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woman.
    Again, the redhead shook her head, her green eyes widening as she did. “Not a clue. But I’m guessing—hey! Watch where you’re going, mister.”
    Carter Johnson, the owner of Johnson’s Diner, shoved his way between the two of them, his lips making an angry slash mark across his face as he balled up his newspaper and threw it into a nearby trash receptacle.
    “Do you think it’s really true, Papa? Do you really think everybody’s been lying?”
    “I most certainly do not. That kind of talk is rubbish, nothin’ but pride-stompin’ rubbish.” The man, seemingly oblivious to the fact he’d nearly knocked the redhead to the ground, grabbed hold of his grandson’s upper arm and fairly dragged him across the grass. “I have half a mind to come back here with a match and set those papers on fire. And while I’m at it, maybe my rifle wouldn’t be such a bad idea either.”
    If the boy responded, Tori didn’t hear, as the pair moved so quickly through the crowd they disappeared before her eyes.
    “Wow. Ain’t he ill as a hornet,” the woman said with disgust before waving the man’s actions off. “Eh, don’t pay him no mind, he’s just bein’ rude is all.”
    Without waiting for an answer, the woman stepped forward just as an additional worker sat down at the table and beckoned them to form the start of a new line. Mechanically, Tori followed along, her thoughts a few steps behind. Carter Johnson wasn’t a rude man. A little loud at times, yes. A little bit of a know-it-all at times, yes. But rude, no.
    And certainly not violent . . .
    “One copy or two?”
    “Huh, what?”
    With a bored roll of his eyes, the teenager behind the counter repeated his question, this time pointing to the stack of newspapers sitting on the table beside him. “One copy or two?”
    “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Forcing her attention back to the task at hand, Tori reached into her purse and pulled out two singles. “One copy is fine, thanks.”
    The worker dropped two quarters, a dime, and a nickel onto a paper and slid it across the table at her. “Page three.”
    “Excuse me?”
    Again he rolled his eyes, this time adding a smirk for the benefit of the young girl sitting beside him manning the other line. “Page three. The story is on page three.”
    “What story?”
    “Page three,” he repeated before turning his attention to the person behind Tori. “One copy or two, sir?”
    Stepping to the side, Tori glanced in the direction of the group of men she’d seen earlier, their mouths now distorted in rage as they, too, balled up their paper and disappeared into the crowd, leaving nothing but a trail of mumbled threats in their wake.
    “What on earth . . .”
    “Is everything okay, Victoria?”
    Startled, Tori looked up, her mind racing to put a name to the rounded face in front of her.
    Ella . . . Ella something . . .
    “Everything is fine.” Her mind continued to cycle through names as she tried to buy herself some time. “I guess I was just lost in my own little world.”
    The woman reached out, touched her forearm with long slender fingers. “I do that sometimes, too. Mostly when I’m reading though.”
    Reading?
    “I wanted to thank you for setting aside those books for me the other day. I’m not normally quite so lazy.”
    Setting aside books . . .
    “I’d fallen behind on feeding my bunnies and wasn’t sure I’d have time to locate all of the books on my own before you closed for the evening.”
    Bunnies . . .
    As her identity came into focus, Tori placed her free hand over the woman’s and gave it a gentle pat. “It was absolutely no problem, Miss Vetter. That’s what we’re there for. I’m only sorry I didn’t have more time to chat when you stopped by to pick them up. I was giving a tour of the new children’s room to a reporter from a national library publication.”
    Ella May Vetter clapped her hands together. “A national publication? How wonderful.”
    “It really is,” Tori agreed,