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After delivering that pronouncement, he jumped onto the floor and stalked off down the hallway, most likely headed toward his bed in my office. I almost called out an apology, then decided to let it go.
Sometimes, Archie was entirely too thin-skinned for his own good.
* * *
His words wouldn’t quite leave my mind, however.
It’s generally people who are around us a good amount of time who develop these sorts of fixations.
Was our culprit someone Danny worked with? I knew some of the teachers and the office staff at Globe High School by name because I’d donated to various school fundraisers and had spoken personally with members of the faculty, but even though I combed through all of them in my mind, I honestly couldn’t imagine a single one of them as the person who’d brewed that potion. Most of them were married and settled, with children of their own, and didn’t seem likely to have been practicing love magic in secret.
But since I also knew that appearances couldn’t always be trusted, I thought I might as well try a little more investigating on that particular angle. That was why I went down to the shop the next morning and changed the “be back at” sign from ten o’clock to eleven.
I needed that hour to do some research.
The Globe public library occupied a large lot just one street up from the main drag where my store was located, and so I walked over, glad for a chance to get out in the fresh air and enjoy the crisp, lovely morning. One of the library staff was just unlocking the front door when I approached; she smiled at me as I went in, then headed over to the flagpole out front so she could raise the United States and Arizona flags.
As I’d been showering that morning, the idea had come to me. I needed to see if the library had copies of Globe High School’s yearbooks, and then I’d use my pendulum to help me scry which of the school’s staff or faculty was our potion-brewer.
I knew I was going out on a limb, and yet the idea made some sense. Archie was right — it just seemed logical to me that for a person to be so emotionally invested in Danny Ortega, they would most likely have to have been around him every day.
The reference desk was located toward the back of the building. A woman who looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, hair cut in a no-nonsense gray bob and chic rimless glasses perched on her nose, sat behind that desk.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound as though I knew what I was doing. “Do you keep copies of the high school’s yearbooks here?”
“Yes, we do,” she replied, tone as brisk and no-nonsense as her hair. “Which years are you interested in?”
“Last year,” I said, recalling dimly that this early in the school year, the current year wouldn’t even be available yet. A sudden thought struck me, and I added, “And 1950, if you have it.”
“Our yearbooks go all the way back to 1913, the year the high school opened,” the librarian said crisply. “You can’t check them out, however — you can only take notes on them here in the reference section.”
I suppose that made sense. Yearbooks that old had to be a rare commodity. “That’s fine,” I told her. “I just need to take some notes.”
She nodded, and got up from her desk and headed back into the stacks. A minute or so later, she returned, the two yearbooks I’d requested tucked under one arm. They both had black covers — Globe High School’s colors were black and orange, to go with their mascot of a tiger — but one book had a faded cloth binding, while the other was glossy and smooth, obviously quite new.
“There’s a table over there where you can sit and take notes,” the librarian said, pointing to a large rectangular table a few feet away. Since the library had just opened, the chairs set around it were all unoccupied. “Bring the yearbooks back when you’re done. And please, no writing in them or dog-earing the pages or anything like that.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promised. It was a little sad she even had to make that admonition, but I could see why it might be necessary.
The librarian handed me the books I’d requested, and I went over to the table and sat down, my back purposely toward her so she couldn’t easily see what I was about to do with my pendulum. Somehow, I had a feeling that sort of woo-woo activity wouldn’t go over very well with such a matter-of-fact individual.
Although I’d come to the library to — I hoped — discover who had made the failed love potion, curiosity prompted me to pick up the 1950 yearbook first. After Archie’s remarks about his obsessed student the night before, I just had to know.
What had he looked like in human form?
I carefully opened the yearbook. The worn fabric of the cover was smooth under my fingertips, as if it had been leafed through by generations of people before it got to me. After a couple of blank pages — obviously intended for people to leave their autographs, although this library copy was untouched — I came to the title page, which had a black and white photo of the front of the high school, the American flag waving from the pole out front, along with the words “Globe High School, 1950” written beneath it, followed by the school’s motto. The page after that showcased photos of the principal and vice principal, the counselors, school librarian and nurse.
After that, however, came the faculty photos. They were arranged in rows and columns of three for a total of nine on each page, and were listed in alphabetical order by the subject they’d taught instead of by last name. Since I knew Archie had taught history, I figured it was safe to flip back a leaf or two.
And there he was, gazing up at me from the center of the page.
Archie Thomas Bradshaw, B.A. in History, Northwestern University, Chicago, Illinois.
I blinked.
He was gorgeous.
Not really my type, since I’d always gone for darker men even before I met Calvin, but still. It was hard to tell for sure from the black and white photo, but I guessed in real life Archie had had dark blond hair and either blue or gray eyes. The way his hair waved back from his forehead and the chiseled lines of his jaw and nose made him seem to me like an old-time movie star, with the kind of looks that would have given Cary Grant or Gregory Peck a run for their money.
