Until We Meet Again(51)
docks so’s the coppers think there’s nobody there.”
I take mental note of the information. Cape Row. Warehouse.
Hank stands abruptly. “Listen, I gotta get some fresh air.
Suddenly not feeling so swell, you know?”
I jump to my feet. “Can I ask you another quick question?”
He blinks blearily at me, which I take as a yes. “Who’s that
young guy? The one with the dark hair? Bigger fellow. Tall
and thick?”
Hank shrugs. “How should I know? All them Cartelli
brothers is hard to tell apart. Anyways, thanks again for the
drink, kid.”
He shuffles off, and I watch him go. Cartelli. I make a mental
note to ask Ned about the family later. I don’t know how the
brother I saw fits into the picture, but it seems significant. And
I suspect this won’t be the last time I hear that name.
Chapter 19
Cassandra
ood librarians are always there when you need them.
G
Or at least that’s what I’m counting on as I march
into the library for my first day of research. But as I burst
through the front doors, my visions of an army of helpful
researchers are dashed.
The library is packed to the gills with people. Some kind of
party? There are vases of fresh flowers. A string quartet. And
a huge banner reading “L. James Winthrop: Crest Harbor’s
Greatest Treasure.”
It’s the last thing I need right now. Every librarian is
surrounded by people holding little plastic plates of hors
d’oeuvres and chatting in polite mumbles. Don’t they realize
that I need help? Gritting my teeth, I spot a woman with an
official looking name tag and a bright red scarf, and shoulder my way over to her. “Excuse me,” I say, trying to convey in my tone that I’m not here to chitchat.
She turns from her conversation with an older man
and smiles at me. I get right to the point while I have her
attention.
“I need to find all the information I can about Crest Harbor
in the nineteen twenties.”
“You might want to start in the nineteen thirties,” she says.
“You’re researching James Winthrop, I assume?”
I try very hard not to roll my eyes. What is it with people
around here worshipping their petty local celebrities?
“Never heard of him,” I say deadpan. It’s a lie. Just to
ruffle her feathers. I’m pretty sure we read one of his poems
in English.
She looks satisfyingly offended. “I see.”
“I’m looking for something else. A project for…school.”
She points vaguely to her left. “Microfilm is your best place
to start. On the basement level. East wing.”
I nod and march off with a grimace. Thanks for telling me
what I already knew. I guess I’m on my own with this one.
I set up camp in the microfilm section. There’s no time to
mess around. I have six days to find a murderer.
Six days.
Thanks to Lawrence, I have a few leads to research. Cooper
Enterprises. Cape Row. And the names Jerome Smith and
Cartelli. I can do this. I’m going to do this.
As the hours pass, however, it becomes clear that I’m trying
to find a few needles in a haystack. Reel after reel of microfilm and endless articles filled with names and places that mean nothing to me. It takes me three hours to find even a
mention of Cooper Enterprises, and it ends up being a fairly
dull account of the company renovating an old textile mill.
My eyes start to blur. My mind wanders. More than once,
I find myself staring into space, lost in visions of Lawrence.
I’d give anything to hang out with him all day, talking on the
beach and feeling his arms around me, his lips on mine. His
lips trailing down my neck. His hands squeezing my waist.
His tongue…
Focus, Cass. I have to focus. If I can find leads that will
help, it’s worth being here and not with Lawrence. By four
in the afternoon, I’m not so sure anymore. A whole day spent
researching with nothing to show for it. My eyes are dry as
paper and crossing from information overload. I know staggeringly little for how much reading I’ve done. I’m not going to make any progress with my brain this fried.
Despair grips me. A wasted day. A day I could have spent
with Lawrence, gone forever. I can’t get those hours back. The
thought makes me want to cry. I flop my head on the table.
“Can I help you with anything, miss?”
I sit up with a start. It’s the librarian from before, the one I
was kind of rude to. She doesn’t seem to remember. Her smile
is warm and genuine.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m just having trouble finding what
I’m looking for.”
She nods knowingly. “It’s difficult. Like trying to find a
needle in a haystack?”