My Favorite Book

My favorite book had gone missing, and after 2 days I had narrowed my list down to 2 suspects.  They had taken items of value before and I was sure they were at it again.  It would be difficult proving their guilt but as long as I got my book back I’d be happy. 

It all started a few months ago when I noticed that some of my most prized possessions were being secreted away, usually while I slept or while distracted.  Initially I thought that I had just misplaced them, under the sofa or in a closet, and that they would be found, but now, I was sure it was theft. 

But back to my missing book; I had last seen it about 2 days ago while my chief suspect was holding it and looking at it with a new interest in her eye.  She was reading it aloud, seemingly to me, but all the while she was laying her plan to snatch it away.  I had overheard her before saying that the book was old and dirty and that I should not have it, I was sure it was her.

While she is my prime suspect there is another possibility.  I groan at the thought of this but it could be one of my own.  I think this because I caught him lurking about the other day staring intently at my book with a look and a smile like he was going to eat it.  I took it from him but he didn’t make a fuss, he was quickly distracted by some coins on the table.  He could be the thief, but I hope not, he is too young to be doing such things.

Since I have narrowed it down to these two, my task now involves finding the book.  I lay in wait, playing oblivious, but all the while looking for subtle signs of guilt or for a lead to the book itself.  After what seemed like hours I had my first chance to actually search.  The one I thought of as my own was asleep.  He slept soundly and I knew I would have enough time to do a pretty thorough search.  Although his place was a mess it actually made the search easier since I did not need to worry about making a mess myself.  I searched everything that I could and no luck.  At that point I knew that my primary suspect was the guilty party.

One would think that having this knowledge would make it easier to find but in fact it made it more challenging.  She could have done anything with it.  She may have hidden it, or sold it, or, worse of all, thrown it in the trash. 

It was late and she was preoccupied with the others so I knew that I would have some time to search the usual hiding places, the ones Santa used.  I did my best, not even worrying about making a mess, at this point I was getting desperate, and my time was getting short.  If she discovered that I was searching for it and she was still in possession of it she may feel pressured to destroy the evidence or at least become more vigilant over me. I could not risk that, I had to move fast.

I decided that it was not hidden and that it had either been sold or trashed.  If it was sold there was really nothing I could do other than keep my eyes open for the unwitting buyer, so I was left with the trash.  I knew it was my last hope.

It was easier than I thought to get to the trash area, an unlocked door, an opened fence, the only obstacle the wet grass; and behold, the objects that potentially held my beloved book.  There were three of them, green, blue and black.  I knew I could not take much longer; she would start looking for me once she noticed I was missing. 

I knocked the blue over first, it was her favorite color.  It was full of paper and my heart skipped a beat.  I was sure it must be in here.  Yet, as I dug through the paper I found nothing; my stomach fell. 

I knocked the second one over, the black one, it was full of trash, smelly and sticky and wet.  I noticed my clothes and my hair were now filthy.  If I did not find it I would certainly give myself away now.  Feverishly, I dug through the filth and was beyond disappointment, no book. 

My last hope was in the green barrel.  It was heavier than the others but I managed to topple it and found myself covered in leaves, mowed grass, dirt and all sorts of debris.  I realized I had left my shoes off as I felt grime between my wet, cold toes.  As it toppled over the lid cracked me on the head; dizzy, wet and in pain, I was buried in green.  Against my will I cried out.  At the same time I heard her cry of dismay as she found the mess I left inside. I was now in fear of her finding me out.  I heard her screams as she followed my path and discovered me wet, dirty and in tears.  I had lost the battle; I would never get my book now.

But then something amazing happened.  She picked me up, getting herself dirty in the process, hugged me and had my book, my lost lovely book, in her hand.  She smiled and said, “Sweetie what are you doing out here?”  She wrapped my up in a sweater, saying to my dad, “I told you to lock the doors or the babies wouldn’t get out!”

As she said that she tossed my book in the trash. 

After all my hard work, still no book.  And now, I have cold feet and an enormous headache.


Word Count: 991