My name is Betty, at least, that's what I told her

Another Wednesday, another flash fiction. I hope you enjoy this week’s story.

Her quill hovered about the parchment as she blinked and looked up at me. “You’re Betty?” she repeated.

“Yes,” I said. “Would you tell Rankin I am here?”

She blinked again setting the quill aside. “One moment.” She rose and headed for the back. Glancing over her shoulder she frowned. “Sit there.” She pointed at a bench on the opposite side of the room before disappearing.

Ignoring her advice, I leaned over and pulled open a drawer. Where was it? I shifted the quills aside (how many did she need) and still couldn’t see it. Glancing at the door, I circled the desk and yanked another drawer open.

I was about to close it when I realized it was shorter than the first. Pulling the drawer out, I turned it around and pulled the small handle. The key sparkled in the dim light. Grabbing it, I shoved it into my pouch.

The drawer slid back into place. I made it back around the desk and almost to the door when she reappeared. “He’s not available and doesn’t recall an appointment to meet a Betty.”

I turned back and shrugged. “Must have gotten the day wrong.” I dash out to the street before she could respond.

I was almost to the corner when I heard the shout. “Thief!” I didn’t pause. Lifting my skirts, I took off. Next time Vera could retrieve her own key or explain its absence to the council. I wasn’t the guardian.

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