She pushed some books forward on the shelf, and placed it behind them. Then she repositioned the books, glanced around once more, and started toward the stairway. We continued to stand silently inside the room, listening as she came up the stairs. Her door closed. It was safe to go back to my room. I tip-toed inside the bedroom, and slumped onto my bed, much disturbed by what I had seen. Why, I wondered, did Lottie Schneider sneak downstairs at two a.m. just to hide a gun?
