Lawrence Block - The Burglar in the Library

At three in the afternoon on the first Thursday in

I should start at the beginning.

That was Tuesday night. The following day Carolyn bought the

Chandler never mentioned a second meeting, I told Carolyn, and

We had a short wait on the platform at Whitham

After dinner we drifted from room to room, getting our

Our next stop was the library. Id already seen a

Lets say you had this old tweed jacket.

The bookshelves in the Great Library of Cuttleford House extended

I stayed where I was, under the watchful gaze of

The library, when I finally got to it, was dark.

Any number of things can set a person screaming. A

What we needed to do, Nigel Eglantine insisted, was remain

Thinking back, I saw how close Carolyn had come to

Someone set a trap, I said. That much is true.

There were no screams or gasps in response to Nigels

She was a good cook, Cissy Eglantine said.

Jonathan Rathburn, Nigel Eglantine said, and put the tips of

Dinner, it turned out, was the joint effort of Cissy

Im not surprised, I said. I dont really want to

It was around seven in the morning when Carolyn Kaiser

At least thats how I figure it went.

There was a sound that may have been Carolyn catching

Youre not a ghost, she said. At least I dont

They were all in the library.

It was Earlene Cobbett, of course, and Ill spare you

Thats it, Littlefield said. Lettice, grab your coat. Were out

Four days later I was perched on a stool behind

She may not want to know, Carolyn said, but I

A t three in the afternoon on the first Thursday in March, I got Barnegat Books settled in for the weekend. I dragged my table of bargain books inside, closed the door, and turned the cardboard sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED . I ran the cash-register tapethe work of a moment, alasand took the checks to my desk in the back room, where I filled out a deposit slip and prepared a mail deposit. I returned with a box a little over a foot in length. It was shaped like a little house in a childs drawing, peaked roof and all, with a handle where the chimney ought to be. I opened the hinged top, set it on the floor, and looked around for Raffles.

He was in the window, treating himself to a few rays. I called his name, which might have worked if hed been a dog, but hes not and it didnt. Raffles is a cat, a declawed unmanned tailless gray tabby, and if he even knows his name hes not letting on. True to form, he didnt stir at the sound of my voice, but lay motionless in what little sunlight there was.

So I crumpled a sheet of paper, and that worked. We have a training ritual that involves my hurling paper balls for him to run down and kill. It probably looks like a game to the casual observer, but its serious business, designed to sharpen his mousing skills. I guess its working; I stopped finding gnawed book spines and suspicious organic matter on my shelves the day he moved in.

I threw the ball of paper and he was off and running. He had it before it stopped rolling, sank the memory of his claws deep into it, took it in his mouth, shook it fiercely to and fro, and left it for dead.

A dog would have brought it back so I could throw it again. A cat wouldnt dream of it. Good job, I said, and crumpled a fresh sheet, and he made another clean kill. I congratulated him again, prepared a third paper ball, and tossed it gently into the open cat carrier.

He looked at it. Then he looked at me, and then he looked at the floor.

A few minutes later there was a knock on my door. Were closed, I called out without looking. My eyes were on Raffles, who had removed himself to an open spot in the Philosophy & Religion section, on the same high shelf with the bust of Immanuel Kant.

The knock was repeated, and so was my response. Closed for the weekend! I sang out. Sorry!

Bernie, open the door.

So I looked, and of course it was Carolyn, looking larger than life in a down-filled parka. There was a suitcase at her feet and a frown on her brow. I let her in and she blew on her hands and rubbed them together. I thought youd be ready by now, she said. Weve got a train to catch, remember?

Its Raffles, I said.

What about him?

He wont get in the cat carrier.

She looked at me, then at the cat carrier, then bent over to retrieve two paper balls from it.

I thought maybe I could get him to jump in after them, I said.

You thought that, huh?

Well, it was just an idea, I said.

Youve had better ones, Bern. Whered he go?

Hes sitting up there with the father of the categorical imperative, I said. Which figures, because its imperative that he get in the cat carrier, and hes categorically opposed to it. I dont know, Carolyn, maybe its a mistake to take him. Were only going to be gone three nights. If I put out plenty of food and water for him, and leave the radio on to keep him company

She gave me a look, shook her head, sighed, and clapped her hands fiercely together, calling the cats name in a loud voice. Raffles sprang down from his perch and flattened himself against the floor. If hed lowered his center of gravity one more inch hed have been in the basement.

She bent over, picked him up, and put him in the carrier. Now you stay there, she told him, in a tone that brooked no argument, and snapped the lid shut to give him no choice in the matter. You cant con them into it, she explained. You have to get physical. Ready, Bern?

I guess so.

I hope that coats warm enough. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees since lunch. And the forecasts calling for snow north of the city.

Itll warm up, I said.

You think so?

Its March already. I know the groundhog saw his shadow, but the extra six weeks of winter are almost up. Even if we do get a little snow, it wont stick around long. I took my suitcase in one hand and Raffless carrier in the other and let Carolyn hold the door for me. Outside, I went through what you have to go through to close up a store in New York, hauling the steel gate across, fastening innumerable padlocks. These chores are best performed barehanded, and by the time I was done my fingers were numb.

Its cold, all right, I admitted. But well be cozy at Cuttleford House. Snow on the roof, a fire on the hearth

Kippers for breakfast. Afternoon tea with cream and clotted scones. She frowned. Is that right, Bern? Or should it be the other way around?

No, its right. Kippers for breakfast, scones for tea.

I know that parts right, she said. Its just a question of which is supposed to be clotted, the cream or the scones, and Im pretty sure its the cream. Scones and clotted cream. Yeah, that sounds better.

Either one sounds good about now.

And all those other great English dishes. Bangers and mash, bubble and squeak, toad-in-the-hole. What exactly is toad-in-the-hole, Bern, do you happen to know?

Not exactly.

It always makes me think of The Wind in the Willows. I bet its good, though, and it makes you feel all safe and secure and cozy when you eat it. How about bubble and squeak, Bern? Any idea what that is?

Maybe its the sound the toad makes, I suggested, when you yank him out of the hole.

And sherry trifle, she said. Thats a dessert. I know that much.

It sounds like a frivolous girl, I said. Sherry Trifleshell boost your blood sugar while she breaks your heart.

Reminds me of a little cupcake I met a couple of weeks ago at Pandoras.