The Unkindness of Ravens by M. Hilliard (readera ebook reader .txt) 📗

asked him some more questions. He told the police, but Vince is still a free man, and someone did attack him.”

She hadn’t told me. As she said, Vince was still a free man, but it did look more like he had the opportunity. It still felt too obvious, and too unlikely.

“We need to watch our step with our snooping, Greer. We don’t want anyone hitting us over the head. Here you are. Be careful.”

Dory deposited me at the end of my street and, with a jaunty wave, she drove off. True to my word, I remained alert during the short walk to my apartment, encountering nothing but the familiar, comforting noises of the night.

Chapter Fifteen

Since I had no reference shift Tuesday, I was determined to get a look at the back issues of the village paper. Though slim, there was always a chance Joanna’s flash drive was still undiscovered and somewhere in the building. I’d thought of a few more places to check and times when a search of those places wouldn’t be noticed. The newspapers were my main objective, though. Fortunately, Millicent was a firm believer in the great British tradition of elevenses, so I lurked near the hall at the appropriate time. As soon as I saw her head for the kitchen, I shot upstairs and into the archives. I had, at best, twenty minutes.

I had modified my list of the dates I needed by interspersing some other random dates and references. I was able to locate the first article easily. It didn’t have much more information than the one I had, but it did include both the name and partial address of the child who drowned. The street name wasn’t familiar to me, but the area was full of old dead ends that once led to farms and houses no longer in existence. This was no doubt why Joanna had planned to search property records. The more closely I followed her plan, the more likely I was to figure out what she was after, or what she had found, so I would take a look at those property records as well.

I moved on to the next volume and flipped through it to find the correct date. The issue was missing. I checked the date again and ran through the whole volume. The date sequence was consistent, and the note Joanna had made would fit into it. The issue was simply gone, with no insert in the volume to show something was missing.

I checked my notes to verify the next date and flipped through the bound volume to the appropriate spot. Nothing. The date sequence was again correct with one issue gone. I took the volume and moved into better light. Holding it flat, I ran my hand down the intersection of pages where the missing issue should be. I felt loose threads and bits of paper and dried glue stuck to my fingers. I tilted the book and squinted at the binding. It was intact, and old enough to be original, so it hadn’t been broken and repaired with the issue lost in the process. The issue I wanted had been deliberately cut out and stolen. These things were hard to unbind—I’d seen it done in a preservation workshop—but making off with a few pages required only a sharp knife and a steady hand. If you were going to do as neat a job as this, it also required time. Something I was quickly running out of.

I quickly shelved the volume and pulled down the next. A fast scan showed it to be intact, which would have been great if it held any of the issues I needed. Ditto the next one. There was only one more at the end of the shelf. I pulled it down and heard a little clink. Standing on tiptoe, I swept my hand along the back of the shelf. I felt nothing but smooth wood, and then my fingers closed on something plastic. I was holding a small, dusty flash drive with the initial “J” painted on it in purple glitter nail polish.

I shoved it in my pocket. A glance toward the door reassured me that no one had witnessed my discovery. The placement of the drive was likely not random. I flipped through the last volume. Nothing seemed relevant, and the dates didn’t match anything on the list. I pictured Joanna’s probable movements in my mind’s eye, watching her find something of interest and put down whatever was in her hand as she took something off the shelf and moved to better light. I went back to the previous volume and took another look. The only thing even remotely related was a long article on the late Horatio Ravenscroft and his many contributions to the village, most notably the gift of the manor to be used as a library.

Missing codicils and family scandals. Blackmail by any other name.

There was a noise in the hallway. I was sliding the volume back into place when Millicent appeared in the doorway.

“Hello, Greer. Were you looking for me?”

“I had a question from someone doing historical research, but it was simple. I managed. I’m getting much more familiar with the collection.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, gliding to her desk. “Was there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, though I know Vince Goodhue was looking for something rather specific. I offered to help him, but he headed off to find you. Has he stopped by?”

One sharply indrawn breath and a tightening of her grip on her pen were the only tells.

“He’s been in and out. Did he happen to say what he was looking for?”

“He’s working on something for the Historical Society, and he said it was related. I think Joanna had been handling the research, but, well …”

I trailed off.

“Yes,” she said, “of course. Well, I’m sure he’ll be back.”

I agreed and took my leave.

The flash drive was burning a hole in my pocket, but I couldn’t risk looking at it until I