Nan scoffed. “Yeah, anything but resign apparently.”
She said it. Pretty much the only thing I knew about our case so far is that I didn’t much care for our client.
Why was he doing a publicity interview when he should be out searching for his missing dog?
It just didn’t make any sense.
Chapter Ten
After the discomfiting news interview concluded, Nan switched off the TV and sashayed into the foyer. Apparently we were going out—again. Yes, for the third time that day. This wouldn’t bother me so much if the temperature hadn’t now dipped south of zero. Brrr.
Paisley pranced after me as I joined Nan at the coat closet. “Where to now?” I groaned.
“To the library!” Nan declared, raising a finger in the air and pointing dramatically toward the ceiling.
I glanced up with a curious expression.
“No, not that library. The public one.” Nan looped a brightly colored, hand-knit scarf around her neck, then buttoned up her coat.
“Sorry, girl,” I told the eager Chihuahua at my feet. “You’re going to have to sit this one out.”
“What? Why?” she whined, tucking her tail to cover her privates. “I want to come, too, Mommy.”
“No pets at the library,” I said with an apologetic shrug. “Besides, it’ll be boring.”
“Says you,” Nan muttered, but luckily Paisley was far too focused on me to notice anything else.
“I’m staying here,” Octo-Cat announced a moment later.
“Good, because you’re not invited.”
“What? No. I want to come,” he protested.
Hmm. I’d have to try that reverse psychology trick on him later. For now, though, he honestly couldn’t accompany us.
“Sorry,” I said even though I didn’t really feel it. “Library rules.”
Turning to Nan, I mouthed, “go now.” We rushed out the door and into the car before either pet could join us.
“What are you hoping to find at GPL?” That’s Glendale Public Library, by the way. I’d always been a huge fan, which was why the library and I were on an acronym basis.
Nan shook her head. “Not me, you.”
“Okay.” I swallowed down my argument. “What am I hoping to find at GPL?”
“You’re going to search back issues of all the area papers to see what you can learn about the mayor’s past.” She checked her hair in the rear-view mirror, then applied a coat of light pink lipstick.
I resisted the urge to check my appearance, mostly because it didn’t much matter. “And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to dig around on those social media sites to see what I can learn about his private life in recent years,” my grandmother explained with a grin. Of course, she’d keep the more interesting task for herself.
“Remember,” she said after parking outside the squat brick building. We were one of only a handful of cars that had braved the elements to visit the library today. One of them—an old van—looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Hmm?” I asked, drawing my eyes back toward Nan.
“Remember,” she repeated with a sigh. “Same three columns. People, places, events. Jot down anything that sticks out, and we’ll reassemble our brainstorm board once we’re back home.”
“Got it,” I said with a quick nod of affirmation.
None of our cases had ever brought us here before, but then again none of our other victims had such a public record as Mayor Mark Dennison.
Even though we’d once investigated the murder of a senator, the circumstances had been totally different. Clues had thrown themselves at us left and right then; we’d never really had the chance to step back and research the history.
Today, Nan made a beeline for the computer bank as soon as we passed through the double glass doors. Since I didn’t know quite where to begin with my task, I approached the librarian scanning in books at the main desk. She was young, probably new, given the fact I’d never come across her before—at the library or otherwise.
“Hi there. How can I help you?” she asked with a tight nod.
“I’m looking for back issues of the Blueberry Bay newspapers. Do you have, um, microfiche, I guess?”
Her eyes widened as she took me in a bit more fully. “How far back are you looking to go?”
That was a good question. How far back did I need to go to uncover the mayor’s political skeletons? Probably not too far, given his relatively young age.
“How about five years?” I decided at last.
The librarian chuckled as she stepped around the desk and motioned for me to follow her. “You don’t need microfiche for that. Everything’s digitized these days. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the archives.”
She delivered me to the same bank of computers where Nan already sat deep in her research and clicked on an unfamiliar looking icon at the bottom of the screen.
“There,” she declared. “This is the homepage for our digital collections. We don’t have a lot compared to the fancy big city libraries like Portland or Bangor, but for such a small town, we have a rather impressive collection.”
“Thank you,” I said, scanning the list of periodicals on the site while the librarian hovered over my shoulder. I’d done some archival research during my college days, but on far broader topics. I’d never looked for something so specific or for something I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to find.
The young librarian patted my shoulder and smiled again. “I’ll just be at the desk. Give me a whisper if you need anything.” With that, she walked away, chuckling to herself.
I scanned headlines starting with this week’s and slowly working back through time. Like the mayor had said, most people who opposed him did so because of his relative lack of experience coupled with his status as a proud bachelor and his narrow win in the election.
I found several letters to the editor that complained about precisely these facts. By noting the names of the letter writers when available and the dates on which the letters were published, I was able to compile quite the list to share during our next group brainstorm.
“Find anything juicy?” Nan asked from across the way using a hushed tone.
I glanced up to find her peering between two of the computers to watch me. “Not much,” I admitted.
“Well, then hurry. Come over here. You’ll never believe what I just found.”
Chapter Eleven
I turned off the monitor on my computer and walked the long way around the computer bank, bringing myself to hover over Nan’s seated form.
She had several different browser windows open; the topmost was Mark Dennison’s personal Facebook profile.
“How long have you two been friends?” I asked in surprise.
“Since about twenty minutes ago,” she replied with a distracted smile as she pointed to a status toward the bottom of the feed.
I had to hand it to her, she worked fast and effectively.
“Look right here,” Nan continued. “This post is from several years back and about six months before the mayor adopted Marco.”
I read over her shoulder:
Should we really elect this candidate just because his wife came down with cancer? Sure, it’s sad, but it doesn’t change his politics. Vote with logic. Not sympathy.
“What a charmer,” I remarked.
“You said it.” Nan scrolled back up toward the top of the page. “There are a few other posts commenting on current events in a similar manner, and then—boom!—puppy Marco shows up and takes over his feed.”
I blinked hard. “So what do you think that means for our current case?” I asked, not wanting to connect the dots even as they were laid right out before me.
“Well, if you were really unpopular, what would you do to try to boost your own support?” Nan asked with a soft chuckle. “I, of course, can’t answer that question, having always been well liked in my day.”
I rolled my eyes. Sometimes Nan sounded too much like Octo-Cat for my liking. “Anything else?”