“Faye,” he said softly, her gaze shot back to his and she spoke again, this time quickly.
“There’s a boy,” she began. “I don’t know, nine, ten years old. He comes into the library and steals books.”
“I see,” he murmured then guessed, “You don’t want to get him into trouble but you also can’t have him stealing books.”
“No,” she shook her head, “he returns them.”
Chace blinked.
Then he asked, “What?”
“He returns them,” she answered and kept talking in a rush. “I mean, since he steals them instead of checks them out, I can’t know if he’s returning all of them. But, for months now, he’s been coming in once or twice a week and once or twice a week I’ll have two or three books in the return bin that were never checked out. So, since I have no record what he took, I can’t know if he returns them all. But he’s a slip of a boy and although his jacket is big, he can’t lug out dozens of books. And I’ve had my eye on him. So if he’s stealing loads, I would notice. He isn’t stealing loads so, I’m not sure, but I think he returns all of them or, uh…” she faltered then finished, “the vast majority of them.”
“If this is true, I’m uncertain how there’s a problem.”
She pulled in a visibly deep breath.
And then she let it out while informing him quietly, “He’s being beaten.”
At that, Chace straightened from the door but he didn’t move from it as he whispered, “Beaten?”
She nodded.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Well, the bruise on his cheekbone I saw. And the other one around his jaw. And then there were the ones on his wrists. But today,” she swallowed, took a half step toward him, stopped and sucked in another breath before going on, “today, it was bad.”
“How bad?”
“Eye swollen shut, bruises on his face, nose swollen and a gash on his lip that isn’t being treated.”
“Fuck,” Chace muttered.
“It’s worse,” she whispered and Chace nodded to her to go on. “He… well, he’s very thin. And he’s not clean, as in, way not clean. And his clothes don’t fit him. And he’s very, very thin.”
“You said that,” Chace noted quietly.
“He’s so very, very thin, Chace, it bears repeating,” she said quietly back.
Chace held her eyes and repeated his muttered, “Fuck.” Then he put his hands on his h*ps and asked, “You know this kid?”
She shook her head.
“Speak to him?” Chace continued.
She shook her head again but replied, “Every time I’ve tried to approach, he runs away. I tried again today and chased him. He was terrified. He outran me then disappeared.”
Jesus, she’d chased him? The town’s pretty, curvy, quiet librarian chased a kid?
He verbalized his question. “You chased him?”
“Yeah, out of the library and into town. He disappeared the minute he turned onto Main Street. Well, not the minute seeing as I was half a block behind him but close after. And I told him he wasn’t in trouble but he still ran.”
“You chased him.” It was a statement this time.
“Yeah,” she answered anyway then he watched her body give a small jolt and she whispered, “Oh no, was that the wrong thing to do?”
“Sorry, honey, but you gotta know in case the opportunity comes up again. A kid being beaten and malnourished, which gives us an indication who’s likely beating him, and not taken care of, which pretty much solidifies who’s beating him, should not be chased. It’s clear he’s not livin’ a good life. It’s likely that life is filled with a good deal of fear. And him borrowin’ library books outside of acceptable practice says to me whatever’s happening at home means he doesn’t trust anyone so he takes every opportunity to dodge connecting even if it means checking out a library book.”