Page 4 of Code Violation

Nero – March, the Wednesday Before

With a disgruntled sigh, Nero pushed the drawer to the card catalogue closed again. The placard with Last Update 1998 scrawled on it had been his first clue. He’d hoped to find articles written about the three teens who’d gone missing in the 1980s. One had been found— murdered—but the other two had never been seen again. The distinct scent of the thousands of aging paper author-title-subject cards inside the oak cabinet wafted upward. Ah, the scent of knowledge, Nero thought. How many people in Cooper Springs knew how to use the catalogue?

Nero found it aggravating that Cooper Springs Library wasn’t fully on the internet; however, that would have made his research too easy. Too modern. The librarian had informed him it was a matter of pride to keep the card catalogue in these days of computer everything. But what Nero wanted wasn’t there anyway—or had never been catalogued in the first place.

“Frankly, we’ve never been allocated the money for an update to a full electronic catalogue of our older holdings. Not a large enough library or population in the area. No one seems to mind. The school-aged children use their tablets and phones for everything these days.”

R. Fernsby, Volunteer, made “these days” sound like their reality was a Blade Runner-style dystopian society.

“If they need something for a project, the Timberland cross-county system has OverDrive and some databases,” he informed Nero.

OverDrive was just one of many programs that allowed people to check out electronic books with the right library card. “R. Fernsby” also made OverDrive sound like it was kin to Skynet or whatever those robots were attached to in RoboCop. Unfortunately, Nero had learned that the building housing the local newspaper had been torn down in the late 1990s. Sometimes progress sucked.

He’d been about to ask “R. Fernsby” what Cooper Springs Library’s purpose was if it wasn’t serving the needs of the citizens when several young children burst inside, chattering loudly about what each of them was going to pick out for story time. For the last thirty minutes, while he’d been fruitlessly searching the catalogue, Nero’d also been regaled with 1-2-3 Salish Sea, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and a rousing rendition of Are You My Mother.

Obviously, Cooper Springs Library did what all libraries did—provided a safe and fun space for people to read and learn. These little kids were the future of the small town, Nero knew that, but he wasn’t interested in the future. Although he enjoyed other people’s kids and a quality Eric Carle read-aloud, he was interested in the past right now.

And the past he was hunting didn’t appear to be lurking inside the card catalogue.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Fernsby asked.

Fucking hell, he’d snuck up behind him. Nero about jumped out of his skin but managed not to curse out loud.

“Um, no,” he said, turning around to face the older man. “I’m interested in articles and stories about the area from the 1970s and ’80s. I know there used to be a newspaper out of Cooper Springs, but I’m not seeing anything listed in the catalogue.”

“Oh, you should’ve said as much. This isn’t the original library building,” Fernsby explained. “After the Cooper family donated the building to the city, we were moved into the old Cooper Mansion for a while. But in the early ’90s, the building had a major leak and we moved here. There are still some documents stored in the mansion’s basement, and the catalogue associated with them is there as well. It’s possible hard copies of the Sentinel are there. We just don’t have the space here and as much as we argued for a larger building…” R. Fernsby shrugged. “It was a dark time in our history.”

Nero was amused by Fernsby’s attitude. Dark times was akin to the Dark Ages, he figured, when Krakatoa erupted and blocked out the sun for years and years. Crops failed, people starved. Europe plunged into chaos. In Cooper Springs, dark times meant the timber economy had been taken off life support and the town had nothing else. Hard times for everyone.

“Are they accessible? Can I get in there?”

He’d driven by the mansion a couple times, and it didn’t seem to be in great shape. If they’d had a leak thirty years ago, what was it like inside there now?

Fernsby pursed his lips thoughtfully at the question. He thought the man—Nero’s height and lean to the point of skinny—was somewhere around sixty. He even wore a cardigan a la Mr. Rogers, the ultimate in librarian fashion.

“Unfortunately, you need special permission and a library card. Due to the nature of the collection there and the building’s historical importance to the town, we can’t just let anyone inside. And to get a library card, you need a local address.”

But then Fernsby seemed to come to a decision—maybe that Nero was morally worthy of a library card anyway? Nero had no idea. Brushing past him, Fernsby raised a hinged countertop that kept the hoi polloi from sneaking into Librarian Headquarters. From behind the counter, he plucked a paper from a cubbyhole and slid it across the counter so Nero could read it.

“However, the library always needs donations. Anyone who gives over this amount”—he tapped the paper with his index finger—“is issued a library card regardless of their home address.”

Nero scanned the information listed on the library letterhead. Aside from a short history of the facility, there was a plea for money and several checkboxes. The highest listed amount, and the one that Fernsby indicated, was three hundred dollars. Nero looked back up, catching Fernsby’s assessing gaze. The man knew he wouldn’t back down.

“Of course, a person could always donate more,” he said with the hint of a smile.

With a slow shake of his head, Nero reached for his wallet. Might as well put his severance pay toward something worthy.

Twenty minutes later, after filling out the form, he was four hundred dollars poorer—he’d actually had to grab his checkbook out of his car—and in possession of one provisional CSP library card with the promise that the permanent one would be sent to his address at Cooper Springs Resort, Cabin Five.

“Be sure to keep the receipt in a safe place. You can write off the donation,” Fernsby reminded him.

Nero nodded, tucking the slim piece of paper into the pages of his battered and barely used checkbook. It was so out-of-date that the address printed on the checks was pre-Austin.

“You’re the young man who’s doing a story on the missing girls, aren’t you? Kaylee Fernsby and the two other girls?”

“News travels fast. But, yes, I am.”

“Kaylee was my cousin.”

---