Cesare: Full background. Non-invasive. Sabrina Hamilton. Kittery, Maine. Works at a coffee shop called Society. Big on recycling. Likes baby seals. Red hair.
He sent the message off with a link to her profile and returned the car, his mind returning to work.
It was time to dig locally. Twenty years was a long time, but some of the law enforcement and medical staff mentioned in Kristy Gable’s reports must still be alive. The key was finding ones who would remember her enough to give him something useful.
Cesare climbed into the back seat, shutting the door behind him and buckling in. “We’re going to York, Maine.” He directed.
“Any address?” Monte asked.
“A doughnut shop, and then the library.”
“Doughnuts, boss?” Monty asked.
Cesare nodded sagely. “Librarians like doughnuts, and we need a librarian.”
???
Cesare and Monty strolled into the York Public Library an hour and a half later, with coffee and pastries in both hands. They went to the front desk and presented their gifts, which were warmly received.
They were soon joined by the library’s director, who introduced herself as Diane Lockwood.
“This was generous of you!” She smiled politely as she accepted a doughnut. “What is this for?”
“My mother was a librarian, so I have a special appreciation for the work you do here.” Cesare gave her his most trustworthy expression.
“I’m an attorney, and I’m trying to help a family get closure around the death of a daughter. I’ve hit a brick wall in all the usual places. My mother always told me if I needed help, to find a librarian. So, the donuts are definitely a bribe because I’m hoping you can help me.”
Diane’s eyes narrowed for a moment before nodding slightly. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman. What are we looking for?”
Chapter Seven
(Sabrina)
It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and Society was packed to the brim with customers. Sabrina made drinks as fast as she could, but still found herself checking the door every time it chimed open.
She gave a small huff, deciding she was done waiting for Mr. GQ to come in, and focused harder on the drinks in front of her. The door chimed again, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to look at the door, determined not to think about climbable sexy Italian men.
“Good morning!” Marie’s cheery voice greeted the newcomer.
“Nothing good about it.” A rough voice grumbled.
Sabrina knew that voice. She looked up to see Tom Crawford, tall and lanky, standing in the shop's doorway. He wore thick denim jeans and a Carhartt jacket. One of his work boots had a small hole in the side with burn marks around it, and the steel toe was partially visible. His skin was bronzed and slightly aged. His dark waist-length hair was tied back in a knot at the base of his skull with a leather strap, and a large turquoise pendant peaked out from the neckline of a plaid shirt.
Tom had kind but perpetually sad eyes, and a haggard look about his face.
“Rough night?” Marie asked sympathetically.
Tom rubbed a grease stained hand over exhausted eyes and gave a nod. “Can I get a bagel and cheese?” He asked.
“Of course!” Marie nodded. “Anything to drink?”
“Out of money.” Tom shrugged.
Marie pursed her lips. “On me.”
Tom scowled. “I didn’t ask for free anything.” He gruffed.
“You didn’t, and it’s not. Next time I need something welded I’ll come find you.” Marie waved a hand dismissively. “I can cover a cup of coffee, but I don't own a blow torch.”
