“Thirty years is a long time, Mr. ...”
“Adams. Jaxson Adams. And, yes, I realize that.”
He also had the distinct impression that she knew exactly who he was talking about. This woman knew a lot of things—he’d bet his Nova on it. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to puzzle out why he wanted to know.
This was where things got tricky. Jaxson was interested in getting information, not providing it—at least, not until he knew more. However, in this case, he felt he had to give her something.
“She knew my father,” he added.
Once again, she looked like she was working out a particularly complex math problem.
“I see. Your father has passed, I take it?”
Jaxson nodded once in response.
“Sometimes, the past is best left in the past. Are you sure you want to go down this path, Mr. Adams?”
Her cryptic words sounded like a warning.
“Quite sure, Ms. Miller.”
She sniffed. “Very well. Our microfiche room is downstairs and to the left. We close at four o’clock sharp.”
Four o’clock. That gave him a couple hours to work with.
“Thank you.”
She sniffed again.
He felt her eyes burning a hole into his back until he was out of view.
Chapter Eight
Jaxson
The clearing of a throat captured his attention. “The library is closing in fifteen minutes, Mr. Adams.”
“Right.”
His eyes were bleary from staring at the microfiche machine. He’d started pulling newspapers from around the time he was born and worked backward from there. He scanned headlines, birth and death records, marriages, property sales. Thus far, he hadn’t found a single mention of anyone named Ilsa.
He’d forgotten how hard it was to look things up the old fashioned way.
Under the librarian’s watchful eyes, he carefully extracted the fiche from the machine. “Are you open tomorrow?”
She was taken aback by his question. “Certainly not. We open at eight a.m. Monday.”
He rose slowly, giving his bones and the pins that held them together a chance to adjust to the new position. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn her eyes softened before they were back to cold and detached again.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, though he suspected she already knew the answer.
“Not yet.”
“Does that mean you will persist?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take that.” She held out her hand for the fiche, clearly noting the date on the label before flicking her gaze back to his face.
Now that she wasn’t standing behind a big desk on a raised dais, she appeared far smaller and frailer than she had earlier. She barely came up to his shoulders and probably didn’t weigh more than ninety pounds. Her stern, commanding presence belied her size.
“Any information you have that might point me in the right direction would be very much appreciated,” he tried.
For a moment, he thought she might take pity on him.
Instead, she said, “Monday morning, Mr. Adams.”
So much for that.
Jaxson followed her up to the main floor. Even at her advanced age, she was faster than he was. When he finally reached the entrance, she was waiting with a key in hand.
“You’re staying at Sanctuary, I presume?” she asked.
What was it that made everyone assume that?
He shook his head. “Mel’s.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, though in approval or disapproval, he couldn’t tell.
She said nothing more, closing and locking the door behind him.
On the way back to the motel, he decided to stop at Franco’s, which seemed to be the only restaurant in Sumneyville. Delicious aromas of garlic and tomato and cheese reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
An image of Penny sitting across from him—tucking into her stuffed pancakes with gusto, drops of melted chocolate on her lips—almost made him smile before he pushed it away. The less he thought about her or her pretty pink lips, the better.
At that hour, the restaurant wasn’t busy, and most of the diners looked to be senior citizens.
“Table for one?” a smiling woman asked. Around fiftyish, she was slightly plump and gave off a friendly, motherly vibe.
While the restaurant looked like a nice place for a sit-down meal, he wasn’t interested in the scrutiny he’d inevitably be under if he stayed. “Takeout, if you’ve got it.”
“We sure do.” She handed him a paper menu and a small pencil. “Just circle what you want, and I’ll put the order in for you.”
He accepted both and scanned the choices. After more than ten years in the Army and months in a veterans rehab facility, everything looked good.
The hostess waited patiently, regarding him with curious interest. “I haven’t seen you before. First time in Sumneyville?”
As far as he knew. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Sanctuary?”
Again with Sanctuary. He really needed to find out about that place.
“No, ma’am.”
“I should know better than to assume,” she said with a smile, “although you do look like you could be one of Matt’s boys. Welcome.”
“Thank you.”
He expected her to ask more, but she didn’t. Jaxson made his selections and handed her the paper. She scanned it and nodded approvingly.
“Good choices, although honestly, you can’t go wrong. It’s all good. Please, have a seat. Shouldn’t be long, but we do make everything fresh to order, so it’ll be a minute.”
She led him to a small waiting area just to the side of the entrance. He sank down onto the padded bench seat, his back and hips grateful for the temporary reprieve.
The place was nice. Warm and inviting. On the casual side of fancy, probably the closest thing to fine dining most of the people in this town would ever see. Definitely nicer than anything in Campbell’s Junction.
A server approached him. Young. Dark hair with dyed tips. Heavily lined eyes and a perpetual smirk on ruby-red lips. She had man-eater written all over her. And quite possibly jailbait.
“Hello there, handsome. I’m Marietta, and it will be my pleasure to serve you tonight.”
He almost snorted. Subtlety clearly wasn’t in her wheelhouse. “Just waiting for takeout.”
“Anything I can get for you while you’re waiting?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He hoped that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t.
She cocked a hip and looked him up and down. “You’re new here. I haven’t seen you before. I definitely would have remembered you.”
When he didn’t respond, she continued with, “How long are you in town for?”
Until he found what he was looking for or exhausted the possibilities. “Not sure yet.”
“I could show you around. Not that there’s a lot to see, but there are a few things you might like,” she said suggestively.
Not a chance in hell. She was too young. Too eager.
He met her eyes, hoping she’d hear his message loud and clear. “Not interested.”
Her eyes flashed. “You sure?”