With renewed energy and determination, I headed off to the library. I got lucky; as I had remembered, Friday was an open day, and not only were there a couple of patrons, one of them was Lizzie. Perfect. “Hi, Hannah,” I said, to the diminutive librarian. She waved, then went back to her conversation with Isadore Openshaw, who was piling books up on a table. Lizzie was covertly watching me, as she leafed through a magazine featuring Amy Gulick photographs. I sat down at the table opposite her. “Still suspended?” She nodded. “You busy tomorrow?” I asked, noting the kohl around her eyes, and the bloodred lipstick. The girl was going emo, it seemed, if that’s what they still called it. It was called Goth, when I was a kid. If she was trying to frighten folks away, she was probably in the wrong town. Weird was a way of life in Autumn Vale.
“Why?” she asked, staring down at the page.
Good for her; she had learned to be suspicious of open questions like that. It took me a long time to learn they usually preceded requests to help someone move, or bury a body. And yes, I did get asked to help someone bury a body once; a friend’s beloved dog had died, and she couldn’t bear to do it alone, and yes, I did help her. We cried and drank wine together afterward. If I ever needed help burying a body, she promised she’d come through for me. I had her phone number with me at all times.
“I was wondering if you would come out to the castle tomorrow and show me where that abandoned camp in the woods is. You can take all the pictures you want, I just need you to guide me, since you obviously know the woods better than I do.”
“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “But I’ll need a ride out to your place.”
“If I can’t get Jack McGill to do it, I’ll pick you up myself. You don’t mind McGill, do you?” I suddenly remembered that she was fifteen, and might have an opinion on her chauffeur.
“No, he’s cool.”
So far, my day was proving to be useful, more than I even imagined in my midnight maunderings. I turned my attention toward Isadore Openshaw and Hannah. I wanted to ask Hannah some questions about Tom, but they would just have to wait. Ms. Openshaw, morose bank teller, was piling books up at a crazy rate. Was she really going to read them all?
I examined the spines. The Tao of Meow. The History of Greed. Women Who Love Too Much. The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. The Secret.
Wow, what a mixed bag! Maybe Isadore Openshaw was a self-help junkie. I’ve known women like that, who seemed to think all they needed was one more self-help book and they’d be happy. Just one more book and they’d discover what was wrong with them, why people kept crapping on them. I could have told her there was no “secret.” Mostly we create our own reality, it was true, but not always. Sometimes bad stuff just happens, and the only thing you can do is try to move on.
Which was what I was doing after the crapstorm that was Leatrice Peugot. I looked up from her stack of books to find Isadore staring at me with a weird, focused look. Should I befriend her, I wondered? I might need an ally at the bank if my uncle’s finances were as twisted as I feared.
I smiled. She grabbed her stack of books and shuttled awkwardly to the checkout desk. Lizzie, who had noticed the interaction, snickered, and I gave her a dirty look. “What are you, Miss Charming all of a sudden?” I said.
The teenager made a face and bent back over her magazine.
After the bank teller left, Hannah motored over to our table. “How are you two doing?” she asked. “It’s Lizzie, right?”
The girl nodded, her gaze sliding back to the magazine. I got a feeling she felt awkward with tiny, wheelchair-bound Hannah, but I couldn’t be sure. Lizzie seemed to be awkward with most people, except Gogi Grace.
“Lizzie is a talented photographer,” I said to Hannah. “She’s taken some interesting shots of my property. In fact, she’s going to come out tomorrow and take more pictures and show me around in the woods.”
Hannah’s narrow face lit up. “Would you show the photos to me? I’d love to see modern pictures of the castle and the grounds. I’ve read so much about it, but I’ve only seen old photos from the fifties, and driven past it once or twice.”
Lizzie agreed to bring her camera back to the library to show Hannah whatever photos she took of the castle and grounds. “It’s the best place for pictures!” she enthused. “I used to sneak onto the property and take all kinds, especially last winter, and just before a storm. The sky behind the castle . . . too much!” She sighed, her artistic fervor leaving her speechless.
“So next time, bring your camera with you here and show Hannah!” I said.