Sharon has taken a pair of reading glasses off a display stand near the front and has them perched on her nose, tag and all. “That’s better,” she says. “Oh, Molly. Would you go down to the basement?” She holds out a list. “Hayes said these came in, and he put them down there out of the way. He wanted me to sort them out, but . . .” She twists her leg back and forth. “My knee’s killing me.” She blows out a breath. “I can’t take those stairs today. You mind?”

I don’t want to go down there. She and Hayes know that. They think I’m claustrophobic. That’s what I’ve told them, and my excuse has worked since the basement is a small space with a low ceiling. Hayes always goes himself or has Sharon go down there. Now I’m stuck.

“Oh, come on,” Sharon says. “Leave the door open and the lights on, Molly. I’d do it myself, but my knee . . .”

I grab the list. “Fine.” At least I’ll put some space between me and the man.

“When you finish, why don’t you go ahead and go home?” she calls after me. “We both don’t need to be here.”

I make my way to the basement door. It’s old, like everything else in the building, and creaks as I open it. I flip the light on and shiver as cold musty air floats up and surrounds me.

You’ve got this, Molly. It’s only the bookstore.

I start down and hear the man talking with Sharon behind me in the distance. My footfalls echo on the wooden stairs, and I take them slowly, one at a time. There are no windows down here, just boxes stacked everywhere and a large table in the center of the room. It’s just the bookstore, I repeat in a whisper. I square my shoulders and make my way to the books piled on the table and set the list down. I get to work, concentrating on the task at hand, keeping my mind on the books.

I’m nearly through the pile when suddenly the lights go out and the basement plunges into darkness. Fear ripples through my chest, and I grab the edge of the table, holding on in a death grip. The basement door slams shut, and the floor above me creaks as someone walks overhead. Why would Sharon turn the lights out on me? Maybe we lost power. Maybe the snowfall.

My heart starts to hammer, and my palms perspire. I take a deep, wavering breath and try to feel my way slowly to where the staircase should be, sweat gathering under my arms, my breath catching in my throat. I never should have come down here.

Just when I’m starting to panic that I’ll never find the stairs, I bang my shin painfully against the first step.