6 - Pages of Sin

way I can reach them.”
    “You’ll get them later,” Mom said from her crouched position.
    “Are you okay?” I asked, looking down at her straining against the tower of books.
    “This stack is getting a little wobbly.”
    “Can you hold it steady while I grab these two Robert Louis Stevensons?”
    “Go for it,” Mom said, and pushed against the stacks with her whole body.
    “Looks like a beautiful set.” I eased the first Stevenson out and turned it over to check its condition. “Well, they used to be, anyway. Nice leather with lots of gilding. There might be more of them. I wonder if—”
    “Hurry, sweetie. It’s starting to buckle.”
    “Okay, okay.” I pulled out the second book. Treasure Island. “This one’s in better shape.”
    “Brooklyn.” Her tone was a warning.
    Suddenly I could feel the tower swaying. “Mom?”
    She squeaked out a sound. “No!”
    “I got it, Mom. I’m almost—”
    “It’s coming down!” she cried and scrambled back. Jumping up, she grabbed the back of my shirt and gave a mighty tug, yanking me away from the stacks. I did my best to scamper backward, but I wasn’t fast enough. Books began tumbling and hitting me as I turned and scurried away from the line of fire.
    “Yeow!” I howled like an offended animal. “Ouch!”
    “Oh, honey!” Mom cried.
    “I’m okay! I’m okay! Owww!”
    “Get over here!” she yelled, and literally lifted me off the ground by the scruff of my collar like a mama bear would.
    I stumbled until I managed to right myself. Out of breath, I leaned against her and watched as the domino effect took place with each tower careening into the next one. Books were falling every which way and I cringed and winced as each one struck the floor.
    Better they suffer a soft carpet landing than smack me in the noggin again, I thought, grimacing.
    “There goes another one,” Mom said, squeezing her eyes shut.
    “I can’t take this anymore.” I braced myself, then stalked back and pressed against the next tower to steady it. A few books on the top banged into my head, but I managed to staunch the worst of the toppling.
    “Good girl,” Mom said, impressed. “That was heroic.”
    I continued to splay my body against the books. “My head hurts, but I’m afraid to move.”
    “Then you’d better stay right there and try not to move.”
    “Okay. But I think I’m getting a cramp.”
    She came over and patted my back. “You’ll be fine. Let me know if you get hungry. I’ll warm up the taco casserole and feed you myself.”
    “Very funny,” I said, but was afraid to laugh for fear of shaking the tower.
    “I’ll bring you a damp washcloth so you can freshen yourself every few hours.”
    Swallowing a chuckle, I said, “You’re having the best time with this, aren’t you?”
    “Well, you wanted some books.”
    I groaned. “Stop trying to make me laugh.” I rested my forehead against a well-worn hardback copy of Gone With the Wind and willed the books to stop wobbling. “I’ll take some of that taco casserole now.”
     
     
    Forty minutes later, we had secured the towers of books as well as we could and had reassembled the fallen ones into shorter stacks.
    We were both dirty and sweaty and tired. Mom’s hair had fallen out of her ponytail and I knew mine looked straggly, too, but I felt that we’d accomplished something. I had six boxes of books and Mom had a long inventory of items to give to Guru Bob, including the dresses hanging inside an armoire, all looking as though they’d never been worn.
    “I’m a mess and I’m starving,” I said. Pushing my hair off my face, I lifted a heavy box off the floor and onto a nearby tea table to get a better grip on it. “Are you ready to go?”
    “Almost. I want to take some more of these dresses from—”
    Suddenly the front door swung open and hit the wall with a loud bang, scaring the hell out of me.
    My packing box tottered and the insubstantial tea table waivered precariously close to another tower of books. I couldn’t steady it and still keep my balance. I felt myself falling forward just as a well-dressed woman walked into the house, took one look at us, and screamed like a banshee from hell.

Chapter Three
     
    “Thieves!” the woman shouted, her face pinched in fear and fury. “Get out of here!”
    My heart was pounding hard, but I couldn’t worry about some crazy woman screaming at me. I was too busy worrying that I’d wrenched my neck from the fall. I covered my