Read In the Dead of Night for Free Online Page B

that wanted to help her. But was his need to do so because of her pretty brown eyes and the way she wore those blue jeans? Or because he thought there was merit to her suspicions?

    Standing behind his desk, he watched her cross to the door. “Where are you going?” he asked.

    She looked at him over her shoulder. “To get something concrete and bring it back to you.”

    He wanted to say more, but for the life of him the words wouldn’t come. Only when she’d reached the door and gone through it did he realize what he wanted to say.

    “Watch your back,” he whispered.

     

    S ARA’S LEGS were still shaking when she yanked open the car door and slid behind the wheel. The words smeared on the rear window had been washed away by the rain, the same way her hope for help had been washed away by Nick’s words.

    …give me something a little bit more concrete to go on.

    His voice rang in her ears as she backed onto the street and put the car in gear. She wasn’t sure why she’d expected him to help her without question. He was a cop, after all. Cops tended to be cynical. Of course he would want something solid in order to reopen the case. Or did he have another reason for not wanting to help her?

    Trust no one….

    The anonymous caller’s words crept over her like a chill, and she reminded herself that someone in this quaint little town could very well be a killer. If he or she knew Sara was sniffing around and asking questions, they might want to get her out of the way.

    “It’s going to take a lot more than some juvenile threat,” she muttered.

    There was one more place to go for answers. A place where secrets and emotions played no role. The Cape Darkwood Library was located just off the traffic circle in a turn-of-the-century Greek revival house that had been donated to the town by Sir Leonard Darkwood upon his death in 1926. It was a place Sara had spent many a Sunday afternoon, reading with her mom and browsing the hundreds of books.

    The rain had stopped by the time she parked on the street beneath a massive elm tree and made her way up the sidewalk to the wide beveled-glass doors. Inside, the library smelled exactly as she remembered. Old paper. Lemon oil. Heated air from antique steam registers that hissed and pinged. All laced with a pleasant hint of book dust.

    Though her mission wasn’t the least bit enjoyable, the memories made Sara smile as she crossed to the information desk. A tiny woman wearing a maroon print dress looked at her over the tops of cat’s-eye glasses. “May I help you?”

    “I’m looking for archived newspaper stories.”

    The woman removed her glasses, her eyes narrowing. “Do you have a date in mind?”

    Sara hesitated, not wanting to get too specific or else risk starting the tongues wagging in town. “I’m not sure exactly.”

    “Everything before June 1, 1989 is on microfiche. Everything after that date is on disk.” She looked pleased with herself. “I’ve been working on computerizing our archives.”

    “This would be on microfiche,” Sara said, keeping her answer purposefully vague.

    “Microfiche is in the basement.” She rounded the desk. “I’ll show you.”

    Sara followed her across the marble floor, past the children’s books section to a wide stairway that led to a low-ceilinged room with red carpet. A smattering of desks, a row of narrow file cabinets and a microfiche machine filled the room.

    “We only have one machine left,” the librarian said. “Other one went kaput last year and we didn’t have budget dollars for another.”

    “This one will be fine. Thank you.”

    The woman smiled the way a not-so-kind grandmother would smile at a child from the wrong side of the tracks. “Dear, you look familiar. Are you from around here?”

    Sara had never been a good liar. But for the time being she didn’t want anyone to know she was back. She scrambled for an answer. “I’m from L.A., actually, and researching an article for my