DESTROYED.
She backed out of that entry and clicked on the one after it.
MISSING.
What was going on?
STOLEN.
She scrolled faster, hopping quickly into and out of each entry in the list.
It had to be a coincidence. These were old, nearly worthless maps. Why would any of them be stolen? Who would risk so much to break in to a museum or library only to take something so small, when works worth thousands more lined the walls around it?
Surely these first few were flukes, she told herself. Surely if she kept going, surely, they would begin turning up safe in their archives. Frantically, she clicked again.
STOLEN.
How was this possible?
DESTROYED.
STOLEN.
MISSING.
MISSING.
STOLEN.
DESTROYED.
STOLEN.
Nell sat back in her chair, confused. Her skin prickled at some invisible chill.
All 212 copies of the same map were missing from every collection. Not a single one remained.
And she had just entered their own into the public record.
IV
Nell paced, counting the rings impatiently.
“Swann, it’s me,” she said as soon as his voicemail beeped. “Call me back as soon as you can. It’s about something from my father’s . . .” She paused. As next of kin, she probably now owned all of his belongings, but this map wasn’t his. It was the library’s. “It’s something I found while going through his things,” she finally said. “I need your advice. Call me as soon as you can.”
From the table, the folded-up map stared back at her. With a huff, Nell slid into the chair and picked it up again.
“What the heck would cause over two hundred of you to be missing or stolen?” she muttered.
The map said nothing.
Nell glanced over at her laptop nervously. She had no idea what was going on, but the longer she thought about it, the worse the idea of leaving her own listing up seemed. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d deleted something from the database—the thought seemed almost sacrilegious—but she also couldn’t think of the last time, any time, she’d come across something this strange.
She reached for the keyboard. The screen refreshed, and her entry was gone.
“There.” Nell sighed. At least that was taken care of, until she had a chance to talk to Swann.
Speaking of that. The clock on the wall now read 6:45 a.m. It was odd he had not called her back. She knew the man had risen at five o’clock every morning since before she’d been born. He was likely on his way to the NYPL or already at his desk. He definitely should have heard her message by now.
But his line just rang uselessly a second time and went to voicemail.
Nell sat there for a moment, confused. They hadn’t spoken since she’d been fired, but that had been all her doing. Even years later, Swann had still sent her a birthday card every spring, still mailed a little gift every holiday, to remind her that he was always there and would always welcome her back with open arms, if she ever wanted.
It was very unlike him not to call her back—especially right now.
Her eyes drifted back to the table, where the map sat.
Then she jumped up and made for the shower. If Swann would not call her back, she would go to him.
The subway was a crush of bodies, strollers, backpacks, and buskers somehow managing to sing and dance in the cars even though there was hardly any room to breathe. Once the train passed beneath the river and clattered into Manhattan, Nell escaped a stop early at Thirty-Third Street to walk the last half mile to the library. She needed time to rehearse what she would say to Swann.