The librarian listened to the request and then looked up at the clock on the wall. “We’re closing in fifteen minutes.”
“I know, but it’s really important. I won’t be able to come back tomorrow. I really need that old issue of Vanity Fair.”
Five precious minutes were eaten up waiting for the librarian to search the stacks. The elderly woman arrived back at the circulation desk with the magazine in her hand.
“There’s a copy machine over against the wall if you need it,” she offered.
“Thanks. I don’t think that will be necessary.”
The librarian turned to finish her tasks before closing as the reader walked down the row of bookshelves to a table in the corner. In seconds the article on Belinda Winthrop was folded and stashed away.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” The librarian stood over the table with books held tightly in her arms.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I saw you.”
“Saw me what?”
“Take those pages out of that magazine.”
“You must be mistaken.”
The librarian quickly considered her options. It was her turn to lock up, and the other staffers had already gone home. She was all alone. As she stared into the unblinking eyes, she decided to avoid a conflict.
“Please leave,” she said. “And do not come back here again.”
If she went through the magazine, the nosy librarian would be able to tell which article had been taken. And if anything ever happened to Belinda Winthrop, the librarian would surely remember the stolen article and think it worthy of mentioning to the police. The librarian would be able to give a physical description.
The librarian had to go.
How?
There had been a metal letter opener shining at the circulation desk. That could work. It would be messy but effective.