“Right. You could finish up the storage unit in the morning and head over to Mandarin Cliffs now. Okay?” It was ten after five and Emily was, at most, twenty minutes from Mandarin Cliffs. Taking Emily’s silence for yes, Becca added, “I’ll call her back and let her know. And I’ll text you her name and address. You’re the best.”

“I guess,” Emily said. The one good thing about teaching had been that once she’d finished grading papers, she’d had complete control of her off-hours. “I hope this doesn’t turn into a regular thing.”

“It won’t if we don’t let it,” Becca said. “Before you go, what’s it look like there?”

“It looks like . . .” Emily stepped to the doorway of the storage unit and looked in. Hot air no longer pulsed out. “Old books. Vintage hardware. And—” Just then she lost her grip on the document tube that she’d tucked under her arm. When she tried to catch it, her cell phone clattered to the concrete floor. Before she knew it, the hatbox had tumbled, too, spilling papers and cards.

Emily grabbed her phone. Not broken, thank goodness. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she said to Becca, “this won’t be straightforward. Mr. Murphy was paying for climate control and he wasn’t getting it. Looks like rodents have been having a banquet in here, too. Whatever else, Mrs. Murphy should bring in an insurance appraiser before we clear this out, and possibly an attorney, too.” Squeezing the phone between her shoulder and ear, she stooped and began to gather the pieces of paper that had spilled from the hatbox.

Becca said, “We need to include coordinating that in our estimate.”

But Emily almost missed the suggestion. The slip of paper in her hand was a bookplate engraved with an image of a table laden with books. Below the picture were the words MIDDLEBURY COLLEGE LIBRARY. And below that, GIFT OF SILAS M. PEARSON 1910.

“Talk to you later,” Becca said. In the background Emily heard what sounded like Sophie coming down hard on piano keys. The call disconnected. A few moments later Emily’s phone pinged with a text.

Quinn Newell 55 Ardmore Ln

Emily picked up another slip of paper. This one was card stock, yellowed with age. Typewritten at the top, it said, This book should be returned to the Library on or before the last date stamped below. The date stamped was NOV-1 ’79.

She shuffled through the rest of the papers. Library book pockets. Bookplates. Due-date slips. There were hundreds of them . . . in a storage unit that contained hundreds of old books.

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