“Do you want me to help you down to the nurse’s station? You poor thing!”
“No, I’m fine,” I say. “I think I’ll just get a drink of water and head back to class.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod and give her a cheery salute as I head out the door. And I do get a drink. I get a drink right before I slip into the parking lot. I made it through three periods. That’s got to count for something, right?
The winter sun is gleaming with brute force today, warming my skin despite the chilly breeze. I zip my coat and plunge my hands into my pockets, knowing it’s going to be a long walk home.
And maybe home isn’t the best plan. Now that I’m thinking about that missing file again, I doubt my computer is safe at all. If Blake has been in my room, messing with my computer, I have no idea what kind of tracking software he could have installed.
I could call Dad; he wouldn’t make a big deal out of skipping out a few periods early. Maybe he’d even take me back to his office and I could snag one of the spare computers there. But then what? Dad tells Mom, and Mom forces me back to the doctor for a battery of tests since I’m not feeling well.
No. I need answers that a doctor isn’t going to have. A block later, a plan forms in my mind and my pace quickens. I cut across Parkview and then take a left on Jenner Street. The small brick building peeks out at the end of the road.
There used to be a sign at the edge of the parking lot. Most of it blew away in a windstorm a few years ago. And apparently our town’s economy is still in the crapper because it hasn’t been replaced yet. All that’s left to read are the letters BRARY followed by a very 1980s graphic of a stack of books.
I pull open the doors and breathe in the smell of old copies and older books. I can’t remember the last time I came to the library, but I love this place. I always have. When I was little, Mom would bring me here. I’d curl into one of the leather armchairs at the ends of the aisles to read picture books, and she’d browse the cooking section. Everything looks older now. Faded and worn down like the sign out front.
It’s sad, really. The library is a relic of a time long gone, a time when the Ridgeview mayor believed new books were as important as putting pretty planters down the main drag every April.
I wipe my shoes on the mat and peer around. The place looks utterly deserted. A sign on the desk informs me that Mrs. Nesbit, the librarian, is filing in the reference section if I need her.
I don’t.
I need a computer.
A pair of reasonably new Macs are stationed across from two study tables. I remember Mrs. Nesbit came to the high school to meet with the technology club last year when they were installed. I saw them all talking in the computer lab once, and it was crazy. I mean, she’s got to be like a hundred and thirty years old, but I’m telling you, she can talk downloads and upgrades like a pro.
I settle myself behind the desktop. The computers are fine, but the connection is molasses in January. Even bringing up a search engine takes a full minute. I sigh and stretch my neck, willing the computer to move faster. Wondering if I’ll actually be able to search and find anything or if I’ll just end up sitting here waiting until sometime after graduation. Maybe I could check the microfiche copies of our newspaper for information on the Millers instead.
Or I could abandon all of this private eye crap and ask one of the gossip hags, like Abbey Binns. Surely I could pry a little more information out of her.
The search engine pops up, so I type four words into the box. Daniel Tanner Ridgeview Ohio.
The machine grinds miserably for thirty seconds. A whole minute. I could send a telegraph faster than this. Come on, already!
A list of links finally pops up, and to my frustration, I don’t see anything incriminating. It’s all pretty standard rich-guy stuff. Social mentions, charity donations, reelection to the school board: your basic high society crap. High society for Ridgeview anyway. The Tanners are definitely A-listers. I mean, they aren’t the Millers. They don’t live in one of the Beaumont Beauties. They actually live in one of the cookie-cutter mansions in the newer development on the south side of town. I think they own some sort of medical research company or something.
I scroll through the links, spotting one that clears it up. Tanner Technologies. The news article is from seven or eight months ago. At that point, Mr. Tanner’s company had lost some sort of pharmaceutical bid and was in jeopardy of closing down.
Great. I may not be an ace detective, but I’ve watched enough prime-time cop dramas to know that a total financial meltdown motivates people to do really awful things.
Like manipulating the memories of a run of the mill seventeen-year-old?
God, this is pointless.
“Oh, Ms. Spinnaker, it’s so good to see you.”
I whirl around, thinking she has to be talking to another Ms. Spinnaker, even though there are no other Spinnakers in this town.
I finally meet Mrs. Nesbit’s gaze. She’s smiling down at me over a stack of hardback books in her arms.
“Hello,” I say.
“It’s been almost a month since you’ve been in!” she says, sounding genuinely surprised by this. As far as I know, I haven’t stepped foot in this library since elementary school.
So apparently I get to add mystery library visits to my list of things I can’t remember.
“Where is that handsome friend of yours?” she asks.
Blake? Blake came here with me? This is just…I can’t even. I open and close my mouth a few times before giving up on speech and offering a shrug.
“Well, I can’t believe he’d leave you to your studying alone,” she says, getting that wistful look that old women sometimes do when waxing on about young love.
“Oh, Blake and I are actually just friends now,” I say, trying to let her down easy. She looks startled, shaking her head.
“Blake? The Tanner boy? Why, I haven’t seen him in a couple of years at least. I was talking about Adam.”
Now she’s looking at me with something akin to reproach, like I’m a brazen little hussy with two boys in my pocket. She’s got no idea how close she is, but I don’t have time for that. I need to find out what in the heck I was doing here with Adam.
I minimize my search window and laugh nervously. “Right, I’m sorry. I’m so distracted with all of my college application essays.”
I have no idea where I pulled that from, but she hums with a mournful look, like she knows just what I mean.
“You know, I’m sure Adam could help you with that. Of course, you were in that study group of Daniel Tanner’s, so—”
“I’m sorry, what?”
It’s rude to interrupt. I know that. But I also know my pulse just jumped to warp speed.
“The study group,” she repeats, looking a little put off. “You were in that group, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize Mr. Tanner was behind it.”
“Oh, yes. He was the major corporate sponsor. From what he tells me, things will be expanding next year. They may even need use of our facilities here.”
She’s practically beaming, and I’m about to throw up all over her Mac. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. Because this means the phone call was real. My breath seems to freeze into something solid in my lungs.
I stand up abruptly, feeling like I don’t have an ounce of blood left in my face. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Nesbit. I completely forgot I’m meeting my mother today.”
“Oh, well. You know I still have that book on reserve for you,” she says with a frown. “Fundamentals of Hypnosis. You’re actually a week or two past our standard hold time, Ms. Spinnaker.”
“I’ll have to come back for it. My mom’s probably in a dead panic.”
I eye the door hungrily, but follow her to the circulation desk, where I hand over my library card and wait what feels like three hours for her to check out the book.
Finally, I stumble toward the door, feeling shaky as a leaf. Hypnosis? I mean...
Chapter Sixteen