The woman at that reference desk is closer to our age, and she glances up from her computer with a distracted expression until she focuses on Jay. Suddenly, she’s all attention, sitting up straighter. Did she push her chest out? I think she pushed her chest out.
She gives Jay a friendly smile. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for old issues of theSprings Gazette,” I answer. “The city librarian said the college acquired their collection. Is the public able to access them?”
“Generally, no, but since I run this floor, I can make an exception if I want to.” She gives Jay a flirty grin.
Wow. I’m not remotely shy about flirting when I want to, but I’ve never been this bold. How does she know I’m notwithJay, and not just with Jay?
“A woman in power, huh? Nice,” Jay says.
Is he flirting back?
She leans forward—way forward—still smiling at him. “Looking for anything in particular? They’re not indexed, so a broad search can be challenging.”
I think she’s inviting him to look for whatever he’s missing in her cleavage.
“A mysterious woman from the past,” he says with a lifted eyebrow. “Possibly a beauty queen.”
“I love that,” Sexy Librarian says. “Much more interesting than most of the searches people do.”
Is she kidding with this? Librarians aren’t supposed to judge people’s research topics. They’re supposed to be nice and help.
“I’d be happy to help you with that,” she continues.
Ah, there it is.
“I’m almost done with my dissertation in information science,” she says, “and I’ve got mean research skills.”
“Information science,” I say. “Impressive. I don’t know anyone with a PhD in that”—except for half of all librarians—“do you, Jay?”
“Sounds interesting.” His easy smile never wavers as he keeps eye contact with her, but he doesn’t need to work this hard when this woman is hurling herself onto his hook.
“You should tell him more about it,” I suggest to the librarian. “I’m familiar with microfilm, if you don’t mind pointing me in the right direction.” I make sure my tone is amused, not peevish, and she can’t refuse an opportunity for alone time with Jay. Look at me being such a good friend and wingman.
She points to the left. “Past the shelves and around the corner. They’re stored by the periodicals.”
I thank her and head that direction, giving her bonus points for never taking her eyes off Jay as she says it.
Since I’m sure the computer catalog will require a studentID number, I don’t bother checking it. Instead, I go straight to the shelved boxes of microfilm. It’s not large, taking up three aisles. I only need to work halfway down one row before I figure out how it’s organized and quickly locate the shelves holding the film for theSprings Gazette. Each box holds two weeks of issues, and I scan the labels until I find March 1966 on the bottom shelf.
Working off a hunch that the pageant happened on a Saturday, I’ll start with the Sunday and Monday editions. I take the two boxes for March 1966 with me to look for the microfilm readers. Thankfully, they’re similar to the ones I used in college, and I turn one on and load it with no trouble.
The front page of theSprings Gazettefrom Tuesday, March 1, appears on the screen, and I get goosebumps down my shoulders and arms. That feeling means we’re going to find something. Or I am, since I’m here by myself. But it’s always been my mystery to solve anyway.
I scan the headlines about a Soviet probe crash on Venus, marking Earth’s first contact with another planet’s surface. Another about Congress approving funds for the military in Vietnam. I force myself to scroll quickly past it, to look for the Saturday and Sunday issues, knowing how easily I can get lost in the past.
I’m halfway through the first Sunday edition when Jay appears around the end of the shelves.
“You ditched me,” he says.
“Nah. I ran off in search of answers.” I tap the screen. “Springs Gazette, March 1966. I’m trying Sundays and Mondays first, and if that doesn’t turn anything up, I’ll go back through the other days.”
He picks up the other box and sits at the reader beside me. “I’ll take the second half of March.” He loads his film and starts looking. “Why didn’t Dear Heart write better clues?Didn’t he know nosy people would be trying to figure out who he was sixty years after he wrote them?”
“No excuse for that kind of carelessness.”
We each settle in to look through our film. I mostly resist getting sucked down the highly enticing rabbit holes of 1966 headlines. After a few minutes, I tell Jay, “You can skip to the local section. Pretty sure that’s where they’d put it if they ran it.”
