Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

The bookshelf groaned as it sprang free from whatever bolts had held it in place. I watched it careen and bounce against the bookshelf across the aisle from it. It made an awkward half spiral and I screamed as it crashed to the floor inches away from me.

The silence was sudden. Seconds later, I heard the heavy door slam shut and knew there hadn’t been an earthquake.

I tried to stand but shards of pain shot up my leg and I moaned.

“Okay, that hurts,” I admitted under my breath. Had I really twisted my ankle? It didn’t matter. I didn’t expect emergency medical help to show up anytime soon, so I had to get myself out of there.

Just for a moment, I lay on the floor and tried to pull myself together, afraid to move too quickly. I stared at the bottom edge of another bookshelf, one that was still standing, and saw that it was bolted to the floor. Checking the seam between the two shelves, I couldn’t see any brackets holding them together. I guessed they didn’t have earthquake problems in Scotland. If this were California, there would be brackets upon brackets to hold everything in place in case of a temblor.

“Meow.”

“Hi, kitty,” I whispered.

“Meow,” the cat said more loudly, as though he might be complaining about the mess I’d made.

“I know.” I gritted my teeth and pulled myself to my knees. The cat bumped his head against my thigh as if that would help me get up.

Finally, I managed to stand, and the fact that my legs were still working was such a relief, I almost cried. I found my purse and jacket among the piles of ledgers and, with the cat bounding over books to lead the way, slowly made it out of the stacks.

My ankle throbbed but I could walk. Sort of. Slowly. It hurt but it was manageable. I slung my purse across my chest and hopped on my good foot over to one of the low cabinets, then stopped to get myself situated.

At that moment, the door opened and two women walked in and glanced around. They both wore badges attached to their jacket lapels, so I assumed they were librarians.

“I swear I heard something crash in here,” the taller one said. She wore her hair pulled back in a severe bun and she scowled as she surveyed the area.

“Maybe it was upstairs,” said the other woman, a short, older woman with curly gray hair. “They’ve painters working in the offices.” At that moment, she noticed me. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello.” I clutched a nearby drawer pull to keep myself upright. My ankle throbbed and I was getting a headache. “The crash you heard was one of the bookshelves in back. It came unhinged and fell to the floor. The books are scattered everywhere. It’s a real mess.”

The taller woman rushed across the room to inspect the damage. “Good heavens, it’s chaos. Have you ever seen such a disaster?”

“How in the world did this happen?” the shorter one asked as she patted her chest in distress.

“I have no idea,” I said, fairly certain they wouldn’t believe me if I told them someone was trying to kill me. “But I fell off the ladder and the bookshelf almost landed on top of me.”

“Goodness, you could’ve been killed.” She took a moment to consider me. “You don’t look at all well, miss. Do you need assistance?”

I was so grateful, I almost wept. “No, thank you. I just want to get back to my hotel and rest.”

The taller librarian’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you in here? You’re not allowed to use this room without a special certificate.”

“Ah,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “That explains it, then.”

She sniffed in annoyance.

“Shirleen, the girl is injured,” the nice librarian said.

Shirleen pursed her lips in displeasure. “She shouldn’t be in here. Will you look at this horrible disarray? I’m going to have to report this upstairs.”

She stomped off. I couldn’t do anything about the mess, and my head was pounding in earnest now. “I’m sorry, but I need to leave.”

“Of course, dear. Let me help you out.” The nice woman took hold of my elbow and walked me to the door. As soon as she opened it, the cat flew out and down the hall.

She jumped back. “Good grief, was that a cat?”

“I didn’t see anything,” I said, not willing to get the cat in trouble, too. “Thank you for your help. You’re very kind.”

I limped down the hall to the street entrance, where the cat sat waiting patiently. I opened the door and walked outside and the cat followed. On the sidewalk, the cat looked up at me and meowed once, then took off running.

“Thanks, kitty,” I said, and smiled as the cat disappeared down an alley. “Adios, amigo.”

The wind had died down and the sun felt wonderful on my back. It was a beautiful day for a walk, or a slow shuffle, in my case. The fact that I could put pressure on my foot told me I hadn’t broken anything. It was just sore and bruised, along with the rest of me. Frankly, my butt ached more than my ankle. I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and take a couple of aspirin and a long, hot bath.

As I limped across the George IV Bridge street at the High Road, a black taxi screeched to a stop. I jumped to the sidewalk to avoid being hit and landed on my bad foot.

“Gaaaahh!” I cried.

A man stepped out from the backseat and grabbed hold of me. “Ah, now that’s a shame, isn’t it? Let me help you, miss.”

He was really good-looking, with closely cropped dark reddish hair, and was nicely dressed in black wool trousers and a black turtleneck sweater. Normally I would’ve been more polite, but I was tired and in pain and just wanted to get back to the hotel.

“I’m fine,” I said. “The cab startled me.” I started to leave, but he held my arm.

“There, now, miss,” he crooned. “You must be more careful.”

I smiled. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Thanks.” If the cab hadn’t spooked me, I wouldn’t have to be so careful. I pulled my arm away, but he wouldn’t let me go.

I no longer cared how cute he was. I was getting mad. “I don’t have time for-”

“You’ll make time,” he said, and shoved something hard against my back.

A gun?

I froze. I couldn’t breathe.

“There, now, I think we understand each other. Let me help you to the cab.”

“No way,” I said, knowing that if I got in, I might never be seen again.

“Get in the cab or I’ll-”

“I’ll scream.”

“It’ll do you no good.”

I screamed anyway, as loud as I could.

“Jesus, that’s not necessary,” he said, wincing.

I kept screaming as the back door swung open and another man yanked me into the backseat next to him. The gunman jumped in after me, and the driver peeled off around the corner.

If I weren’t so scared to death I’d be totally pissed off. I was already in pain, and now I was being kidnapped? Who were these guys? I glanced at the two sitting on either side of me. They looked like nice guys who enjoyed a whisky at the pub once or twice a week, not hired gunmen.

“I don’t have any money,” I said. Not on me, anyway.

The good-looking guy next to me frowned. “We don’t want your money.”

“What do you want? Where are you taking me? I need to get back to my hotel. People are waiting for me. And there were witnesses. Somebody had to have seen me and they’ll-”

“Darlin’, please,” the driver said, meeting my gaze through his rearview mirror. “We’re just wanting your word that ye’ll not be making a mackedy of our Rabbie.”

“A mackedy ?” I repeated. “What’s a mackedy?”

“It’s what we’re stopping you from doing,” the third guy said firmly.

The driver turned and glared at me. “Ye’ll not be mocking our beloved hero.”