Free The Burglar in the Library by Lawrence Block

why look if there’s nothing to see?” I looked anyway, at the fellow at the writing desk. He looked as though he’d stepped out of a Brontë novel and might at any moment step out of Cuttleford House as well, flinging his scarf around his neck and striding across the moors. Except that he wasn’t wearing a scarf, and there weren’t any moors in the neighborhood.
    “I think he was just staring off into space,” I said. “Trying to think of le mot juste, and you happened to be where his eyes landed.”
    “I suppose so. Incidentally, are you out of your mind?”
    “Probably. What makes you ask?”
    “I was just wondering what possessed you to tell little Princess Margaret that you’re a burglar.”
    “Not Princess Margaret.”
    “Bern—”
    “Lady Jane Grey,” I said. “Or Anne Boleyn.”
    “Who cares? The point is—”
    “I get the point.”
    “So?”
    “I almost slipped,” I said. “I almost let out what I really am.”
    “What you really…”
    “I almost said I was a bookseller.”
    “But fortunately you caught yourself at the last minute and told her you were a burglar.”
    “Right.”
    “Am I missing something here?”
    “Think about it,” I said.
    She did, and after a long moment light dawned. “Oh,” she said.
    “Right.”
    “There’s a million books in the damn house,” she said, “and most of them are old, and some of them are sure to be rare. And if they knew there was a bookseller in their midst—”
    “They’d be on guard,” I said. “At the very least.”
    “Whereas knowing they’ve got a burglar on the premises gives them a nice cozy warm feeling.”
    “I didn’t want to say ‘bookseller’,” I said, “and I had to do something quick, and I wanted to stay with the same initial.”
    “Why? Monogrammed luggage?”
    “My lips were already forming a B.”
    “‘A butcher, a baker, a bindlestaff maker.’ All of them start with B, Bernie, and they all sound more innocent than ‘burglar.’”
    “I know.”
    “It’s a good thing her lips are sealed.”
    “Yeah, right. She already told Mummy. But you don’t think Mummy believed it, do you?”
    “She thought you were joking with the kid.”
    “And so will anyone else she happens to tell. As far as that goes, do you really think Millicent thought I’d come here to steal the spoons? She assumed it was a gag and she was happy to go along with it. When anyone presses the point, I’ll let it be known that you and I work together at the Poodle Factory. What’s the matter?”
    “Bern, don’t take this the wrong way, but I never had a partner and I never will.”
    “It’s just a story to let out, Carolyn.”
    “I mean it’s not much, the Poodle Factory, but it’s mine, you know?”
    “So I’m your employee. Is that better?”
    “A little bit. The thing is, what do you know about washing dogs? I’m the last person to compare it to rocket science, but it’s like any other trade. There’s a lot of information involved, and if you should happen to come up against a pet owner who’s familiar with what goes on at a dog-grooming salon, it might blow your cover.”
    “I’m just helping out,” I said. “I lost my job, and now I’m helping you at the salon while I wait for something to open up in my own field.”
    “And what’s that, Bern?”
    “I’ll think of something, okay?”
    “Hey, don’t bite my head off, Bernie.”
    “Sorry.”
    “You know what’s funny?”
    “Hardly anything.”
    “Bern—”
    “What’s funny?”
    “Well,” she said, “remember when you bought Barnegat Books from Mr. Litzauer? You were a big reader, and you always liked books, and you figured owning a bookstore would be a good front. You could pretend to be a bookseller while you went on breaking into houses.”
    “So?”
    “So now you’re pretending to be a burglar,” she said, “while you chase around after old books. Don’t you think that’s funny?”
    “Sure,” I said. “It’s a riot.”
     
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