One Quirk Later: Jem Jones Flash Fiction Linkup

I'm doing a new thing today--sharing some of my writing on the blog! I'm joining Jem Jones for her One Quirk Later prompt series...and since I didn't do the prompt in time last month, I'm doing both of them this month. Enjoy...I hope they're comprehensible! 

She sighed. "I'm just really tied of watching you get thrown off the top of buildings."

He winced. "You saw that?"

"It's a little hard to miss when your husband plummets past your window." She picked up a sponge, trailed a stream of soap onto it, and squished.

He sighed and patted the baby's back. "No harm done, though."
"Do you or do you not have a bloody bandage around your hand?" She picked up a coffee cup, dumped the dregs back into the sink, and began to scrub.

He looked down at the hand that was supporting Max's head. "Oh. That."

"Yes. That." She gave the cup a final rinse and set it on the drying rack.

"It's no big deal--just a puncture wound. It'll heal by tomorrow." He shifted Max to his other shoulder.

"Given enough caffeine. I'm beginning to think I should leave these dishes in the sink so you'll have to suffer through a real injury." She set down the sponge, turned, and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. They both knew he couldn't wash dishes with a puncture wound.

He jutted out his bottom lip the smallest bit. "Please will you wash them for me?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Darling? Sweetheart? Light of my life?"

She turned back to the sink. "Fine," she sighed, then muttered "one down, nine to go."

"Aw, you're the best! I'll start the coffee maker."

"So, wait. You want to break into the mother-in-law to snoop in Grandma's desk?" he scratched the top of his head thoughtfully. 

I raised a shoulder. "Well, yes."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Sounds illegal. I'm in."

"Let's go, then." I grabbed my new set of lockpicks off my desk and slid them into my pocket.

"Right now?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Of course. Grandma's not here, and neither is Mom. Perfect time." I led the way out of our room to Grandma's door. The intricate old wood and metalwork was at odds with the rest of our house, but it matched Grandma's basement apartment, and what Grandma wants, Grandma gets. 

I pulled a torsion wrench and pick out of my pocked, and carefully set to work on the old, delicate lock.

"Wait--you have lockpicks? Since when?"

"Since last week," I mumbled, concentrating.

"Can I have some?" he bent over my shoulder.

I gently elbowed him in the nose. "No, and get out of my face."

He stepped back and waited, chastened. A few more moments and I heard the tell-tale click of the lock giving way, and I swung the door open. I slid the picks back into my pocket, and we quietly slipped down the stairs.

Grandma's apartment is always neat as a pin and quiet as a tomb. Today was no exception. We crept through the living room and kitchen and into the library. Not a real one--just a room full of books. And a desk. A mysterious one, I might add.

"Alright, start going through the drawers," I instructed.

I opened the lid and looked through the cubbies at the back. Nothing but office supplies and bills.

"Anything?" I asked. 

"No, only birth and baptism certificates. Wait--look." He slid the last drawer out again. "The size doesn't match the others. There's a false back." 

He prodded at the rear of the drawer unproductively for about ten seconds before I pushed him aside. I pushed my fingertips against the back and lifted, gratified as the piece of wood slid up. I reached into the compartment with the other hand and withdrew a yellowed piece of paper. 

"What is it? What is it?"

"Just a moment," I replied, carefully unfolding the paper. 

I read the words in disbelief. In even capitals was printed "Stop snooping in my desk." I groaned.

"What, what?" 

I handed over the paper, just as the familiar sound of Grandma's shoes filled the quiet hall, and the door creaked open. 

Were these a bit comprehensible, at least? Are you planning on joining Jem next month?