There have been stacks of books, in the kitchen, at work.
Every morning, when I go to put my lunch in the fridge, I am greeted by a pile of books on the communal kitchen table. A sign on the side stating: "FREE BOOKS." And every morning, I pause, stumble, then keep walking to the fridge. I walk out of the kitchen and back into my cubicle.
Everyday there have been different genres of books stacked on the table. Yesterday they were all paperback crime novels. The day before hardback bestsellers. Today they were mystery novels. I couldn't resist. I stood there with my lunch bag in one hand and the other hovering over the books. It's been years since I've read a mystery novel. Thriller and suspense plots always make me anxious. But I recall the Nancy Drew series and how much they entertained me when I was in elementary school. I remember bringing a Nancy Drew book to a family outing and being told to put the book away and mingle. And I will forever remember that incident as the time that Nancy Drew got me in trouble.
I stare back at the stack of books. I pick up one on top. The summary on the back seems promising. So does the "New York Bestseller" sticker on it. I take the book back with me to my cubicle.
I want to know the mystery person slowly giving away their treasure trove of books at the kitchen at work. I want to know why they do it by genre. I want to know where they're going and why they're clearing out their shelves.
I like this mystery book-giver.