“A sweet old bat.”
“I was going to say old school. Basically, the vertical file is just a cabinet full of newspaper clippings from the Tangleheart Gazette—stories that were reported before the paper went online. Mrs. Marlowe wants to be sure important articles, especially the ones about town history and locals, won’t be lost to posterity. I’ve been meaning to scan all of the stories in for her and get rid of the clippings, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“And Simone was digging through the vertical file on Sunday afternoon?”
“She came in, nodded hello and went straight to the back. I saw her riffling through the file cabinet, and I thought it was odd she didn’t ask me to help her find whatever it was she was looking for.”
“What’s so odd about that?”
“Well, I suppose it seemed odd because even though anyone can go through the vertical file on their own, no one ever does. The vertical file is rarely used, and the patrons who do use it routinely ask me to get the clippings they need for them.”
Propping her hip against an oversized hickory reading desk, she continued, “We don’t allow patrons to refile the clippings. They leave them in this basket.” She indicated a large wire basket. “And then either Mrs. Marlowe or I file them back when we get time.”
“Lucky for us you haven’t had time.” Charlie winked, snatched the only folder in the file-back basket, and politely awaited her consent.
A pang of conscience prickled down her spine.
Simone and Bobby are missing.
She nodded her permission.
Charlie opened the folder, displaying its contents. “We’ve got trouble here.”
There appeared to be at least fifty clippings in the file Simone had pulled.
Her heart sank. “How are we going to figure out what Simone was looking for with all these clippings to choose from?” This really was turning into a wild goose chase.
“You know Simone better than just about anyone, Anna. Maybe something will stand out.”
A lump rose in her throat. Sure, she and Simone were close, but Anna was no psychic. Where the devil had Simone gone, and how could she just up and take Bobby out of the hospital before the cause of his bruising had been diagnosed?
Simone loved Bobby.
Simone was a good mom.
Deep in her heart, Anna knew these things to be true. And yet, Simone’s actions didn’t appear to be in Bobby’s best interests at all. Her mind drifted back to the day her own mother had disappeared from the rehab facility, and to the days that followed—one heartbreaking, terrifying week that had ended with her mother being apprehended by the authorities and charged with drug trafficking. A flash of tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks, but she blinked them back. “The police should be doing the job of trying to find Bobby and Simone, not us. We’re hopeless amateurs.”
“Agreed. But the police are not trying to find Simone and Bobby. They’re employing a watch-and-wait approach, and I’m not the watch-and-wait type. At least not when it involves a missing mother and child—a child who is technically still under my care. We’ve got to either find Simone and Bobby ourselves, or find some kind of evidence that will compel the police to get involved in the search.”
He was right. If the police refused to get involved, the only hope of finding Simone and Bobby quickly was for her and Charlie to do the looking. “Let’s go home and put on a pot of coffee. This could take awhile.” Dropping the manila folder full of clippings into her shoulder bag, she said, “I’ll bring the file back in the morning.” She glanced at the wire basket on the reading desk, snapped her bag closed, and then she heard the door scrape open. Her shoulders jumped. “Mrs. Marlowe?”
Silence.
Silence at a time like this was both disconcerting and discourteous. “Sorry. We’re closed,” she called out in a clipped tone.
Again, no answer, and yet she could feel the presence of another person nearby. “I said—”
Charlie held up one hand in a shush sign, and his eyes darted around the library.
“Maybe it was the wind.” Why was she whispering?
Charlie shook his head, and she realized he was right. The wind hadn’t blown the door open. She’d watched him retrieve her keys and pull the door shut tight. A person, not the wind, had followed them inside. Her heart started to race and dip and do all sorts of crazy acrobatics. As the room grew quieter, her breathing grew louder. In order to silence her fear, she held her breath.
Tick. Tick. Tick.