Page 166 of Things We Left Behind
I groaned. “Don’t even tell me it’s another squirrel.”
“No, not this time, thank God. My lunch was still intact. It was this.” He handed over a plain, white business envelope. “Probably one of the older folks mistook it for a mailbox.”
My name was written in neat block letters across the back. We had seen our share of interesting items in the book drop. School books with homework stuffed in them, gloves, a retainer, a mangled loaf of bread that was supposed to feed the ducks in the park until little Boo Walkerson decided the book drop looked hungrier.
“Thanks, Jamal,” I said, opening the envelope with my thumb. “Hey, can you let Belinda and her friends know thatCecelia won’t be here for a few more hours? They don’t have to reserve their seats yet.” I nodded to the crew of feisty, elderly readers who were claiming all the seats in the first two rows with whatever they could find in their oversize purses.
“Sure thing,” he said and scampered off.
I unfolded the paper and frowned.
“Love letter?” Nash teased, peering over my shoulder. We both tensed at the same time. “What the hell?” He snatched it out of my hand.
I reached for it. “Excuse me, Chief Grabby Hands. That’s mine.”
Gone was the easygoing, lovestruck man worried about impressing his woman with footwear. In his place was a stone-faced cop who was definitely going to take this way too seriously.
“Is someone threatening you?” Nash demanded, rereading the note. It was written in the same block script as my name on the envelope.
Stop now before someone gets hurt.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I insisted. “Someone probably got their panties in a bunch over late fees.”
“Have you had any issues with anyone lately? Besides Lucian,” Nash asked.
Lucian.What if the note was from one of his former dicknotized lovers?
“Ha. Funny. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m sure it’s nothing,” I insisted.
Nash held the note out of my reach. “All the same, a lot of my people found themselves in trouble these past few months. I’m not taking any chances. And I’m not letting you either.”
“Nash, it’s a note. A not very threatening one at that. What are you going to do? Fingerprint it and then run a handwriting analysis?”
Knockemout PD didn’t have a big-city budget.
“I’m gonna at least follow procedure,” he said stubbornly. “When was the book drop bin last emptied?”
I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “It’s supposed to be done before closing and midmorning. But we were busy with the setup today, so not since last night.”
“I’ll check the exterior cameras, see if we have a good angle,” Nash said. “In the meantime, give a thought to anyone who might be extra pissed at you lately.”
“Yes, Chief,” I grumbled.
“And I wanna know if you get any other anonymous mail. Duncan Hugo is behind bars and Tate Dilton is in the ground, but that doesn’t mean we should let our guard down.”
“Fine. But can we at least agree not to say anything to anyone else? I don’t want Naomi and Lina worrying about nothing.”
“Nope.”
“Seriously?” Nash had a habit of dropping truth bombs.
“You’ve got twenty-four hours to tell them your own way. You don’t, then I will. It’s better for everyone to be in the know. I don’t want anyone taking any chances.”
“Okay. Now you’re starting to freak me out. It’s been months since Lina got abducted. You caught all the bad guys.”
“Not all of them,” he said evenly.
“Why would Anthony Hugo march into Knockemout to finish what his son started? And why focus on me? I had nothing to do with any of that. It doesn’t make any sense.” A creepy-crawly sensation prickled in my intestines as library life cheerfully bustled on around us.
