Next morning Emily returned the border collie book, pages dabbed clean and pressed as flat as new. She'd had plenty of experience in book repairs during her years as librarian.

Her friend at the returns counter didn't give it a second look. "There's a new job posting in the library association newsletter," the woman said. "See?"

Emily read the notice. "Renton City Library needs help preparing for next year's move to the new building. I heard about that! They're creating a library on a bridge! I heard it was originally proposed as a joke, but everyone loved the idea!"

"It's a bit far for a commute," the librarian said. "I know how reluctant you are to leave Skowalko."

"I was reluctant, yes. I'm thinking now it might be a good idea. I know Renton's head librarian. We roomed together at a conference, oh, must be ten years ago. I'll apply for this right away!"

On her way home, Emily's gaze lingered on all the familiar buildings and gardens. Her roots sank deep here. She didn't want to leave. But if she vanished for a year, perhaps it would put the gangsters off her trail for good.

It wasn't a permanent job, after all. Part-time, lasting no more than ten months.

Her pace picked up. She must give Mrs Hillgen a call right away.

.

It took three hours to travel to Renton, not counting the hour wait in Puyallup for a connecting bus.

Two days later Emily made the journey a second time, now hunting for an apartment. A short walk from the new library site, she found a vacancy in a walk-up apartment, perched above a fabric store on Third Street, the main drag. A barber shop to one side and a candy store to the other, the town felt like a cousin to Skowalko. Her new wages would cover the rent and a frugal food budget.

She spent the lunch hour with her new boss at the old cramped Carnegie library. The book collection would need new pockets for check-out cards, and the catalogue cards needed retyping for all but the most recent acquisitions.

She tried out the library's so-called silent typewriter. The keys responded easily to each finger stroke, and the typebars smacked the ribbon with slightly less force than her old Underwood model.

"We might even budget for one of those new-fangled electric typewriters," Mrs Hillgen said. "It's been proposed at the last several library board meetings, and one of these times should get approval."

"Oh, look at the time!" Emily said. "Must run for the bus!"

"See you next week," her boss called after her. "Bright and early Monday morning!"

During the long bus ride home to Skowalko, Emily made lists of what to pack along and what to box up and leave until her return. Whom to talk to, and when, and what to tell them. If she was to throw the mob off her track, no one must know where she had gone.

.

prompt: model