Come what may.
The morning is far too cold for Georgia, but it’s late October, and the cold fronts have come early this year. I can see my breath as I step out of my car and grab my coffee and bags.
Locking my car, I look up at the library as I head in for the day, forgetting everything that’s going on and breathing a toucheasier. It’s my favorite place on earth—where all my troubles bleed away into the scented pages of historical tomes and romance novels.
Melody is already in, and so is Bill.
“How did the other night’s enrichment event go?” I ask them both, tossing my things down on my desk.
Letting my coffee warm my hands, I watch them both eye one another awkwardly.
“One of you has to tell me. Out with it.”
“One of the kids broke a table. We tried to fix it, but?—”
I smile, breaking into an easy laugh. “That’s all? Did it go alright other than that?”
Melody beams. “It went amazingly other than that.”
A broken table is the last thing on my list of worries. Honestly, it might be the first. I’d rather deal with ordering a new table than speaking to Allison about where I was last night or what she found out from the police department.
“I’ll handle the table. Just toss the old one. How are we doing on the discard list?” Every year, the library cleans house and removes books that haven’t been checked out, making room for new books to purchase.
The small store in front of the library, run solely by volunteers, makes us a bit of money on second-hand books, which we then put back into the library.
Some of the books always end up coming home with me, so my spare bedroom is filled to the brim with shelves.
“I have three more stacks to pull from, and then this round of discard is done.” Bill drops his clipboard on his desk and turns toward me. “You had a request for some help this morning. I would’ve taken it on for you, but I’m a bit swamped now, as you know.”
I try hard not to roll my eyes. “Yes, I do know. Who is it?”
“Local college kid. Needs help with research on a serial killer paper she’s doing for psychology.”
I can’t help but be amazed by the thrill that races through me at the prospect of busy work. “Send me her information.”
I rarely get asked for help on things like this, but it does happen.
“Already emailed.”
“Thanks, Bill. Do you know what serial killings she’s researching so that I can get a jump on it?”
“The Oakland Nightstalker,” he says, and I quirk my brow.
“Don’t think I’ve ever heard of that one.”
“How could you not have?” Melody asks. “He’s been all over the news recently. Ever since he reemerged.”
“He?” I eye her narrowly.
“Well, the FBI profilers think it’s a man due to the strength it would take to dismember bodies the way the Nightstalker does.”
My intrigue is hard to hide.
“What do you mean, reemerged?” I ask as I head to my desk to open my MacBook.
Melody sips her iced coffee before waving her hand through the air. “The killings stopped around ten years ago. It wasn’t until the last two years that they started again.”
The timelines jar me, and I swear my heart stops in my chest.
