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Authors: Laura Lippman
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cheaper ones online.”
“I wouldn’t think that people wanted children’s books in digital.”
“You’d be surprised. There are some interactive Dr. Seuss books—they’re actually quite good. But I’m not sure about the read-to-yourself functions. I think it’s still important for parents to read to their kids.”
Tess blushed guiltily. She did have Hop on Pop on her iPad, along with several games, although Carla Scout so far seemed to prefer opening—and then deleting—her mother’s e-mail.
“Anyway,” Mona continued, “it’s the sudden shrinkage that’s making her cranky. Because it’s the most expensive, most beautiful books. Hugo, things like that. A lot of the Caldecott books, but never the Newberys, and we keep them in the same section. Someone’s clearly targeting the illustrated books. Yet not the truly rare ones, which are kept under lock-and-key.” She indicated the case that ran along the front of the counter, filled with old books in mint condition: Elouise Goes to Moscow, various Maurice Sendak titles, Emily of Deep Valley, Eleanor Estes’s 100 Dresses, a book unknown to Tess, Epaminondas and His Auntie, whose cover illustration was deeply un-PC.
Tess found herself switching personas, from harried mom to a professional private investigator who provided security consultations. She studied her surroundings. “All these little rooms—it’s cozy, but a shoplifter’s paradise. An alarm, and a bell on the door to alert you to the door’s movement, but no cameras. Have you thought about making people check totes and knapsacks?”
“We tried, but Octavia got the numbers confused and when she gets harried—let’s just say, it doesn’t bring out her best.”
“Octavia?”
“The owner.”
As if her name conjured her up, she appeared just like that, slamming back through the door, coffee in hand. “I always forget that the bank closes at three every day but Friday. Oh well. It’s not like I had that much to deposit.”
She glanced at Mona, her face softer, kinder. She was younger than Tess had realized, not even forty. It was her stern manner and dyed black hair that aged her. “I can write you a check today, but if you could wait until Friday …”
“Sure, Octavia. And it’s almost Halloween. People will be doing holiday shopping before you know it.”
Octavia sighed. “More people in the store. More distractions. More opportunity.” She glanced at Carla Scout, who was sitting on the floor with a Mo Willems book, “reading” it to herself. Tess thought Octavia would have to be charmed in spite of herself. What could be more adorable than a little girl reading, especially this little girl, who had the good sense to favor her father, with fair skin and thick dark hair that was already down to her shoulders. Plus, she was wearing a miniature leather bomber jacket from the Gap, red jeans and a Clash T-shirt. Tess had heard “She’s so adorable” at least forty times today. She waited for the forty-first such pronouncement.
Octavia said: “She got chocolate on the book.”
So she had. And they already owned Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, but Tess would just have to eat this damaged copy. “I’ll add it to my other purchases when I check out,” Tess said, knowing it was folly to try to separate Carla Scout from any object that was keeping her quiet and contented.
“I understand you’ve been having some problems with theft?”
“Mona!” Owner glared at employee. Tess would have cowered under such a glance, but the younger woman shrugged it off.
“It’s not shameful, Octavia. People don’t steal from us because we’re bad people. Or even because we’re bad at what we do. They do it because they’re opportunistic.”
“A camera would go far in solving your problems,” Tess offered.
Octavia sniffed. “I don’t do gadgets.” She shot another baleful look at Tess’s iPad, then added, with slightly less edge: “Besides, I can’t afford the
“I wouldn’t think that people wanted children’s books in digital.”
“You’d be surprised. There are some interactive Dr. Seuss books—they’re actually quite good. But I’m not sure about the read-to-yourself functions. I think it’s still important for parents to read to their kids.”
Tess blushed guiltily. She did have Hop on Pop on her iPad, along with several games, although Carla Scout so far seemed to prefer opening—and then deleting—her mother’s e-mail.
“Anyway,” Mona continued, “it’s the sudden shrinkage that’s making her cranky. Because it’s the most expensive, most beautiful books. Hugo, things like that. A lot of the Caldecott books, but never the Newberys, and we keep them in the same section. Someone’s clearly targeting the illustrated books. Yet not the truly rare ones, which are kept under lock-and-key.” She indicated the case that ran along the front of the counter, filled with old books in mint condition: Elouise Goes to Moscow, various Maurice Sendak titles, Emily of Deep Valley, Eleanor Estes’s 100 Dresses, a book unknown to Tess, Epaminondas and His Auntie, whose cover illustration was deeply un-PC.
Tess found herself switching personas, from harried mom to a professional private investigator who provided security consultations. She studied her surroundings. “All these little rooms—it’s cozy, but a shoplifter’s paradise. An alarm, and a bell on the door to alert you to the door’s movement, but no cameras. Have you thought about making people check totes and knapsacks?”
“We tried, but Octavia got the numbers confused and when she gets harried—let’s just say, it doesn’t bring out her best.”
“Octavia?”
“The owner.”
As if her name conjured her up, she appeared just like that, slamming back through the door, coffee in hand. “I always forget that the bank closes at three every day but Friday. Oh well. It’s not like I had that much to deposit.”
She glanced at Mona, her face softer, kinder. She was younger than Tess had realized, not even forty. It was her stern manner and dyed black hair that aged her. “I can write you a check today, but if you could wait until Friday …”
“Sure, Octavia. And it’s almost Halloween. People will be doing holiday shopping before you know it.”
Octavia sighed. “More people in the store. More distractions. More opportunity.” She glanced at Carla Scout, who was sitting on the floor with a Mo Willems book, “reading” it to herself. Tess thought Octavia would have to be charmed in spite of herself. What could be more adorable than a little girl reading, especially this little girl, who had the good sense to favor her father, with fair skin and thick dark hair that was already down to her shoulders. Plus, she was wearing a miniature leather bomber jacket from the Gap, red jeans and a Clash T-shirt. Tess had heard “She’s so adorable” at least forty times today. She waited for the forty-first such pronouncement.
Octavia said: “She got chocolate on the book.”
So she had. And they already owned Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, but Tess would just have to eat this damaged copy. “I’ll add it to my other purchases when I check out,” Tess said, knowing it was folly to try to separate Carla Scout from any object that was keeping her quiet and contented.
“I understand you’ve been having some problems with theft?”
“Mona!” Owner glared at employee. Tess would have cowered under such a glance, but the younger woman shrugged it off.
“It’s not shameful, Octavia. People don’t steal from us because we’re bad people. Or even because we’re bad at what we do. They do it because they’re opportunistic.”
“A camera would go far in solving your problems,” Tess offered.
Octavia sniffed. “I don’t do gadgets.” She shot another baleful look at Tess’s iPad, then added, with slightly less edge: “Besides, I can’t afford the
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