“Don’t worry. We’ve been slammed with no end in sight, so Max gave me an hour off.”
“And this was the first place you thought to come?” she asked with a chuckle.
“I’m behind on my research.” And I wasn’t going to make much progress today…then again, I could look for some older deaths in articles predating the internet. “Do you have older copies of the Ewing Chronicle on microfilm?”
“Sure do, but it’s spotty,” she said, heaving herself out of her chair. “A few years ago, someone cleaned house while I was on vacation and threw out some of the records, but I’ll show you what we have.”
She led me to a machine in the corner that looked like it was straight out of the mid-twentieth century. “No one’s used this in quite some time. I hope the bulb still works.” Leaning over, she flipped a switch, and the fan turned on as well as a light bulb. “Success! Do you know how to use it?”
I nearly told her that I’d reviewed plenty of microfilm when I’d done a research paper on education in the fifties back in college, but that was Caroline Blakely, the woman I’d been for thirty-one years. Carly Moore had waitressed and worked in retail. So I simply nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then I’ll grab the film rolls out of the back. Is there any particular year that interests you?”
“How about beginning of the year before the online records kicked in?”
“Sounds good.” She beamed at me. “I love that you’re taking such an interest in Drum and Hensen County history.”
I smiled back, hating that I was deceiving her, but there was no way I could tell her I was trying to find evidence Bart Drummond was a murderer once removed. For all I knew, she would wholeheartedly support my endeavor—plenty of people had become disillusioned with Bart—but I needed to keep this quiet.
Carnita went to the back, and I took a seat and opened my sack lunch. Max let us eat whatever we wanted from the tavern kitchen, but most of it was high-calorie, fatty food, something I didn’t eat much of anymore. Hank’s diabetes had already cost him his leg, and in taking care of him, I had set out to change his diet, incorporating more fruits and vegetables and lean meat. Both of us had become accustomed to eating that way, although he’d never admit it.
Thankfully, Carnita was forgiving of me eating in the library, so I didn’t have to feel guilty when she walked up with a box. “Here you go. When you’re ready to leave, just put the box on the counter and I’ll take care of it.” She set the box down, then gave me a questioning look. “Do you think you’ll be using this one again?”
“I’ll let you know when I leave,” I said as I stabbed a forkful of salad in my glass container. “Thank you, Carnita.”
She rested a hand on my shoulder. “You let me know if you need anything else.”
I set my lunch aside, pulled out the first roll, and threaded the strip into the machine.
The microfilm was dark and sideways, and scanning it was slow going. I was on my second roll when a small article caught my eye on page seven. It was an update on the disappearance of a Drum Lumber employee, Richard Schmidt, who had left work three months prior and hadn’t been seen since. Bart Drummond had set up a five-thousand-dollar reward for information that helped the Hensen County Sheriff’s Department find him.
Pulling out my notebook and pen, I jotted down the pertinent information, including the fact that the article had been written in February, seventeen years ago. A quick glance at the clock told me I’d been gone an hour, so I put the film back in the box and headed back to the tavern, bidding Carnita goodbye and telling her I’d use the microfilm reader the next time I came in.
Ruth was waiting tables when I got back. Some of the men had left, but the ones who’d stayed were watching ESPN.
A young woman with long dark hair came in close to four. She glanced around the room before walking up to the bar to see Max.
“Oh. My Word,” Ruth said, sidling up to me. “That’s Molly McMurphy.”
“Should I know who she is?”
“I haven’t seen her for years,” she said with a frown as the woman sat on a stool and leaned forward. “But she is as flighty as they come, and it looks like Max is interviewing her for a job.”
A burst of excitement shot through me. If we found another full-time waitress, more of my time would be freed up. “You know we need the help.”
“But Molly McMurphy?” she asked in disgust.
“It could be Santa Claus for all I care,” I said. “As long as I can stop working doubles and get a day off. Hank has a doctor’s appointment in another week.”
She gave me a snide look. “You’ll be changin’ your tune when you think you’re gettin’ a day off and she doesn’t show up to work.” Leaning closer, she lifted her eyebrows. “Just like Lula.”
That sobered me. As much as I liked Lula as a semi-friend, she wasn’t the most reliable employee. Then, before I could stop and think about what I was asking, I said, “How do you know her?”
Ruth rolled her eyes and turned away.
Fair enough. She knew most people in this town.
Max spent about five minutes talking to her, then waved me over. He was grinning ear to ear when I reached him.
“Carly, this here is Molly McMurphy. She’s our new waitress, and thankfully for us, she’s startin’ tonight. Will you show her around, then get her a couple of work shirts?”
“Shouldn’t Ruth be doin’ that?” I asked, shooting a nervous glance over my shoulder.
“Nah. I want you to do it,” he said, but I heard the strain in his voice.
Ruth was watching us
