A young woman saw me waiting at the help desk and waved.
She looked like she was in her twenties, though age was difficult for me to gauge since my return to the human fold. Jeans, a T-shirt, a beautiful porcelain complexion, and an open, friendly expression made this particular librarian unlike any I’d seen when I’d been human the first time around.
Then I landed on a reasonable explanation. “Are you a volunteer here?”
She grinned. “I’m a librarian.”
Ah. Somewhat awkward. I flashed her an apologetic and slightly embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” she said, her cheerful demeanor intact. “How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for information about a death that occurred in the mid-to-late seventies. I have a first name and an address, but that’s it.”
“Did you start your research online?” She motioned for me to step to the side of the help desk, where her computer was located.
And I was, once again, revealed to be an archaic outsider.
“I’m not very comfortable with computers.” I gave her an embarrassed, apologetic smile. “I came here first.”
Her grin reappeared, so I’d either salvaged a little charm from the old days or she was that glad to have the library be a first port of call. Since the parking lot had contained a total of three cars, I suspected the latter.
“If there’s information available, I can certainly help you find it.” She held out her hand. “I’m Avery.”
First names on initial introduction—yet another sign of the changing times. I grasped her hand. “Geoff. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Avery pulled a pad of paper closer and picked up a pen, her demeanor becoming businesslike. “Let’s see what we can find.”
After jotting down what little I knew—first name, age at death, home address, and suspected cause of death—she sat down in front of her computer and pulled up a newspaper clearinghouse. “It contains articles and citations, so with a little luck . . .” Her voice drifted away as her attention was consumed by the screen.
Several minutes later, Avery had a potential name. “Genevieve isn’t that common of a first name in the obituaries, so I’m only finding a few in the Austin area, and only one who died at age twenty-four. Genevieve Weber. Cause of death isn’t listed, but it wouldn’t be in the case of suicide.”
“Are there any other details?”
Avery nodded. “Just a second, and I’ll print it out for you. If this is the person you’re looking for, there’s a second citation, but you’ll have to go to the Austin History Center to find it. That’s the local history division of the library,” she added when I gave her a blank look. “The local paper is archived there.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you.” I had visions of dusty stacks of newspapers, but that probably wasn’t how it worked at all. Another adventure for another day.
When she returned with the printout, I discovered the article had a picture—a picture of Ginny. I had a name: Genevieve Weber. Nothing I couldn’t get from Ginny herself, considering she didn’t suffer from Bobby’s Swiss-cheese brain, but she also wasn’t as predictably accommodating as Bobby. It was a good start: a name, an obit, and another article that would hopefully shed more light on her death.
Next on my list was a browse of the nonfiction section. I gave up on a computer book about two seconds after I started looking, realizing that perhaps a book wasn’t the best avenue to further my education. Better to ask my helpful librarian about that one.
That left the fiction section. I spent a pleasant hour losing myself in the rows and rows of stories. When I was done, I had two books and a much clearer head. I was once again ready to head to my house and face the ghosts, or not face them if they were lurking. Except my eye was drawn to the nonfiction section again—perhaps there was something here that could help my ghost problem.
I briefly considered asking, but Avery had been so helpful that I didn’t want to risk a bad impression. Requesting literature on possessions, hauntings, exorcisms, and hoodoo in general probably wouldn’t be viewed in the most positive of lights.
I turned away from the rows of books and all their potential to look for the helpful librarian. There might be something else she could help me with. I found her behind the help desk on the phone.
When she hung up, I said, “Perhaps you can recommend some computer classes? For someone who’s not quite up-to-date on the technology of today?”
“As long as you don’t stop dropping by the library, absolutely.” She grinned.
Was she flirting with me? No, every friendly woman wasn’t hitting on me, and it was indelicate to even suspect it.
“I don’t anticipate that will be a problem.” Especially since I’d experienced no ghostly disturbances. Not that they couldn’t be lurking—but I was clinging to this space as my haven, and I refused to let reality intrude.
She pulled a sheet out from a drawer and pointed to a list of classes. Most had something like “beginning” or “101” in the title. “Do you think any of these might be helpful?”
With a sigh, I said, “Yes, probably all of them.”
“Ah, I see.” After sorting through the options with me, she hesitantly recommended a class on how to use computers. “If you’re sure this won’t be too basic for you?” In a much lower voice, she said, “Our typical customer for this class is quite a bit older than you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Looks can be deceiving.” The inquisitive tilt of her head had me quickly adding, “But no, I don’t think it’s too basic. This class is perfect for me. How do I sign up?”
12
Tuesday mid-afternoon
“I can’t believe that you
