“At what?” she asked.
“It’s been a week since I started working here,” he said. “Today. That means today’s my last chance to—well to... ah... prove that I’m good enough at this job.”
“You’ve already proved that,” she said kindly.
“But my dad—” he stopped abruptly again. “Nevermind. I can’t really talk about it. It would just mean a lot to me to be on the register today, if that’s alright.”
“Fine by me,” Bridget said. She glanced at the clock on her desktop. It was almost noon. Sara was scheduled to arrive with the cameraman at 1:00. “I’ll ask Christine to let you take the reins. She can help out with iced drinks today. I think there’s going to be a lot of them, since it’s so nice and sunny out. I’ll talk to her on my way out.”
She stood and grabbed her purse.
“Where are you going?” Sebastian asked.
“To the library,” she responded. She felt more excited and hopeful than she had all week. “This might finally be it, Sebastian. Maybe the library holds the piece of the puzzle that will make all the information we’ve gathered finally fit together.”
“I hope so,” he said. “Today holds a lot of potential, doesn’t it?” He sounded slightly distracted, and she wondered if he was thinking about his father again.
She didn’t want to press him, so she simply nodded. “It really does,” she said.
He held the door open for her. “After you,” he said.
Bridget led the way out into the café area and spoke briefly to Christine, who was more than happy to hand over the register duties for the afternoon.
Bridget promised her staff that she’d be back within the hour. The walk to the library was too short. It was the first truly warm day that she’d experienced since winter arrived. She found that she didn’t even need her light jacket. She took it off and draped it over her arm.
Shirtless teens played frisbee in the park, women jogged in shorts and tees, and even the dogs on leashes seemed to wag their tails with a little more gusto as they relished in the sunbeams.
Bridget wished that she could enjoy the spring weather instead of trying to prevent the ruin of her father’s career. When she ducked into the public library, the spring sunshine disappeared and cool, stale air washed over her. The space was so silent that she could hear one patron turning the pages of a newspaper, all the way at the other end of the building. Tall shelves of books were interspersed with tables and clusters of chairs for readers to relax in. Most chairs were empty, thanks to the brilliant spring day.
Bridget approached the front desk.
As she did, she pulled out the printed copy of the email her father had received.
The librarian, a petite woman with white hair and silver spectacles, watched her approach. Bridget recognized the woman - she often came into Glitter Cup, but she didn’t know her name.
“Hi,” Bridget said as she placed the printout down on the countertop. “My dad received an email that was sent from one of the library computers this past Tuesday at around one. We’re trying to figure out who sent the email. Do you keep records of your sign-in sheets?”
The librarian’s skeptical look increased. “We do,” she said. “But I’m not sure I’m allowed to show them to you. I’ll have to ask my supervisor.”
“Sure,” said Bridget. “I’ll wait.”
The woman frowned. “She’s not in today,” she said. “She’ll be back tomorrow. Why don’t you come back then?”
Bridget shook her head. “Tomorrow won’t work,” she said. “I really need to know today.”
She didn't want to divulge too many details, but she was feeling desperate. “My dad’s being blackmailed,” she said. “And the blackmailer used a computer here, in this library. Please help me out.”
This only seemed to put the librarian more on edge. “Sounds like a matter for the police to look into,” she said. “Have you contacted them?”
Bridget tried not to sound too frustrated as she replied. “We did that,” she said. “But they’re being a little bit slow on the uptake. I’d really love to look at that sign-in sheet... if that’s okay?” She scanned the top of the desk for the clipboard that patrons were supposed to use to sign in for computer time.
“There it is!” she said. “I’ll just take a quick peek...” She moved over to the clipboard and began leafing through the pages. She saw today’s sign in—there were only two names on it. But beneath that, there were only blank pages.
“We toss the pages once they’re filled in,” the librarian explained. “I just cleaned that out this morning.”
“Could I see the old pages?” Bridget asked. She sensed that the librarian was going to say no. Before she could, she said, “You come into the Glitter Cup café sometimes, don’t you? I’m Bridget. I’m the manager of the café there.”
“Oh! That’s right! You do look familiar...”
“You get the green tea latte, don’t you?” Bridget asked, glad that it came to her at the last minute.
The woman nodded. “I’m Mary,” she said, extending her hand.
As they shook hands, Mary said, “Say, I think I’ve seen you in there with your father, actually. He has white hair—quite long,” she motioned around the top of her head, indicating the areas where Danny’s hair stuck straight out.
Bridget laughed. “Yep, that’s my dad!” she said. “The one with the crazy messy hair.”
Now Mary laughed as well. “You know, I saw him give a lecture once over at Dayton City College. It was about the chemical properties of plastic. It was quite good, really.”
“You’re interested in science?” Bridget asked.
Mary gave a shy smile. “Very,” she said bashfully. “I would have gone into the field myself, but that wasn’t done back in my day. I became an elementary school teacher instead, and when I retired, I started part time here at the library. But science has always been my one and only love.”
Bridget glanced at Mary’s hands, and saw that she was single. It seemed science was really her one and only love. If that was the case, maybe she had room in her life for a second love—an absent minded scientist, who would soon be either without a lab or bicycle, and in significant debt, or a millionaire—only time would tell which.
“You know what?” Mary said. “I think I could rifle through the recycle bin and come up with those sign-in sheets. Just give me one moment.”
She disappeared into the back room, and Bridget waited for her return with excitement. With any luck, the name on the sheet would be one she recognized, like perhaps Timmy Kendrick. It had even crossed her mind that Jeremiah might be the email sender. Maybe he partnered up with Adrienne to commit the crime.
Bridget held her breath as Mary approached with a paper in her hands.
“We’re pretty strict about our time limits,” Mary said. “Each user is allowed one hour at the most. I wasn’t working on Tuesday, but I’m sure the librarian on duty would stick to those parameters—if that helps.” She set it down on the desk, and Bridget let her eyes slide down the page. There were only five names on Tuesday’s sign-in page. It seemed not many people had used computers that day.