Long Lost, стр. 17
With the witch-trial book in her arms, Fiona crept back into the central room.
She found an armchair with a clear view of the circulation desk. Ms. Miranda and another librarian—a white woman in a plaid blouse, whose name tag read MRS. BREWER—were still there, looking very busy.
Fiona settled in the chair, put the open book in front of her face, and stared sneakily over its edge at the librarians. She was just pretending to turn a page when her phone buzzed.
She fished it out of her backpack. A text from Cy glowed on the screen.
Two days until Operation Birthday (aka Best Birthday Ever)!
Fiona grinned, the loneliness wadded inside her loosening slightly. Can’t wait, she typed back.
You and yr dad are meeting us in Springfield at 9:45, right? Then you’ll get in the minivan and we’ll head to Hartford!
Right, Fiona wrote back. I call a window seat!
Her phone buzzed again.
This is Bina. I’m stealing Cy’s phone to tell you WE MISS YOU!!! And that Cy is going to lose this game of Catan.
Fiona’s smile widened. Wish I was there. See you soon!!!!
As she slipped the phone into her backpack, she heard another phone ring.
Fiona scanned the room. Behind the circulation desk, Mrs. Brewer was lifting the receiver of the library phone, turning away from the room as she spoke. Ms. Miranda was gone. But gone where?
Fiona craned around in her armchair.
There—Ms. Miranda was disappearing through the doorway into the children’s section.
This was it. This was her chance. And she had almost missed it.
While Mrs. Brewer’s back was still turned, Fiona darted past the circulation desk and into the STAFF ONLY hall.
She hurried down the narrow corridor, heart thumping. To her left, she spotted an open coat closet, a door marked STAFF RESTROOM, and a heavier-looking door labeled STORAGE. Would Ms. Miranda have put the book in there? Fiona hesitated. Or would she have taken it to the very end of the hall, through the door with the frosted glass window that read OFFICE?
The soft glow of the glass drew Fiona onward.
She pressed her ear to the office door. No sounds came from the other side. She touched the knob and the door swung inward, its hinges wonderfully silent. Fiona slipped through, shutting it again behind her.
The office was wood paneled and windowless. From its size, Fiona wondered if it had once been a pantry, or one of those rooms where rich Victorians kept their china and silverware. There were three desks inside. And the cluttered one at the front had a name plate reading DIRECTOR—GRACE MIRANDA.
Fiona dove toward it.
She pawed through the piles of books on the desktop, in too much of a hurry to leave everything just the way it had been. Her heart seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. She could feel its pulse in her back teeth.
And there, at the bottom of a stack of damaged novels, she found it.
The soft green cover. The sketch of the inky woods.
The Lost One.
Fiona snatched it up, rubbing the green leather with her thumbs.
Ms. Miranda had pretended not to know anything about this book. But she’d obviously known where to find it. Then she’d sneaked it out of the collection and hidden it away, so Fiona couldn’t get it back. But why?
Fiona would have to figure that out later. For now, she would put the book in her backpack and take it home, where she could read the rest of the story at last.
She unzipped her backpack.
“Ah-ha!” said a voice from the doorway behind her. “I knew you were in here.”
And then the door thumped shut.
Chapter Ten
Fiona wheeled around with a gasp.
Ms. Miranda stood just inside the closed door. She gasped too.
“Whoa.” The librarian pressed one hand to her sternum. “Sheesh. I think I just had a mild heart attack.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Fiona Crane? What are you doing in here?”
Fiona’s thoughts dashed off in every direction like kids playing hide-and-seek.
“I—I was . . . ,” she began. But wait. Ms. Miranda had seemed almost as startled as Fiona to find her in here. Had she been expecting someone else? “Who did you think I was?” Fiona asked. “When you said, ‘I knew you were in here’?”
“Oh.” Ms. Miranda reached into her canvas shoulder bag. “I was talking to my lunch. It got totally buried in my bag, so now my sandwich is probably more like a stuffed pancake.” She pulled out a flattened brown sack. “Yep. Fabulous.”
The thumping in Fiona’s chest slowed just a bit.
But it sped up again a second later, when Ms. Miranda repeated, “What are you doing in here?” Her eyes flicked to the books on her desk. She stepped closer, and Fiona skittered out of the way, shoving The Lost One into the bag behind her back. “Did you get lost?”
“Not really.” Fiona thought fast. “I know this area is marked staff only, but . . . I just think it’s so interesting that this whole library used to be somebody’s house. I wanted to explore a little more.”
“Ah. I get it,” said Ms. Miranda. “When you’re interested in something, you have to find out everything about it. Right?”
“Right,” said Fiona. How had Ms. Miranda guessed?
“I’m like that too. Needing answers. Loving to search for them.” Ms. Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever thought about becoming a librarian?”
“I’m planning to be an archeologist,” said Fiona. “Or a historian.”
“Pretty close.” Ms. Miranda perched on the edge of her desk. “So, you’re interested in old houses, then? That makes sense.”
“Yes,” said Fiona, thinking, Yes, it does! I came up with a perfect excuse without even trying! “I think it’s nice that Margaret Chisholm donated her house to the town when she died.”
“I do too.” Ms. Miranda tossed the squished lunch bag onto the desk beside her. “The Chisholm family built a