining fare. It was the closest thing Brookside had to casual dining, and at this time of night it was packed with the post-cinema crowd. I avoided the front doors and went around to the back, down a flight of steps toward a shady side door.
This door wasn’t advertised with any signage beyond a faint wood engraving in the door that read The Treasure Trove, and it was my favourite place to go for a night out.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting the aroma of stale beer and staler patrons wash over me. The lighting was low, coming from a few potlights but mostly from the yellowed globes that served as sconces. The walls were wood, the floors were wood, the furniture was wood. Everything might have washed together if it weren’t for the creative sea-themed decor. Ships in bottles sat on shelves on the walls, and gorgeous paintings of storms over the ocean, ships cast asunder, hung at random intervals. My favourite piece hung over the bar: a bolt of lightning cutting down over the sea, highlighting the mermaids that crawled up the side of the ship to lure their unsuspecting prey into the ocean. It struck me as a scene filled with longing and risk, freedom and wonder. Everything I wanted in life but had to create on my own.
Sitting on the bar was an open treasure chest, containing the tip jar and other odds and ends — anything from car parts to bottle openers. The owner of the Trove, Troy Dawson, kept the chest there as an honour code. The bar was known to draw in an unscrupulous crowd, but once they stepped foot inside, their conscience was king. If they stole money from the till to cover their debts or to get themselves out of a jam, the chest was there for them to return it discreetly when they could. And most of them did. The ones that didn’t, well, they didn’t show up here again.
It was a system that had worked for Troy since he’d opened the bar twenty years ago. He was in his mid-fifties, as buff now as he must have been then. Tonight he stood behind the bar in a white-and-black shirt rolled up to the elbows, jeans, a rag draped over his shoulder.
“Evening, Fi,” he said. “What can I get you?”
“Whiskey, thanks,” I said. “I’m feeling a need to celebrate.”
Troy arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask.
While he poured the drink, I cast a quick look around the bar. The Jewels — the term of endearment we gave the sex-workers who used this place as a base of operations, though they took their actual work off-site to keep Troy out of trouble — were here in full force tonight. I gave a smile and a wave to Opal and Ruby, the two I had the best relationship with, then left them to their work and continued my scan of the bar.
Disappointment tugged at my heart.
“No Ryan tonight?” I asked Troy when he returned with my drink. I slid a ten dollar bill over the counter.
“Haven’t seen him. Why? Looking to do business?”
“Nah,” I said. “Just a familiar face.”
In truth, I’d looked forward to another round of flirtation to satisfy my restlessness. Instead, I settled for catching up with Troy, leaving him a hint about the Dickens, though we kept values out of it, then knocked back my drink and headed home.
Something needed to change. My routine was losing its effect, and I worried that sooner or later, I’d be right back where I started: on the brink of madness.
3
I sat in the car and stared out the windshield, tapping my fingers against Bessie’s window frame. Up ahead, the streetlight winked in and out with the movement of the tree in front of it, and I felt it symbolized my current state of mind.
Do it.
Don’t do it.
Go in.
Go home.
Three streets away from the streetlight was a first edition of On the Origin of Species. Depending on the condition, it could be worth far and above a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. American. It was enough to make my book-loving heart squee like a fifteen-year-old girl. And it was just sitting there in old Barnaby Coleman’s house.
My other hand took up a steady rhythm against my right thigh, and my foot jogged in time.
I wanted it.
It had been all I could think about for the last three days.
I’d tried. I really had. I’d attended a few extra yoga classes and called my parkour trainer at the ungodly hour of five in the morning yesterday to ask if she could meet me early so I could tire myself out.
Nothing worked. All I could think about was the next book. The next job. I would have to find a solution to this soon. Either I’d get caught or I’d run out of books to steal, and neither of those boded well for me.
Two in one week was a lot, even during my most restless times, and
I couldn’t figure out what was making the difference. The changing seasons? Summer was slowly fading into fall, and in the winter it was a lot harder to go about unseen. Was that it? Was I trying to get as many heists in as possible before the snow came?
It didn’t sit right, but when no other explanation presented itself, I decided to run with it.
What did it matter that I hit two houses in a week? I hadn’t come close to being caught, and while frequency would increase the risk, it wasn’t to say my lucky streak would end tonight. Hopefully the value of the Darwin would be more than enough to leave me with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin for a good long while.
It was either that or take up full-time residence at the gym, and I wasn’t about to try to explain that to my parents.
Exhaling sharply, I grabbed my empty satchel from the back seat and pulled out the mask and gloves, ready to pull them on when I got closer to the house.
“You wait here, all right, Bessie? Keep your tires crossed that everything goes according to plan.”
I patted the dashboard, then got out of the car and made sure it was locked. Not that I was worried. One of the perks of driving a beater like Bessie was that she wasn’t the kind of vehicle to draw the criminal eye. Not when most of the other cars in the neighbourhood were BMWs or Mercedes...es.
I jogged down the street and allowed my body to fall into its familiar rhythm. My breathing steadied, my muscles warmed, and already endorphins flooded my system, gearing me up for what would happen next.
Coleman was another friend of the family, but distantly. My real connection was with Barnaby’s horrible son, Jeremy, who I’d gone to high school with so many years ago. We had not gotten along well, Jer and I, and yet I’d still been forced to go to his birthday parties. When Jeannie started dating his best friend Cody, she coerced me into going with her to the Coleman house so she and Cody could go off and make out in the broom closet while I kept Jeremy occupied.
You know what didn’t work? Distracting Jeremy from the fact that his friend was copping a feel in his broom closet. He stood outside egging him on every time while I stayed in the living room watching whatever was on TV. I’d done my best.
