Something Borrowed, Something Bleu Part 2

aOh, look!a I said, pointing to the pot. A white ma.s.s was pulling away from the edge, leaving a rim of clear liquid next to the stainless steel.

Tabby smiled. aPerfect. Just what we want it to do.a She checked the temperature. aAlmost there. Then weall let it sit a few minutes and drain the curds.a Eating her curds and whey.

Once the curds and whey were separated, Tabby told us to don rubber gloves. aThis is going to be hot to handle, folks.a We took turns heating the cheese in the microwave, stretching and pulling it each time.

aNo wonder string cheese is so stringy,a I said to the tomboy brunette standing beside me.

She folded her chunk of cheese and then stretched it back out. aLook how s.h.i.+ny it is, too. I love fresh mozzarella, but itas so expensive.a aI bet it would be a lot cheaper to make yourself,a I said.

The subject changed to our favorite cheeses, and as we worked the rest of the group joined the discussion.

And I waited.

Along came a spider, Who sat down beside her And frightened Miss m.u.f.fet away.

The other cla.s.s partic.i.p.ants gathered their belongings and trickled out to the parking lot, chatting amongst themselves and carrying their cheese samples. I hung back, puttering and poking at the contents of my big tote bag until Tabby had finished a long goodbye to Gray Dreadlocks, whom she apparently knew. When the door finally closed, Tabby turned to me with a slightly wary expression.

aArenat you ?a I nodded. aSophie Mae Watson. Well, Reynolds now. Soon to be Ambrose.a Sophie Mae Ambrose. Had a nice ring to it. Still, it would be strange to give up my dead husbandas last name after all this time. And Reynolds was the name I used in my business. Did I really want to change my name after Barr and I were married? Would he balk if I didnat?

Tabbyas forehead wrinkled. She examined me for a long moment, and something akin to regret deepened the lines around her eyes. aYou look so much like Bobby Lee.a That hung there in the air for a while, neither of us quite sure what to do with it. Then she cleared her throat and said, aYouare back in Spring Creek, then?a aJust for a visit. My mom and dad, you know.a Her expression hardened at the offhand mention of my mother, and I quickly moved on. aBut I love to cook and to make things from scratch. My friend and her daughter wanted me to hike up Horsetooth Mountain with them today, but when I saw you offered this cla.s.s, I couldnat resist.a Another long pause then, aI make several artisan cheeses, mostly bleu varieties, but generally people donat want to go through the ha.s.sle of doing that themselvesainoculating, pressing, and curing. Weall get a few people for that cla.s.s, but this fresh cheese cla.s.s always fills up. Sometimes we make mozzarella, sometimes feta or paneer.a aMore and more people are interested in doing this sort of thing for themselves,a I said. aIam a soap maker, myself. I sell handmade toiletries on the Internet from my home in Cadyville, Was.h.i.+ngton.a aSoap! Now that sounds like fun. Iad love to learn more.a aA lot of the same things apply: temperature, chemistry, time. But no bacteria. At least we soap makers work pretty hard to avoid that.a aI bet,a Tabby said. aBacteria can certainly be badaor really, really good. After all, itas what keeps our digestion working. Are you interested in making mold-ripened cheese?a aOf course,a I said. aWhen is that cla.s.s?a aDay after tomorrow. Just show up if you decide to take it. You can pay me then.a She was going to slip away, and however much I might like the idea of making my own cheese, I hadnat had a chance to talk to her about anything important yet.

aI heard you married Joe Bines.a She paused in the act of reaching for the door handle. Looked over her shoulder. aYour mom tell you that?a Uh oh. aMy dad, actually. When he learned I was coming out here this morning. You know, so I wouldnat be surprised when I saw you, I guess.a She watched me babble with an amused glint in her eye.

I wanted to kick myself, but kept going. Couldnat let her escape yet. aSo anyway, is he around?a aHeas out delivering milk.a Joe, the milkman. Go figure.

aYou guys have any kids?a aA daughter. Sheas fifteen.a aWow. That makes me feel old.a She laughed. aTell me about it. Sheas a good kid, though. Nuts about horses. Pretty good rider, too.a aHow is Joe?a aOrnery as ever.a She seemed to be loosening up a little, her gestures and facial expression relaxing the more we talked.

aDo you guys ever talk about Bobby Lee?a Her shoulders hunched and her chin tucked in. So much for loosening up. Too bad. I only had a week to figure this thing out, and I didnat have time to d.i.n.k around.

aIam sorry, Tabby. I didnat mean to hit a nerve,a I said.

She looked at the floor. aThatas okay.a I pushed harder. aI mean, I think about him a lot. Since you and Joe and Bobby Lee were so close when it happened, I just wondered.a Her eyes met mine, wariness and anger flaring behind them. aIt wasnat my fault.a aOh, G.o.d. I know that. And letas get something out in the open here. My mother knows that, too. She was just hurt and bewildered when she said that at the funeral. Sheas always felt bad about it.a Okay, so maybe I shouldnat have spoken for my mother. She had, after all, accused Tabby of killing her son. I remembered the day well. My mother had been a mess: a precisely coiffed, Southern-belle-with-perfect-manners mess. Not many people would have known, but when she lost it and yelled at Tabby in front of everyone, I hadnat been the least bit surprised.

The Watsons and the Atwoods hadnat spoken since.

But my attempt to explain Anna Belleas actions fell flat. Tabby made a apfffta noise and looked away.

aI was pretty upset then, too,a she said. aBut you didnat hear me accusing your mother of being responsible for her sonas death. And you know what? I dare say she was a lot more responsible than I ever could be, the way she judged everything he did, the way he had to live up to all of her crazy expectations.a The hair rose on the back of my neck as my daughterly pride came to Anna Belleas defense. I opened my mouth to protest.

Then I remembered the letter. Painful though it was, I had to admit Tabby wasnat entirely wrong. Bobby Lee had said he couldnat face my parents if they discovered what head done. Tabby either already knew that, or had instinctively figured it out. That part of the letter must have hurt Anna Belle a lot to read. Was it one of the reasons she insisted on keeping my father in the dark?

aOkay,a I said. aFair enough.a She looked surprised.

aAny chance we could get on the other side of the whole funeral thing?a I asked. aIad really like to come back for that other cla.s.s, learn more how to make cheese before I have to go back to Cadyville.a She considered me, chewing on her lower lip. aYou should definitely come for the mold-ripened cheese cla.s.s. Are you interested in knowing more about soft cheeses? Cultured milk products? That kind of thing?a I couldnat keep the big smile from spreading across my face. aIad love to know more.a aHow long are you going to be here?a aA week.a aThereas only so much I can teach you in a week, but I can cover enough to give you a firm base.a aReally?a aSure. How about you come by for two hours tomorrow morning, and weall cover bacterial cultures. Then you can hit the mold-ripened cheese cla.s.s on Wednesday with everyone else, and then come back for another two hours on Thursday to learn more about hard cheeses like Cheddar and Parmesan.a aSounds good. How much do you charge for private lessons like that?a She shrugged. It was a deliberately casual gesture. aRegular cla.s.s fee.a Whatever that was. Anna Belle hadnat said how much shead paid for the cla.s.s Iad just taken, but I felt my head nodding in vigorous agreement. I had a feeling Tabby could use the money, plus I loved the idea of learning more about the ins and outs of cheese making aOkay, then. Weare set. Iall see you tomorrow.a Finality in her tone.

Rats. Trust me to lose track of the reason I was really there. My hand crept into my bag, and I fingered the envelope that held Bobby Leeas letter. aI brought something to show you.a Curiosity flicked across her face as she looked at her watch. It was quickly replaced with alarm. aOh, G.o.d. Iam sorry, Sophie Mae. I have to run.a Ack! aThis wonat take long,a I said, desperation leaking out between the words. aItas important.a aI donataa aPlease.a Taking a deep breath, I reached into my bag and extracted the envelope. After a brief hesitation, I handed it to her.

Her eyes widened as she read the handwriting, and she shot me a bewildered look. aWhat is this?a aItas a letter that was returned to my parentsa house. According to the postmark, Bobby Lee sent it to you the day he died.a She blinked. aI donat understand. Your mom and dad have had it all this time?a aIt only came in the mail a week ago. Iam as baffled by that as you are.a She bent closer, eyes traveling over the writing on the envelope. Then she grimaced. aMy mother.a aWhat?a aThis handwriting?a She pointed to the words Return to sender. aItas hers. She kept this from me.a Bitterness laced her tone.

aWhy would she do that? Didnat she like Bobby Lee?a Her eyes met mine. aMy folks were a little overprotective. They thought Joe and your brother were bad influences at the time, but I think she probably sent this back because she didnat want me to be any more upset by Bobby Leeas death than I already was.a That actually made some sense.

Tabby removed the single sheet and unfolded it. I watched carefully as she read it. Tears shone in her eyes when she laid it down on the counter.

She blinked them dry and swallowed audibly. aI canat believe I didnat get to see this until now.a I felt a little sick to my stomach. This digging into the past was making a real mess, and a part of me wished Iad left everything alone. Too late though. I was up to my neck in it.

Barely breathing, I asked, aTabby? What was my brother talking about in the note? What had he done?a Her one-shouldered shrug was nonchalant. aHavenat got a clue.a But her eyes slid off to the side when she said it.

aSounds like something pretty major.a aWe were teenagers. Everything was major.a aYou know what I mean. He wrote that so you would know what he was talking about and no one else would.a My hand crept out and took possession of the letter and envelope again.

Tabby watched me return it to my tote bag. aI canat help you. Iam sorry.a Canat or wonat, I wondered.

But I couldnat let it go. aWhat about Joe? Do you think head know?a Her lips pressed together, and her eyes seemed to search the air above my head. Then her gaze met mine. aI donat see how he could.a aWill he be home soon? I could wait.a She shook her head with a rueful twist to her mouth. aI have to go. Iam already late picking up my daughter from her riding lesson.a Quickly, she turned and opened the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. aHereatake this with you.a She shoved a small plastic container at me. aItas piima-cultured b.u.t.ter. So you can get a taste of what weall be doing tomorrow morning. Eleven oaclock work?a aUm, sure.a She was already out the door, and I followed her to the parking lot. Lickety-split she jumped in a black jeep and drove away. A red pickup and older blue minivan were still in the parking lot. A metallic noise drifted down from the barn. Someone was still on the property.

Well, duh, Sophie Mae. A place like that was bound to take a lot of work. No doubt Joe and Tabby had a hired hand or two around to help. Slowly, I got into Dadas car and turned the key in the ignition. Hot air winged out of the vents as the air conditioner revved up. It magnified the manure smell tenfold, making me cough.

Was Tabby really in that much of a hurry, or was she trying to get away from me? I didnat know her well enough to tell. Still, she seemed game to give me another cheese-making lesson. Maybe she simply needed time to process this blast from the past.

At least I could still ask Joe about Bobby Leeas note tomorrow, even if Tabby didnat exactly encourage me. If anyone besides Tabby knew what Bobby Lee had been up to before he died, it was his erstwhile best friend.

Plus, Meghan would be thrilled if I learned how to make cheese. There was a dairy near Cadyville where we could get quality milk.

And Erin wouldawell, I didnat know. It was hard to tell with her anymore.

I circled the tiny parking lot and turned onto the dirt driveway. Dadas Subaru kicked up a cloud of dust that followed me out to the county road.

The front door was unlocked when I got home, but no one seemed to be around. Iad just settled at the kitchen table with a big fat sandwichasourdough piled with shaved turkey, Muenster, tomato, cuc.u.mber, and avocado, all dripping with spicy chipotle mayonnaiseawhen I heard a sound downstairs. Curious, I abandoned my sandwich and slipped down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, expecting to find Kitty Wampus getting into something yet again. Abyssinians were infamous for being able to open doors and drawers, and his reputation was worse than most.

Instead, I found my father had turned into a pretzel.

aWhat on earth?a I walked into the rec room and flopped onto the old brown sofa. Many an hour of my youth had been spent lounging there, watching television or gabbing for hours with my friends. It still smelled faintly of our old black lab, long gone to his happy hunting grounds.

Slowly Dad returned to a recognizably human shape. He smiled at me. aScorpion pose.a Standing now, he raised his arms straight up and bent at the waist, touching his palms to the floor. aIntense forward bend. Try it.a I shook my head. aHuh uh. My back hurts just watching you.a Unfolding again, he rolled his shoulders back and took a deep, audible breath. aOkay.a aUm, Dad?a aYeah?a aYou all right?a His gray shorts hung loosely on him, but he had always had a runneras physique. Or, more accurately, a bicyclistas physique. Pure ectomorph. His bare chest sprouted gray hair, but was defined by lean muscle.

He sat cross-legged on the floor. aIam fine.a I chewed on my lip and considered him. aYou seem different.a His head dipped forward. aMaybe.a aAre you taking any medication?a His head tipped to the side.

aTranquilizers?a He laughed. aIs that what youare worried about? No, nothing like that.a I drew my legs under me on the sofa. aHigh on life, huh.a aSort of. You know how much I used to ride my bike?a I nodded. aSometimes for hours.a aRight. Well, it kept me sane. It really did. Then my knees started giving me fits, and I couldnat ride as hard as I liked. I was miserable. And by that I mean not only was I miserable, I was difficult to be around.a aI bet.a I wasnat trying to be mean, but my dad was an intense guy. The bike riding had definitely bled off some of his energy, and I could only imagine how cranky he got after he had to cut back.

His lips twitched. aRight. Well, Anna Belle was worried. I think she was a little sick of putting up with me, too. She came up with the idea of trying yoga. I did, and it really helped. My knees are much stronger, and it turned out I loved it. As a result, I started looking into some other Eastern practices. Now, believe it or not, I meditate daily.a aIam actually a little jealous. Iave tried to meditateaguess I donat have the patience. The closest I get to that state of mind is when Iam spinning or doing something soothing and repet.i.tive like wrapping soap.a aThereas a lot to be said for that.a He hesitated, then, aIave been studying Buddhism lately, too.a aReally?a I laughed. No wonder Anna Belle had had that look on her face when shead told me Dad was experimenting. aDoesnat that kind of go against the whole agnostic thing?a aLess than youad think. The meditation clears my mind, and what Iave learned so far has given me a whole new perspective on life.a aAnd Anna Belle approves.a aShe sees the results. Iam mellow as a cello and fit as a fiddle.a I rolled my eyes and stood up. aWell, thatas good enough for me.a aYou can come join me any time you want to, you know. I spend a couple hours a day down here rearranging my carca.s.s or meditating.a aThanks. Iall think about it.a I turned to go.

aDid you find out anything about Bobby Leeas letter?a I whirled back to face him. aYou know about that?a He smiled.

aAnna Belle didnat want me to tell you about it,a I said. aFor the record, I disagreed with her.a aItas okay. Sheas afraid I wonat want her to pursue it, but I donat feel that way at all.a aSo you know what the letter says?a aI might have happened across it.a Did Dad know about the hidey holes in my motheras den? I couldnat quite bring myself to ask him. Instead, I leaned against the door frame. aSo what do you think?a He took a deep breath. aI think my son had some problems with depression. I think he had some problems with his girlfriend. I think he was searching for some big answers, and then I think he did something he was ashamed of. Something he thought his mother and I would condemn him for. I think it all got to be too much for him to handle.a My hand crept to my mouth, and I found myself looking at my father through a watery veil.

He continued. aI also think his sister, who takes after her investigative-journalist old man, is going to get to the bottom of what happened. I just hope in the end your mother will be able to move on from the self-imposed limbo sheas been living in for the last eighteen years.a I blinked, and felt wetness splash down my cheek. I swiped at it with the back of my hand. aIall do my best. I promise.a His eyes radiated warmth. aOf course you will, kiddo. Thatas all she wants. And if there isnat an answer, there isnat an answer. Thatas okay, too.a He closed his eyes, and I got the impression Iad been dismissed.

Softly, I left the room.

There was an answer. I just knew it. And Iad find it.

_____.

Kitty Wampus was nowhere in sight when I returned to the kitchen, but head eaten all the turkey and cheese out of my beautiful sandwich and dragged the rest halfway across the table. No doubt head bee-lined out the cat door and was dozing under the lilacs in the backyard, fat and happy. My stomach growled as I surveyed the mess.

aStupid beast,a I muttered, gathering what was left of my lunch and dumping it in the garbage. aEvil creature. I hope you get heartburn from that spicy mayonnaise.a A sense of restlessness joined my hunger. The remainder of the afternoon stretched ahead; I might as well make use of it. I still had the letter, and plenty of questions to go with it.

Time to find the people who could give me some answersaand maybe hit a drive-through on the way. A quick look at the phone book gave me the information I needed.

First stop: a guacamole cheeseburger. I scarfed it down as I drove, licking the sauce oozing out around the edges before it could splatter onto my lap.

I didnat know whether the Atwoods were retired or not, but it seemed worth taking the chance that one or both of them would be home. I knew the general area where they lived, a few miles northwest of town, near the tiny town of Bellevue. The Subaru turned that direction almost of its own volition.

As I drove and chewed, I formulated what to say.

Tabbyas parents lived in a pale blue, ranch-style home set near County Road 54E. Two llamas peered out from the other side of a wire fence, apparently companions to the old sway-backed horse in the far corner that turned his head to watch my progress down their driveway. The yard was a riot of bright zinnias and purple coneflowers, punctuated by explosions of indigo Russian sage. I got out of the car and inhaled the heat, blinking in the bright sunlight.

An enormous gray cat ambled around the corner. It walked right up and rubbed against my bare leg. I reached down to scritch it behind the ears and wild rumbling erupted deep in its chest.

aMrow!a aMrow to you, too,a I murmured, then stood and braced myself for what I was about to do.

Celeste Atwood opened the door almost immediately, so I suspected shead heard me get out of the car and had watched from behind the gauzy curtains as the cat greeted me. She was sun-faded and weary-looking. Thick gla.s.ses with tortoise-sh.e.l.l frames magnified her ash-brown eyes. A yellow camp s.h.i.+rt and white slacks hung on her thin frame. Her smile was small, uncertain.

aHi. Are you Celeste?a aI sure am.a aMy name is Sophie Mae Reynolds. I know your daughter, Tabby.a She waited, an expectant look on her face.

aCould I ask you a few questions?a Puzzlement took over. aWhat kind of questions?a I hesitated, then took the plunge. aIam Bobby Lee Watsonas sister. My family recently came into some information about what happened back when he a I didnat finish.

Alertness sparked in her gaze, mingled with alarm. For a long moment neither of us spoke, the air between us thick with the past. Then she pushed open the old screen door with a creak.

aCome in.a Inside, ostriches were everywhere. Everywhere. Gla.s.s ones, ceramic ones, stuffed, stone, carved, big, little, anatomically accurate, fantastical, green, pink, orangeaevery color of the rainbow and then some. They covered every surface, sat on the sofa and chairs, and paintings of long-necked birds populated the walls.

aYou must like ostriches,a I said. Nothing like stating the obvious, Sophie Mae.

aI have a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen.a I followed her into a bright yellow-and-orange kitchen. A floor fan in the corner whirred back and forth. The dish towel had an ostrich on it. The napkin holder was a carved wooden ostrich. Celeste poured hot coffee into mugs with purple ostriches sporting cowboy hats and lariats on them.

aThanks.a I raised the mug. The balloon coming out of the birdas mouth read, aSlow up there, Pardner!a Celeste got right to the point. aWhat do you want?a I was so distracted by the total ostrich weirdness that it took me a moment to regroup. With an effort, I turned my attention to the matter Iad come to ask her about.

aI donat suppose your husband is around,a I said. It made more sense to talk to both of them at the same time if possible.

aHeas dead.a Oh, G.o.d. aIam sorry, I didnat know.a aThatas okay. It was five years ago. Heart attack.a aIam sorry,a I said again, and wanted to kick myself. As a woman living alone she probably kept his name on the phone book entry as a precaution.

She shrugged. aIt happens.a I barreled on. aDo you remember what happened eighteen years ago?a She looked at me like I was crazy. aOf course I remember.a aSorry,a I said again. Ack! aAnyway, a funny thing happened a couple of weeks ago.a aFunny?a aWell, not funny like ha-ha. More like odd. My mother received a letter. Or rather a letter was returned to the house. It was from Bobby Lee.a She looked at me like I was crazy again. aI donat understand.a aBobby Lee wrote a letter before he died. He sent it to Tabby, but it came back to our house as undeliverable mailaeighteen years later.a She licked her lips.

aSomeone wrote Return to sender on it.a I pulled the envelope out of my bag. aSee?a Celeste got up abruptly and retrieved the coffeepot. Some of the dark liquid splashed onto the kitchen table as she topped off our ostrich mugs.

aWell, isnat that strange.a She wouldnat look at me. aWhat does this mystery letter say?a aIt refers to something that happened, something Bobby Lee was involved in. He seemed to a.s.sume Tabby knew about it, too, though I donat know whether she was personally involved or not.a Talking about what my brother had a.s.sumed brought him into the present in a new and disconcerting way.

Celeste returned the coffeepot to the burner and sat down again. She ran her fingertips over a knothole in the pine tabletop. aThat doesnat sound very specific.a aItas not. Thatas one reason why Iam here. Do you have any idea what he might have been talking about?a Meeting my eyes, she shook her head.

aTabby never said anything to you at the time?a Another shake of the head. aWe went through a bad patch, her and me, when she was a teenager. She wouldnat talk to me about your brotherawhen he was alive, either.a Ah, mothers and daughters.

aAllas I know is Tabby was taking cla.s.ses at NCUawanted to be a vetaand head taken a year off before going to college. I think it might have been a problem for them.a Hmm. Tabby hadnat mentioned that. aWere they fighting?a I asked, remembering Dad said something in the bas.e.m.e.nt earlier about how Bobby Lee was having problems with his girlfriend.

Celesteas shoulders rose then slumped. aI guess. I heard her yelling on the phone a couple of times. Pretty sure she was talking to Bobby Lee. Couldave been one of the other boys, though. There were three or four of them head over heels for that girl. The phone rang off the hook.a aBut she was only dating Bobby Lee, right?a aOh, yes. The others were just her friends. You know a she said, looking into a distance that wasnat there.

aYes?a I prompted.

aThere was another death around then. Someone Tabbyas age. Accident. Not anyone I knew. No one I thought Tabby knew.a She glanced at me and shrugged.

aWhat happened?a She shook her head. aI donat remember now. Something about the cold weather. It was a long time ago.a Another death. The town of Spring Creek wasnat that large. More than likely at least one of the Tabby/Joe/Bobby Lee trio had known him. Her?

aThe accident you mentionedawas it a boy or a girl?a I asked.

aBoy. No, girl. I donat remember. Sorry. I shouldnat have mentioned it.a Tabbyas mother took another swallow of coffee. The steam fogged her gla.s.ses. The fan in the corner barely stirred the air.

Was she being deliberately unhelpful? I couldnat tell.

aI have one more question,a I said.

Resignation twisted the corner of her mouth. aOkay.a I paused, searching for the right words. aDid you already know Bobby Lee sent Tabby a letter?a aNo.a The word came quickly.

Too quickly.

I c.o.c.ked my head to one side. aReally?a aI told you. Tabby didnat confide in me.a Hmmm. I pushed the envelope across the table. My brotheras loopy scrawl affected me like a painful tooth. It hurt to look at it, but I couldnat seem to stop. But now I pointed to the Return to sender notation. aThis doesnat look like a teenaged girlas writing. It looks like an adultas.a She stared at it for a long moment, then suddenly blinked and leaned toward me. aI donat know anything about that letter. Sorry.a aTabby told me itas your handwriting.a Her eyes flicked back to the words, and the tip of her tongue worked against her lip.

aWhy did you send the letter back?a I asked.

Celeste exhaled. aI just did, okay? She was already a mess. There wasnat anything Bobby Lee had to say that Tabitha needed to see right then.a She rose to her feet. aNow, Iam sorry, but I gotta get to work over to the liquor store. If Iam late theyall dock me.a Slowly I pushed back from the table. She led me to the front door and opened it with a decisive gesture.

aOne more thing,a I said.

Big sigh. aWhat?a aWhen did you send it back?a She looked confused. aWhat do you mean when? When I got it.a aYou didnat keep it for a while?a Like eighteen years. aMaybe it took some time to decide to return it?a There came the look doubting my sanity again. aNo. I knew right away she shouldnat see it.a And yet, Celeste hadnat destroyed it. Would I have, under the same circ.u.mstances?

aThanks for your help,a I said, utterly baffled.

aSure.a The door shut in my face, and the cat immediately wrapped itself around my ankles as I turned away. I stumbled and almost fell.

aMrow.a I glanced back at Celeste Atwoodas closed front door, then down at the tabby. aYouave got that right.a Where the heck had that letter been all this time?

_____.

It would be an hour or so before everyone gathered at the house again. Enough time to check out some old newspaper stories.

The Spring Creek Public Library was near Old Town Square, surrounded by older homes and streets lined with well-established trees. Along with a small museum and expansive, park-like area complete with playground and picnic benches, it took up an entire city block. Out front, three apparently homeless men lounged on sunny benches, looking as content as the cat in Celeste Atwoodas driveway earlier.

I found the reference desk upstairs and asked for help in tracking down newsworthy events from eighteen years ago. Soon I was seated in front of a microfilm machine, trolling through copies of the Spring Creek Courier starting two weeks before Bobby Lee sent the letter.

By the time half an hour had pa.s.sed, my eyes were burning from scanning headlines on the screen. It had been a pretty boring period. I bypa.s.sed sports and national news, focusing on local stories that might have had an impact on Bobby Lee and his friends. Not much caught my attention, and I had to wonder if I was missing something important. I told myself it was just a first pa.s.s; the archives would still be here if I needed to come back and spend more time.

At the end of an hour Iad read sixteen daysa worth of newspapers from the middle of November and culled four possible events that fit Celeste Atwoodas vague description, though only two of them actually ended in death. After all that reading, the four items that piqued my interest happened within a twenty-four-hour period.