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I needed a change of venue. Somewhere far from Ray and his taunting smirk, somewhere I could forget about needing to sell a house for a bit, somewhere I could hide while I focused on a part of my life where I had some control—like with my daughter.
* * *
I parkedin front of the public library, a stately nineteenth-century gray-stone building fronted by four huge pillars. Perched just a block uphill from the historic Franklin Hotel and its stately front entrance, ornate decorations, and vintage furnishings, the library watched over Deadwood, chronicling transformations as the town cycled between seasons of bloom and wither.
The noonday sun sizzled my roots as I stepped out of my Bronco. A lone pickup shared the parking area with me, the surrounding streets quiet except for the faded growl of a chainsaw.
Last night, after a couple of glasses of wine, I had time to dwell on the kidnappings some more. The physical similarities between Addy and two of the three missing girls were not only undeniable, but also had my stomach twisted like a tie-dyed shirt. Until the police announced that they had a prime suspect sitting in their jail with indisputable evidence to back them up, my kid was a sitting duck.
I decided to take action, starting with reading up on the girl who disappeared in January, finding out if Addy was three for three. Since my budget didn’t allow a computer at home yet, my options for finding information were limited. I could either try to sneak online at work, with Ray and Jane looking over my shoulder, or pay a visit to the library. The latter seemed my best bet.
Head down, I strode up the concrete sidewalk, my heels clacking up the steps. Next on the docket would be some sleuthing on Jeff Wymonds to see if I could tie him to each of the missing girls. The memory of sad-faced Kelly waving goodbye from her porch in the forefront of my thoughts, the picture of her best friend, Emma, in last August’s newspaper a close second.
When I pushed open the heavy door, the smell of leather bindings, aged paper, and wood varnish welcomed me.
A pretty, young brunette sat behind the counter at the side of the room, her skin blotch- and wrinkle-free, her chest perky in a low-cut dress covered with plums. Compared to her, I was a saggy prune. It sucked getting older.
“Hi,” I whispered as I approached the counter.
Miss Plum looked up from a celebrity-filled magazine she’d been perusing. “Can I help you?” Boredom edged her tone.
“How would I go about finding an old article in theBlack Hills Trailblazernewspaper?”
“You need to fill this out.” She handed me a piece of paper. “Then set up an appointment with us to come back later for a viewing.”
Crudmongers. Did everything in this freaking town require paperwork and wait times?
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Miss Plum turned the page in her magazine, “there’s also a search fee.”
Of course there was. I stuffed the paper in my purse, wondering if Abe’s Alehouse was serving hard liquor already.
“Unless you just wanted to view an article on microfilm. Then you can do it now for free.”
It turned out that getting soused for lunch wasn’t predicted in my horoscope for today after all. “That works.”
“Cool. Follow me.”
She led me past a table covered with computers and printers, through a narrow corridor lined with ceiling-high, book-laden shelves. Pausing in front of a closed door with a sign on it that readSouth Dakota Room, she asked, “Have you ever used a microfilm machine?”
“Sure.” No, but how hard could it be?
Miss Plum pushed open the door and stepped into a small room. I followed, screeching to a halt at the sight of Doc sitting at a table, books stacked around him.
He looked up, his eyes widening when his gaze hit me.
“Hello, Violet.” He shuffled some papers around, doing a rotten job of being discreet while trying to hide whatever it was he’d been reading.
Damn. The last thing I wanted right now was company, especially someone as distracting as Doc. I worked up a smile for him. “Hi, Doc. I didn’t see your car out front.”
“I walked here.”
“It’s hot outside.”
“I took my time.”
“They’re calling for rain this afternoon.” I sounded like an idiot. If I’d been wearing socks, I’d have taken them off and shoved both in my mouth.
“The hills could use the water.”
