Bess smiled at her reflection in the glass. “What sort of information is in there? Do you know?”
“Historical stuff. I’m certain of that.”
“Brilliant. Probably things about the founding of the town, right? Say, do you know why they call this place Antioch?”
“Are you kidding? Where’s your head today? Why do they call anything anything? Why do they call Pittsburg Pittsburg?”
“It’s named after William Pitt.”
“You made that up.” Carol was exasperated. She hated trivia.
“I didn’t. Pittsburgh was named by General Forbes, in honor of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham.”
They arrived at a small diner named Aunties. Bess would order a burger and a Coke. Carol would get a grilled chicken salad—dressing on the side—then complain about how good the burger smelled and how fat she was getting. It was a routine, but damn it, sometimes routines were real nice. Sometimes they could be the absolute nicest.
They spent the first few minutes going over the weekly sales numbers. Carol would be pessimistic and it was Bess’s role to play the optimist.
“I made a bad buy with those fancy journals. They aren’t moving,” Carol said. She was holding a binder and checking off items as they discussed them, her left hand holding her light auburn curls out of her eyes.
“I don’t think it’s fair to call it a bad buy yet. We’ve only had those two months. Give it six, then we’ll see.”
“Has it really only been two months? It feels like longer. They’re not as cute as I wanted them to be. I think you’re the only person who’s bought one. And you get an employee discount.”
“I like journals. Other people will, too.” Bess bit into her burger and chewed slowly, thinking. “Carol?” she asked around a mouthful of half-chewed beef.
“Yeah?”
Bess swallowed hard and sipped her Coke. “Do you know about that missing girl? Amy Eckhardt?”
“Where’s this coming from?”
Bess shrugged.
“No, not really. I mean, I heard a girl was missing. But I didn’t know her.”
“Do you think she was kidnapped? You know, like the other women?”
“I have no idea. Can we drop this? I’d rather talk about the historical society.”
Bess had effectively ended the meeting then and there. The two of them finished their lunch and Carol paid the check, keeping the receipt carefully tucked into her wallet so she’d have it for tax season.
Once they were in the car, Carol turned to Bess, a stern look on her face. “I need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” Bess smiled, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not kidding. You’ve been in another world lately. More than usual. I depend on you, Bess. If you need some time off, let me know. You have plenty of vacation time. I don’t want you to burn out on me.”
“I promise I’m okay.” She buckled her seatbelt rather than make eye contact. “Hey, I might take you up on the vacation. But not right now. I’m sorry about being late. I’ll do better.” Bess smiled her brightest I’m-a-former-pageant-queen smile and hoped it was more convincing than it felt.
Carol didn’t look persuaded, but she did start the car and back out of her parking space, which was good enough for Bess. On the way home, Bess again noticed the historical society, a small stone building that had probably once been a residence. It brought to mind the word “cottage.” If any place in town would know the origins of Antioch, that was the place.
4
ONCE SHE WAS safely locked in her home, Bess thought over what she knew. She’d found some basic facts on St. Margaret of Antioch, but nothing that told her where to find Amy or even where to begin looking. And now she knew about the historical society. It had ‘historical’ in the name, but Bess would have sworn it was brand-new, a building where there had once been an empty lot popping up overnight to confuse her.
There was something she was missing. Something between St. Margaret of Antioch, the city of Antioch, Amy, and maybe even Amelia Earhart.
Checking her watch, it was nearing three, and she hoped the historical society would still be open. Bess quickly checked for a website but didn’t find one. A quick look in the bathroom mirror told her she looked good enough for the historians and their gift shop.
Bess peered out her living room window, scanning the yard for any unusual people or masks. Possibly saints. The sound of a car driving past made her heart beat faster and she opened the door only enough to slip out then relocked it behind her. She hustled to her car and locked the doors before getting the key in the ignition. The afternoon sunlight created shadow monsters where there usually were none.
There was plenty of street parking in front of the Historical Society. Bess scampered up the cobblestone walkway to the door just as a small elderly woman was coming out.
“Hey there!” Bess called. The woman whipped her head around, startled, and held up her hands as if to block Bess or ward off the devil. Maybe she thought it was one and the same.
“I’m closing,” the woman said in a voice that sounded like she thought Bess might be hard of hearing.
“Oh, that can’t be,” Bess replied, not sure what she meant.
“We are.” The woman was brash, lacking the practiced customer service tone those in business unconsciously developed with time.
“You’re kidding.”
The woman eyed her warily. “Why would I make a joke like that? Do you think I don’t know the time?”
“No, ma’am, I guess I’m the one who doesn’t. I don’t honestly know what time you close. I’ve never been here and was hoping you might still be here awhile.”
“A while?” the woman asked.
“Yeah.”
“What were you here after? The gift shop?”
“No, I was just needing to get some information about the town. Mostly how it began. How it got its name.”
There was a long silence as the woman regarded Bess with steady bright green eyes. “Are you from the news?” she finally asked. It wasn’t a strange question. Each time a new body was discovered in Antioch the 24-hour news stations would setup camp around town, looking for soundbites. Usually within a week they’d pack up and move to the next disaster, bringing fresh panic and fear to their audiences as an offering to appease the gods of news as entertainment.
“No, I’m no one,” Bess said, hating how honest the words sounded. “I’m just interested.”
“Not many young folk like yourself come around asking about such. And you’re not a detective? One of those plain clothes types?”
“No. Why would I be?”
The woman turned back to the door. “No reason you should be. Why don’t you come inside? It’s nicer in here.”
There was a small foyer inside, and the gift shop was to the right. Bess immediately noticed a tall fixture full of magnets. To the left was another small room decorated to look like an old-fashioned living room with large backed chairs and a small piano. A dark red velvet rope draped across its entryway gave it the resemblance of a museum. Farther back, the place was wide open and lined with bookshelves. A narrow staircase, adorned with another velvet rope, led up and out of sight.
The woman locked the door behind them and smiled at Bess before poking out a tiny but confident hand. “My name is Winnie Tate. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Bess Jackson.”
“Okay then, Bess Jackson, what can I do for you this evening?”
“Well, I hate to be a bother. I’m wondering about the founding of Antioch. More than just the year.”
“I think I can help you with that.” Winnie shuffled into the main room then veered toward one of the bookshelves to the left, although she didn’t actually pick up any of the books. Perhaps she liked the ambiance. “The current historical society had to do a lot of the research on its own. Antioch isn’t mentioned in academic histories of the area. Any book you find on the matter will be written directly by one of our members. Past or present.” Bess noticed the pride in Winnie’s voice.