The Last Bookstore

Celeste knew that bookstores were dying. The world was online, and the bookstore was a leftover, like week-old turkey. Celeste liked that no one came into the bookstore. She liked that there was a job that involved sitting around reading all day. It was a pretty good gig for someone who had barely graduated high school last year. Celeste once looked into being a librarian, but it involved a lot of student loan debt. Better to work for this little shop, for as long as it lasted.

Celeste finished the Western novel she had read through that morning and took it back to the shelf. She always treated the books like they were ancient parchments, turning the pages with the lightest possible touch, opening no farther than necessary to scan the words. Once she put Desert Standoff back on the shelf, no one would be able to tell she had ever touched it. Celeste adjusted the bookends to make room, and noticed something odd. Between the pristine spines of Guns Across the Causey and Alfalfa Desperado was a black Moleskine notebook. Well worn, well-loved.

Celeste picked it up, intending to bring it to Lost and Found, where surely one of their rare customers would return to claim it. Had someone stolen a book and left this in some misguided attempt at barter? She couldn't remember the last time someone had actually come to the register and purchased a book. Probably day before yesterday. She only worked the opening shift, Monday through Thursday. The owner covered the evenings and weekends, when all of the events were, and when most of the customers came. Celeste wasn't sure why the owner, Gwen, didn't just change the store hours rather than paying someone to attend the empty building. But then, Celeste didn't really care. It worked for her.

She realized as she plopped back onto her seat behind the register that she hadn't grabbed anything new to read. After staring off into space for a few minutes, contemplating which section to visit next (Sci fi? Mystery?) Celeste found herself fondling the black Moleskine tucked beneath the register. The cover had the expected yielding firmness of crafted leather, but there was something hard inside. Now that she'd gotten to fiddling with it, it didn't really feel like a journal at all.

Celeste picked it up and peered at it from around the edges. It wouldn't be right to go through someone else's journal, but maybe she could detect what made this book so odd. Finally, she came up with the rationalization that inside the cover, the notebook might indicate who it belonged to. She opened it, but instead of an address or phone number, she found a rectangular cutout through all the pages, with a metal box tucked inside. Not bothering to rationalize this time, she pried the box out and opened the latch. Inside was the fattest stack of hundred-dollar bills that she had ever seen. Probably more than this bookstore had ever seen, at least since she'd worked there.

Celeste looked around, checking over her shoulder at who might be just outside the glass doors. No one in sight. Her body should be blocking any view of the notebook and its contents from outside anyway. She checked the time. 10:36 a.m.

Celeste locked the door. Now she had guaranteed privacy to figure out what in the hell she was supposed to do. Her first thought was to take the money and run. Gwen had a key. If Celeste left a note by the register saying she quit, probably no one would think anything of it. Except maybe whoever the money belonged to.

It had to belong to somebody. Why did they leave it here? Celeste figured it must be some kind of drug deal, something shady. Someone was supposed to come in and find this cash, then leave something in its place. Someone who valued the slow business as much as Celeste did. If so, it couldn't have been there long, and it wouldn't be long before someone would come looking for it. Celeste should definitely get out before they came and saw her.

If this money was what she thought, then even if she was stealing she'd only be stealing from criminals, and was that really stealing? They wouldn't call the police. Celeste had read enough books to figure out that criminals had other ways of dealing with people stealing from them. But how would they know she had anything to do with it if the book went missing?

Because she was the one who always worked this shift. It would have to either be some random customer, of which there were few, or her. Or Gwen, if it had been here since last night. Shit. Was Celeste really going to leave thousands of dollars on the shelf just to be safe? What if it was some random customer who found it next? Then they could go off and become a librarian and never have to take out a loan. Life is so unfair.

Celeste could take it, and if anyone came looking for it, just give it back. Surely that wouldn't be a big deal. Celeste's hands massaged the Moleskine cover. She thought about how much she would miss those hands if they were cut off or smashed to bits or something. Maybe Celeste could hide the money, go on about her life same as ever. In 5 or 8 or 10 years, she could spend it and figure that whoever had left it there would have given up on it. If anyone did ask her about a missing notebook, she would just say she didn't know anything, let them assume it was an unidentifiable bystander that took it.

Celeste imagined being tortured. Submerged in ice water, hung by her toenails, skin peeled off strip by strip.

She should really switch to nonfiction. Of course, she had never really read nonfiction, so maybe it was even worse.

She would definitely not hold up under torture. What would happen if she lied to these criminals and then they got a confession out of her? Celeste was starting to get the spins, like that time she had discovered she was allergic to schnapps.

She could run away. If no one could find her, no one could torture her. She could change her identity, start a new life on her own. She had been wanting to move out of her mom’s house once she saved up enough. Cooking shows made feeding herself look possible. Were there laundry shows? Could she hire someone to take care of all that?

Even without counting it, Celeste guessed there was about enough here to buy a car and live in it. Not exactly glamorous spy novel stuff. She’d end up working at the last bookstore of some other dull town, trying to get used to people calling her Skye.

Maybe she should talk to someone, ask for advice? But whoever she told, she would be endangering. Plus, it would limit her options. It's not like she could call her mom and ask what she should do with this dirty money. There is no way she and her mom would come to the same conclusion. Her boyfriend Jeff was cute as hell, but not exactly a font of wisdom. Celeste hadn't really seen any of her friends since she started dating Jeff.

The only other person she could think to ask was Gwen. Hey Gwen, I found this huge pile of money in your store, how about I keep it?

Celeste was on her own. What the hell was she going to do?

The bell over the locked door jangled, and Celeste jumped a third of the way out of her skin. She turned to see Gwen coming in. Her colorful silk scarf almost got trapped in the door. The last time that had happened, Gwen had shrugged it off and left it trailing from the doorway. She said maybe it would attract customers, like a flag. She was that kind of crazy.

"Is there a reason we are closed in the middle of the day?" Gwen asked.

"I found this," Celeste said. No use trying to hide it at this point.

Gwen's keys fell to the floor as she ran to Celeste. "Oh Lord. Oh, thank God. Just when I thought I was going to have to fire you."

"What?" Celeste asked. "You were going to fire me?"

"If I didn't find this money, I would," Gwen said.

"This is your money?" Celeste asked, still clinging to the book.

"I used to keep everything in a safe, but that's the first place burglars go once they've cleared the register. Or at least, the burglars that hit up this place the year after it opened," Gwen said. "We almost closed then. Thank heaven I was able to get a secondary loan based on the first year of profitability. This place used to be hip, you know."

Celeste just stared.

Gwen went on. "I started keeping this tucked in with my journals. I still keep some money in the safe with the deed, in case anyone looks. When this went missing over the weekend, I thought either you had been reading my journals, or I was losing my mind and had recycled it or something."

"Reshelved it," Celeste corrected.

"I left it out here?" Gwen asked. She tightened her scarf. Once, she’d called that “screwing her head back on.”

Gwen continued, "Free gift with purchase, huh?"

"In the western section," Celeste said. "Good thing it wasn't best sellers."

"I might genuinely be going senile," Gwen said, massaging her temples. "How would you feel about picking up more shifts? I'll give you a raise, of course. I think I might need to give you a little more responsibility and take on a little less."

"How much of a raise are we talking?" Celeste asked, staring at the pile of money in front of her.

"How about 5% added to your hourly, and 1% profit share to start?" Gwen offered. "That profit sharing idea was inspired by you not running off with this pile of cash. You must be invested in this place."

"I must be." Celeste would have to come up with some way to get more customers in here. Well, it beat living in a car and waiting for someone to come peel off her toenails in retribution.

She was actually kind of jazzed about it. Maybe bookstore owner was a better ambition than librarian. She was already thinking up better places to hide the cash she was going to make. Maybe in the Classics section…