“But what sort?”
I shrugged. “Maybe we’re on the right track.”
I’d asked Jun if we could burn the last of our free time at the library before going back to Stock Island. Not that I hadn’t spent hours and hours andhoursresearching and combing through the archives there already, but I’d always been looking for photographs and documents on Smith. And while I was sure Cassidy had done his fair share of work on Jack at the library, I couldn’t be certain of how far he’d gotten.
The woman who managed the archives was… how do I say…particular. And by particular, I mean, if she wasn’t impressed by the person inquiring their first time, she’d never let them dig through her endless supply of history. Yes, I know, it was a public library and they couldn’t exactly restrict the public, but she was about two hundred years old and there was just no reasoning with a gal like that.
Miss Louise Marble had a real passive-aggressive way of turning down the folks who wanted to look through her records in the climate-controlled room. If she didn’t like the person, or didn’t believe them to be a serious historian, she simply said, “Oh no, we don’t have anything on that subject in the archives.”
I very well knew she did, but she’d clam up and just stare at the person until they left. If the research being done wasn’t to the benefit of Key West, a reputation she was extremely protective of, you’d better believe nothing would be gained from the library. Now, because my work had been in favor of Smith’s legacy, I’d proven my validity to Miss Louise fairly early on in my transition down to the Keys. She was still a bit persnickety regarding my “freshwater Conch” status, but was thrilled with the restoration I’d conducted on the home, so I guessed that was worth more to her than me not being a true local.
Lou Cassidy, though? Conch or not, he’d been trying to defame Smith in my mind, and most likely in hers as well. I doubt he’d gained much access. So now that I was essentially hunting down the same information, I’d need to be careful how I went about wording my research needs. I couldn’t afford to be on Louise’s shit list.
The Monroe County Public Library, with its pinkish building front, was on Fleming Street. Jun parked nearby and followed me up the steps to the front doors. I waved to a few employees who saw me come in before making my way to the archive area. The building had a hushed sense of calm about it, that particular sort of quiet that could be found nowhere but libraries. It was relaxing, albeit nap-inducing at times.
“Miss Louise,” I said, louder than I would have spoken in a library, except that she wouldn’t have heard me otherwise. “How are you, dear?”
Louise looked up from her work, her stern expression softening ever so slightly around the edges. “Well, well. I haven’t seen you in some time, Aubrey. You just took what you needed and that was it, was it?”
See? Like a grandma you never want to be on the wrong side of because she’ll remember how you upset her when your birthday came around and you’d get nothing but a check for four dollars and eighteen cents.
“I’d never, Louise,” I answered. I offered a little takeout container—a cronut I’d bought before we left the café—because a little wooing never hurt anyone. “Apple crème. It’s a limited flavor.”
Louise took the container and gave the cronut a suspicious look through her bifocals before eventually smiling. “You’re a good boy, Aubrey.”
“Thank you.”
She looked at Jun standing behind me. “Introduce me,” Louise chastised.
“Oh, sorry. Louise, this is Jun Tanaka. He’s visiting from New York. Jun, this is Louise Marble, the smartest woman on the island.”
“Ma’am,” Jun said, reaching out to gently shake her extended hand.
“Aubrey likes to suck up to me,” she said to Jun before giving me a look that could peel paint. “But I don’t mind because he’s good at it. Except I still don’t like that nose ring, mister,” she concluded, giving me another hard glare. She didn’t like my nose ring, my earrings, my hair, my shoes—but she wasn’t hardly as critical of anyone else, and considering the access she gave me to the old records, I think her intense dislike was some sort of weird approval.
I just smiled. It didn’t bother me. If I were her age—hell, I think she was ninety—I’d probably be telling kids to get off my lawn too.
She carefully set aside some old photographs she’d been pawing through and looked up at Jun again. “Are you Aubrey’s boyfriend?”
Jun didn’t answer immediately and instead glanced at me.
“Or do you prefer a different title, like partner or significant other? My brother, Herman, God rest his dumbass soul, was with his beloved Samuel Shell Jr. for fifty-three years and always referred to him as his best friend. I said, Herman, you shit, you ain’t fooling nobody. They even got gay married in California, but Herman never called Samuel anything but his friend. To each his own, I guess. So which do you prefer?” She eyed Jun.
“Uh… boyfriend is fine, ma’am,” Jun replied.
“Now. What do you want, Aubrey?” Louise asked after finishing with Jun.
I leaned over her desk, eyeing the photos with mild interest. “I was looking for a bit of information on Captain Edward Rogers.”
“Whatkindof information?” she asked.
“You know, it’s always pertaining to Smith,” I said with a wicked grin. “I’m interested in their relationship.”
Louise threaded her gnarly fingers together and stared hard.
“Not that kind of relationship,” I corrected. “I know neither of them were—theirprofessionalrelationship, Louise. That’s what I want.”
“Paperwork on Rogers is mostly limited to court records,” she finally replied. “He retired to St. Augustine and never lived in Key West.”
