Free Haunting Jasmine by Anjali Banerjee Page B

Auntie Charu calls.
    “Ma, I’m coming!” Sanchita shouts back. Her voice regresses to childhood as she and Mohan rush off.
    We all stay on the patio for supper, and the evening blurs into animated conversations about politics and religion, travel and physics, astronomy and literature. I start to enjoy the banter, the company of family friends, and the food—spicy salmon, basmati rice, savory dal , and sweet desserts.
    For a time, the weight of expectations falls away. The wine helps, dulling my pain, soothing the sharpness of sad memories. My mind grows fuzzy, and later, back at my parents’ house, I have no trouble sleeping, for the first time in nearly a year.
    But in the morning, when I return to the bookstore, Tony is bustling around, cursing under his breath. “You didn’t stay over, did you? I came in early. I had a bad feeling. Now look what we have to deal with.”
    I look around, my mouth dropping open. “What the hell happened here?”

Chapter 13
     
    The parlor is a mess—books pulled off shelves, furniture moved. Gertrude’s picture books are on the floor, the display replaced by a series of classics by Beatrix Potter, E. B. White, Lewis Carroll, and other dead authors.
    I head for the door, my heart pounding. “I’ll call the police.”
    “No, don’t.” Tony rushes up and blocks my way. “Nothing was stolen. I checked the till.”
    “But the place has been vandalized.”
    “Not vandalized. Rearranged.” He picks up a copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets.
    “What do you mean, ‘rearranged’?”
    “Happens sometimes. Everything’s here; it’s just not where it’s supposed to be.”
    “How do you know? Have you accounted for all the books?”
    “Pretty much. This is the only room affected.”
    “My aunt needs an alarm system….”
    “We don’t need an alarm system here. This is not L.A.” Tony pushes an armchair away from the wall.
    “Obviously you do need one. Someone has broken in!”
    “Nobody broke in.”
    A ripple of ice travels through my body. “Are you saying that someone was already inside?”
    “Yeah, maybe.”
    “Then where is he now? Why would anyone do this?”
    “Maybe someone doesn’t want us focusing on Gertrude.”
    I shelve The Wind in the Willows. “Right. These dead authors would rather we focus on their books instead?”
    “Maybe. Ask them.”
    I laugh. “Come on, Tony. Did you do this?”
    His glare could cut through stone. “Why would I make a mess, only to have to clean it up? How does that make any sense? What would be my motivation?”
    I pick up a giant volume from the floor, an old hardcover copy of Alice in Wonderland . “To punish me for not staying overnight? I don’t know. To scare me? Maybe you want me to live here twenty-four/seven, so you can take some time off.”
    “Believe me, I’m not going to abandon Ruma’s store now.” He snatches the book from my hand. “I told you to stay. You could’ve prevented all this. It had nothing to do with me.”
    “You can’t actually believe the house is cranky. You believe in my aunt’s whims?”
    “I wouldn’t call them whims.” He purses his lips. “And your aunt is no dummy.”
    “Do you really believe…?”
    “What I believe doesn’t matter.” He glances at his watch. “We have to get this room tidy. We need to set the coffee and tea brewing. Gertrude will arrive soon. I’m not looking forward to dealing with this mess every day while you’re here.”
    “Every day? This is going to happen every day?”
    “Maybe worse. We’ll have to rearrange all the furniture. Biographies and memoirs could end up in Mystery. Mystery in Romance. Romance in Reference—”
    “So this has happened before?”
    He frowns, hesitating, then says, “Your aunt told me she used to go away now and then, but every time she left, something would be out of place when she returned. One small thing. An antique pen moved from the parlor to the office. Tea leaves scattered on the countertop. It got worse