Black Locust Letters by Nicolette Jinks Page A

seemed as though this chaos of dust, files, and dried-up
oranges had remained undisturbed for decades, Betty knew better.
Her trained eye could perceive drag marks through the unswept floor
and freshly clean files in two boxes, while a third had handprints
on them. She laid her own palm over the print—a large hand, too big
to be Slim's, but about right for her father's. Or Clarkin's. She
winced at the thought, but had to acknowledge it to be
true.
    Though she had planned on spending up until closing down here
with the one naked, swaying light bulb, whoever had disturbed these
things had already done most of her work for her. She turned her
attention to the box which had all the folders replaced neatly. Was
one missing? It was hard to say.
    An
hour or so passed, and she didn't find anything new, though she did
confirm what her father had stated: The Council had moved to start
Never Were identification cards, citing public security measures,
but the topic had continued for weeks, until only one member held
the final vote to make or break a two-thirds majority. Aaron
Riley.
    He
seemed to be a man who was often the swing voter, and Betty
couldn't make out what it was that made him vote for or against any
particular thing. He didn't seem to have an agenda, which meant
that he most certainly did.
    Betty sat back on her toes, annoyed that she had dusted up
her good tights for nothing.
    “ We
always seem to meet in the strangest places.”
    Betty sucked in her breath and narrowly withheld a yelp of
surprise. She didn't need to look around to recognize the smooth,
melodic voice that had made her heart skitter. She wobbled to her
feet and turned to find Clarkin standing in the doorway, the stairs
bright behind him, an amused smile on his lips. He wore khakis, a
black polo, a dark trench coat, and a white and black striped scarf
that fell down below his belt.
    “ It
is customary to say hello,” he said. She stared at him, her mouth
an open gape.
    Betty licked her lips. What was he doing here?
    Clarkin jerked his head back up the stairs. “Miss Frissleman
asked me to check if there was anyone down here. She's closing up
early.”
    He
continued to stare at her, seeming to enjoy her discomposure; but
there was something more to his gaze, something that made hot
thrills run down her spine. She took several steps, stopping when
he didn't move out of the doorway.
    “ We
seem to run into one another an awful lot.” Her tone was abrupt,
and almost accusing, but Clarkin was oblivious to it.
    “ Small town,” he said.
    “ Not
that small.”
    “ Then Fate insists on our acquaintance, wouldn't you
agree?”
    Betty had been ready for him to stammer, not whip up a smooth
line like that. Charmer. She hated that she was blushing again and
embarrassed about the dirt smudging her otherwise neat
appearance.
    All
the same, she tried to gather her composure. “I'm not one to
believe in Fate. The world turns out of cause and effect, action
and reaction, motives and results.”
    “ I
had not thought you to be so unbelieving as that, you who sees the
evil in the shadows.”
    “ Shadow is the absence of light. If you believe that light is
good, then shadow becomes evil, does it not?” She tried to nudge by
him.
    Clarkin's expression warmed, and his smile turned soft and
musing. “So you are a believer, after all.”
    “ I said if you believe. The world is cold and hard, and you
get out of it what you beat with a club. Now, I believe you said
that the library is closing?”
    “ Precisely, and Tulle La Caffetteria is opening. Maybe we
could continue our discussion over supper. It's an older place, but
very delectable and it has the best crawfish alfredo you have ever
laid eyes upon. All the locals go there, and that's typically a
splendid sign.”
    “ Thanks, but I need to get home.”
    “ Have you some task that needs finished? Oh, but I forgot, it
is late for you, isn't it? I'll go with you.”
    Betty's attempts to pass him had resulted in