She wrinkled her nose. “No. Too touristy. I’d rather go someplace like Aruba or the U.S. Virgin Islands.”
“How are those less touristy?”
“They’re probably not, but they’re bigger, so fewer people per square mile. Key West is crowded.”
“Have you been there?” She talked like she knew from experience.
“Yes. Many years ago. It was a family vacation. We had fun, but there were definitely a lot of people around. When I go to the beach now, I don’t want to fight for towel space with twelve families, each with three to five kids. I just want to read my book in peace.”
“What would you read?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Probably some romance. I like my sappy books.” A smile slid over her face. “Let me guess. You like action novels?”
“Sci-fi. And westerns.”
Before either of us could ask more questions, the librarian returned with a stack of microfiche rolls. After thanking the man, I took the top one off the stack and threaded it through the reader.
“What reference number am I looking for? And what’s the woman’s name again?”
Mina picked up the paper the librarian left with the rolls. “The first name on the list is Kathy Burl.” She glanced at the number on the roll I’d loaded, then read the reference point.
I spun the dial, and the fiche whirred through the machine. In moments, we were huddled together, reading the news article on the screen.
The scent of coffee and vanilla tickled my nose, along with a heady mix of something unique to Mina. It set off a firestorm in my blood, and it was all I could do not to lean in and bury my nose in her hair.
Clearing my throat, I checked the paper in her hands and moved on to the next news article as I scooted my chair slightly to the side, under the guise of getting a better view of the screen.
We worked our way through the reference numbers for the first name on the list, then returned the fiche when nothing of note came up. The librarian brought us the rolls for the second name. Again, nothing popped up as unusual or indicated that the woman had a connection to the antique store, Walter Shuman, or Parker’s Landing.
Microfiche slapped against the roll as I rewound it. Removing the roll from the machine, I reached for the first roll for the third name on the list, Moira Duluth. The librarian had been watching us and was proactive this time, taking the rolls we’d looked through and bringing us the next ones.
Having gotten the hang of loading the fiche and finding the reference points, I quickly found the first article, and we skimmed it.
Mina lifted a hand and pointed at the screen. “I know that name.”
I looked at where she pointed. “Rich Stevenson?” Quickly, I read the paragraph. It said Mr. Stevenson was Moira’s boyfriend. The article quoted him about the last time he saw her.
“Yes.” Mina let her hand fall back to her lap. She pulled the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing away in thought.
“Is it someone who lives in town?” I didn’t recognize the name, but if it wasn’t an old neighbor or someone related to a person I went to school with, I probably wouldn’t. Not unless I saw him. I was better with faces than names.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Maybe.” She wrote the name on the sheet with the missing persons. “I need to think about it.”
“We can look him up, too, if you want.”
“Maybe,” she said again. “It might come to me.”
Giving her another quick glance—she still had that damn lip between her teeth—I moved on to the next reference number.
“This says she was a clerk for the title office in Juneau,” I said, reading the article. “She disappeared after work one night. Her parents said she never came home.”
“She was still living at home?” Mina leaned closer again.
“I guess so. That wasn’t that unusual for that period, though, right?”
Mina lifted a shoulder. “Not really, no. A lot of Alaskan families still live in multi-generational households. If she wasn’t married, I could see her living at home at that age. Does it say where they lived?”
“Umm…” I skimmed the article. “Not specifically, but since she worked in Juneau, I would assume they lived in the city or close by.”
