| The stapler was out of place. It was the first thing she noticed when she walked into her office. The blue silk curtains were hung and tied at the sides as normal. The black leather chair was still on the mat behind her desk facing two o'clock, but the stapler - one of the three items she kept on her desk - was out of place. She stepped closer to inspect the bookshelf behind her desk. The book bindings were lined up with the edge of the mahogany shelf, and the gold-gilded pages glinted in the sunlight. All seven shelves were identical except for the title on the bindings. She scrutinized her mahogany desk drawer handles and clean desktop for fingerprints but found none.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as if an unwelcome visitor had entered her private sanctum even now, but she knew the heavy door would squeak an announcement of any such arrival. The dark mahogany glistened in the fading sunlight, and the plush blue rug seemed fuller in the shadows. There were no footsteps in the carpet, but something was wrong - the stapler was out of place.
© Copyright 2012 Chance (UN: amchanc4600 at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Chance has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|Log In To Leave Feedback|