Page 4 of Wolves Always Bite

Babettejumped at the sound of my voice.Sheshoved something into one of her mystery boxes and slapped the cardboard flaps over it to hide the contents from view.

“Idon’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered as she grabbed the box closest to her beforeIhad the chance to look at it too closely.Shescurried over to the rectangular table the market had supplied and tucked the box under it.

“Hurryup, boy,” she shouted at me, as she did the same again with the other box. “Getthe table covered.”

Assoon asIhad the massive tablecloth spread over the table,Babettegrunted something that might have been a noise of approval.

“Setup the table, boy,”Babettesaid, pushing the mystery boxes further under the table with her toe so they were completely hidden under the plain white tablecloth. “Whatdo you thinkI’mpaying you for?”

Shestalked off without saying another word.

She’dnever left me alone this early in the day.Sheusually plonked herself down in a lawn chair and directed me on how to set everything up, scowling the entire time.Wasthis a test?

Nah,Idoubted she cared enough to test me, butIwould do my best anyway.Iput my coffee in a safe place whereIwouldn’t kick it asIhauled everything out and got to work.Iwas excited to be given free rein, eager to see ifIcould make the table look better than it did whenBabettewas in charge of it—she did not have an eye for making an attractive display.

Aroundme the familiar sounds of other vendors setting up their displays created a low hum of excitement.Afew weeks ago,I’dbeen excited at the beginning of the day too, butI’dlearned better since.Ididn’t expect much action at our table.Therenever was.Ourmismatched wannabe antiques didn’t inspire many people to part with their money.Mostmarket attendees drifted by the tables with their eyes glazed over until they spotted a booth with hot coffee, baked goods, or cheap jewelry.Itwas just the way it was.Iwas coming to accept it.

Thebest thing about my job was thatBabettedidn’t care ifIread books or scribbled in my notebook whileIwaited for a customer to miraculously decide to stop and poke around at our miscellanea.Whenthe market season had started,I’dmiscalculated how much reading and writingI’ddo.Now, several weeks in,Ikept my backpack stuffed full of paperbacks, notebooks, and pens.I’dtried reading eBooks or writing on my phone, but both the size of the small screen and all the reflections that caught on its cracked surface made it difficult.Iwas theoretically saving to buy an e-reader, soIwouldn’t have to load up on paperbacks at the library every week, butIhadn’t been able to stretch my paychecks that far yet.

AfterIfinished setting up,Ipulled out my lawn chair and grabbed my coffee.Isipped my coffee asIfished out my first book.IknewIshould be writing while it was quiet, butI’dstarted reading a novel last night and was too caught up in the plot to work on my own story.

Isettled into the chair, flipped my book to the right page, and stretched out my legs.

Myfoot hit one of those mystery boxes under the table.

BasedonBabette’sstranger than normal attitude about them,I’dleft them under the table.Butwhat would those scowling guys have thatBabettewould want to sell?Everybuilding on that farm looked ready to collapse if a bird dared to crap on it.Ishifted and my foot knocked against one of the boxes again.Somethingclanged.

Whatwas in there?

Iwanted to know.

ButIshouldn’t snoop.

Except…Shehadacted weirder than normal about those boxes.Whatif they contained drugs?Thatwould explain that awful odor in the areaI’dnoticed whenI’dreturned from getting coffee.Ididn’t know anything about drugs but in my imagination, they smelled nasty like that.

Ididn’t want to work for someone who sold drugs.Iwanted an adventurous life, but not one that would land me in jail.IfIthought going to the same office every day was the height of tedium, what would being in the same cell forever and forever do to me?Itmight be a good experience for a future story though.Didn’tthey, whoevertheywere, always say to write what you know?Knowledgewas never a waste.

Butno.Prisonwasn’t for me.

Myparents would kill me.Andwhat would happen toClawie?Mychest tightened at the thought of him being put up for adoption.Icouldn’t guarantee the police would send him to a no-kill shelter after they arrested me.Myheart wouldn’t be able to take the worry and fear if that happened.

NowIreally had to know what was in those boxes.

Iglanced in the directionBabettehad walked.Ididn’t see her.Ichecked the other direction.Notthere either.Ipulled out my phone and shot off a quick text toAsh.

Me:Ifanything were to happen to me, you’d take care ofClawie, right?

MyAmazingBFF:What’sgoing on?Areyou in trouble?

Me:Justchecking.Wouldyou?

MyAmazingBFF:Yes.Ofcourse.But… what’s happening?

Icouldn’t answer that question yet.Iaccidentallydropped my book.Oops.Myfoot kicked it under the table.Oopsagain.

Britneystarted belting out “Oops! ...IDidItAgain” in my head, not that it applied to anythingIwas doing, but the familiar refrain calmed my racing heart a little asIfurtively scanned the area forBabetteone last time.Theearworm was a little more recent than most of the songs that ended up stuck in my head, thanks to my parents, so that was a nice surprise.

Igrinned.Thiswas the most excitementI’dhad sinceIstarted working withBabette.Afterdropping to my knees,Ipushed the tablecloth aside and poked my head under the table.Theclosest box to me wasn’t sealed, soIgently lifted the flaps.Insidewas the strangest assortment of—well,Ididn’t quite know what to call them—antiques of some sort butI’dnever seen anything like them.