Page 16 of Fire
She offered them her warmest librarian smile as they approached her desk. “How can I help you today?”
The older one with short dark hair returned a bright smile that told her he knew very well he was handsome and expected her to be charmed. “I’m Josh, this is Tom. We’ve both got family local to here and we’re doing some family research. Lots of records got lost in a fire, you know how it goes.”
“How far back are you looking?” Cathy inquired.
“1989.”
Well, that wasn’t so far back. “Let’s start with what you know.”
“It would’ve been a young family.” The teenager who could’ve been in one of her classes—Tom—looked at Josh, who amended, “They had a young kid, four or five years old. We don’t know much else.”
Cathy liked mystery novels, so she was intrigued. But she kept her curiosity reined in as she helped them access the public records. Tom thanked her, and they hunkered down with the materials. She knew it was tedious work, but the boys stuck with it for hours, even working through lunch.
She went to check up on them a couple times, to ask if they needed anything else, but all Josh wanted to know was her recommendation for the best food in town and the oldest bar.
Near closing time, as she walked by the records department on an errand, she heard a short exclamation. When she glanced toward them, she saw the two young men conferring closely. When she looked toward them again, they were gone.
* * *
“Look,we should at least take a moment to appreciate the fact that your name isn’t Caleb.”
Toby glowered at him. He had zero appreciation for Jake’s jokes these days. Though that one had been pretty weak.
They’d hit another dead end with the public records, though at least the truth in this case wasn’t another kick in the gut. The boy Caleb had been returned to his family after an ASC investigation, and the Murphys had moved out of state soon after. No surprise there.
Jake sighed. “Okay, we tried the library route. Time for the other traditional source of local knowledge. Plus, I’m hungry.”
Billy’s Watering Hole was the favorite for locals, the librarian had assured him. It turned out to be a comfortable place with brick walls, a menu written on a chalkboard above the bar, and most of the mismatched chairs taken at six p.m. on a Tuesday.
Jake had hoped for a grizzled old bartender with a memory like an elephant, but instead they found a good-looking man in his late twenties pouring beers on tap. After ordering hamburgers, Jake asked about any old-timers who might help them piece together some family history.
The bartender—James—pointed toward the room’s darkest corner. “Earl might be able to help you out. He’s maybe two or three sheets to the wind already, but that’s better than most of the time. And he’s lived here his whole life.”
“Yeah? What’s Earl’s poison of choice?” Jake asked.
A minute later, Jake was carrying over two pints of Guinness (not his favorite, always made him think he’d end up with black teeth, but he could fake appreciation like any professional when an investigation was on the line).
The man in the corner eyed him suspiciously through thick glasses, his thin dark hair greasy. His faded T-shirt bore a tribute to the Dave Matthews Band.
Setting the glasses down before him, Jake pulled up a seat next to Earl’s table and offered a winning smile. “Hey Earl, I’m Josh. We’re doing a family history project, and James over there said you might remember a family from ’89 who got caught in the ASC’s crosshairs.”
Earl scoffed, eyeing Jake distrustfully even as he lifted the new Guinness to his lips. “Hell, I can’t remember last week.”
Jake maintained his smile. “I bet you’re not giving yourself enough credit. This would’ve been a family with a young boy who disappeared at the end of the year. Lived in Bridgeport. Ring any bells?”
Frowning, Earl scratched the back of his neck. He was silent for a long minute. “Now that you say that... There was something funny—real sad, I should say—that went down around that time, I think. Dunno what year it was, but one family vanished from Bridgeport with lots of rumors about the ASC picking them all up as freaks.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Do you remember their names?”
* * *
Eleven years ago,Jake had charmed the receptionist of Freak Camp into giving him Toby’s birth date. He’d brought it back to Toby like a trophy he’d earned for himself. It only occurred to him years later that he’d held something really valuable about Toby—something that should have belonged to him all along.
That was nothing compared to walking back to their booth now with what might just be Toby’sname.
He noticed at a distance that Toby’s burger was still untouched. Jake understood not being able to eat. The tension of this case was damn near killing both of them.
“Wright. With a W.” Those were the first words out of his mouth without intending them. He made himself add, “And Tobias.”
