Page 43 of No Offense

Molly wasn’t exactly in the mood for any of Elijah’s shenanigans, especially since she herself hadn’t gotten much sleep, the guests at checkout at the hotel that morning had been particularly unruly, and the volunteer puppeteer was late.

But she still had a bit of a flutter in her heart because of what had happened the night before with the sheriff. Nothing could really be all that bad when a man who was that kind and that good-looking and that talented with his hands—and lips—was interested in her. The world had a slightly rosier tinge to it this morning, so even Elijah’s antics and the coffee and bourbon spilled all overSix-Dinner Sidcouldn’t bother her too much.

Until she turned to see what Elijah had in his hands.

“It’s a Leica,” Elijah said, proudly showing off his new camera. “Now I can start filming my acts. I mean, I could do that before, on my phone, but this is classier. I thought I could pick up some photography assignments, you know, with the school paper. Maybe shoot headshots for the Snappettes, or whatever.”

Molly felt as if her blood had run cold. She forgot not only her tiredness but also the warm, happy feeling that she’d been hugging to herself all morning. She certainly wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Where did you get that?” she heard herself asking Elijah, through suddenly numb lips.

He looked down at the camera. “What, this? My dad left it in a box of stuff when he moved out. I know it’s kind of old, but you’re the one who’s always telling me I need to get more involved in stuff. One of those kids inItturned into like the town historian or something. I know you loanedItto me because of the comedian character, but that other guy was kind of cool and I was thinking maybe I could—”

“Give me that,” Molly said, and snatched the camera from him.

“Hey!” Elijah looked shocked. “What are you doing?”

Molly examined the camera. Just like the one that had been stolen from Mrs. Tifton’s house the night before, it was pocket-sized and also digital. It looked very old—and very expensive.

Molly reached out, seized Elijah by the arm—noting he was wearing a black hoodie, but that meant nothing, didn’t it? Tons of kids his age wore them, even on a tropical island—and steered him toward her desk, even though rule number one of being a librarian was that you never, ever touched a patron unless they were in immediate danger or in need of medical assistance.

But Elijah was in danger, and also in need of immediate assistance... just not the medical kind.

“Hey, Miss Molly,” Elijah said, allowing himself to be dragged. He looked more amused than indignant. “What gives?”

Molly pushed him into the child-sized chair beside her desk. “Where did you get this camera?” she asked him again, perhaps a little too intensely.

“Whoa,” he said. “I told you. It was my—”

“Your dad’s, I know, you said that. Does he still have the receipt? Can youprovehe bought it?”

“How should I know? Probably not. He bought it, like, a million years ago. What’s wrong with you, Miss Molly?”

Molly wondered herself. John had assured her last nightthat there was no way the High School Thief was in high school. He’d all but sworn he knew who the culprit was and that an arrest was imminent.

But here was Elijah, carrying a used, older Leica like the one stolen from Mrs. Tifton’s home, and smelling—there was no way around it—like the men’s fragrance section of a department store. He reeked.

He did not, however, smell of cigarettes. So that was one small mercy.

“Where were you last night around eleven o’clock?” she demanded.

“Where was I? Where I always am when I’m not here or at school—at home, playingCall of Duty.”

“Can you prove it?”

“What’s all this with having to prove it?” he asked. “What’s going on, Miss Molly?”

Molly sat down behind her desk, feeling suddenly tired and defeated. Not even the memory of the sheriff’s kiss or the hopeful promise of their steak dinner could buoy her spirits.

“The High School Thief struck again last night, Elijah,” she said. She probably wasn’t supposed to be sharing this information, but it would be public soon enough. Meschelle Davies would see to that. “He robbed Mrs. Tifton—you know, the lady who donated the money to build the new library? And one of the things he took was her dead husband’s old Leica camera. It was one just like this.”

Elijah looked down at the camera in Molly’s hand, not understanding. “So? What does that have to do with me?”

“Elijah, you were literally in here the other day bragging that you were the High School Thief.”

“Oh my God, Miss Molly.” He started to laugh. “Don’t tell me that you believed all that!”

Molly glared at him as he clutched his stomach, doubled over in laughter. “It isn’t funny, Elijah,” she said. “There are people in this town—people who work in law enforcement—who might, given the preponderance of evidence, come to think of you as a suspect.”