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I gave Keelyn my directions, then let her lead me to the car, settling into the passenger seat. I fell back asleep before we even reached the edge of town. Another of Isabelle’s nightmares gripped me, but it wasn’t as intense during the day.
I woke with Keelyn shaking me again, genuine concern painted across her face. “Milly, what’s going on? I’ve never known you to have night terrors before. Did something happen that you want to talk about?”
I contemplated telling her everything but knew I couldn’t. This disaster was mine and mine alone. “No. Nothing specific. Like I said, I just haven’t been sleeping well, so when I do, I guess my mind gets a little crazy.” I shrugged, hoping she bought the lie.
“Well, you need to figure out how to get some sleep, sweetie, because this isn’t healthy.”
Tell me about it.
“I know. Just last night, I mixed a fresh batch of chamomile tea, so I’ll be fine soon. Don’t worry.”
Keelyn stared at me, her ice-blue eyes penetrating mine as if she could see all the way into my soul. “Milly, since the day your mother died, all I’ve done is worry about you. I thought you’d know that by now.”
I turned back to the window, thankful yet sad.
The rest of the drive was a blur of fresh landscapes and old buildings I’d never seen before. The snow-covered hills, evergreens and oaks, and brick structures were familiar enough, but I had to admit it was nice to experience someplace new.
Keelyn pulled up to the curb outside the Connecticut State Library and cut the engine. “If you’re sure you’ll be okay, I’m going to do some shopping while you attend your meeting. I’ll be back by one if that works for you.”
I gathered my bag containing my notes and climbed out of the car. “That’ll be perfect. And, Keelyn, thank you again… for everything.”
With a smile and a little wave, Keelyn drove off, leaving me to climb the concrete stairs up to the two-story building.
The Hartford library reminded me of the White House or a plantation-type mansion with its white plaster exterior and four large Roman-style columns framing three front doors. Above each wood entrance were large curved windows crosshatched with black muntins, giving the overall classic design a slightly modern twist.
Entering through the center door, I approached the help desk and asked for Ms. Dutton.
“Milly Atwood?” the receptionist asked.
I nodded.
“She’s got you all set up in meeting room number four. You’ll find her just up those stairs.” She pointed to her left with a friendly smile on her face.
“Thank you.”
I climbed the stairs, finding Ms. Dutton waiting for me, her wrinkled hands clasped in front of her knee-length beige skirt. Papers of all sorts and sizes were spread out on a long conference room table, arranged chronologically from what I could tell.
“Ms. Atwood, it’s nice to meet you. I was so intrigued by your inquiry that I might have gone a little overboard in my own research.” Ms. Dutton laughed, her three-quarter reading glasses sliding precariously down her hawklike nose.
“Well, I’m certainly impressed. Thank you very much.”
“You’re more than welcome to take pictures, but I’ll have to ask that you don’t remove any of the documents from this room. They’ll be transferred back to the archives once you finish with them today.”
I looked over the sea of paper, praying at least one sliver of the parchment would hold another clue.
“I promise I won’t.”
