“Please,” she said.
“Sure,” he shot back as he ran into the stacks, “whatever.”
Hazard found the DVD he was looking for. He was halfway back to the circulation desk when he rerouted himself, grabbed a second DVD, and had to fight a grin. It was time for another lesson—a small one—in humility.
“Got it,” Jessica said, holding up a color printout of Somers. He was accepting an award from the FBI, a huge smile on his face. He looked perfect.
“Thank you,” Hazard said. “Can you call over to the high school? Maybe they can scan a picture, send it over, and we can print it.”
“That is well within the range of my capabilities.”
Hazard groaned. “Will you do it?”
“Please?”
“Sure,” Hazard said, “whatever.”
Grinning, Jessica placed the call. While she spoke, Hazard wandered over to the Wahredua Wildcats Wild Readers bulletin board. He didn’t often have the opportunity to indulge himself like this; most days, there were too many people around for him to stand and track his growth. He had been a skinny child and a skinnier teen; a lot of that had been the desperate unhappiness, and much had changed when he’d started eating properly and exercising regularly. Still, Hazard doubted that most people would connect the boy in the pictures to the man he was today. He moved chronologically backwards through the photos, watching himself shrink, watching the ebb of other faces in the group photos; only a handful of kids had done the program every year like Hazard.
And then he stopped. He leaned closer, inspecting the photo from the summer after third grade. He looked at the tousled blond head in the back row.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “He said childhood, not high school.” Then he raised his phone and snapped a picture of John-Henry Somerset at eight years old, proud member of the Wahredua Wildcat Wild Readers. He was standing two kids behind Hazard and one over. Hazard hadn’t even remembered Somers being in the picture, much less part of the club, but the proof was right there in front of him. He sent the picture.
That’s half, was Somers’s reply.
Hazard held up the DVD case and snapped another photo.
Haha, came Somers’s response.
What?
For real, please.
I am for real.
The bubble that showed Somers composing appeared, flicked out, and appeared again. Stop joking around.
I don’t see why I can’t like Thor: Ragnarok.
You don’t like any superhero movies. Or any action movies. Or any good movies. Besides, you’re supposed to be sending me a picture of your crush.
It’s got my big-boy crush: Chris Hemsworth.
More bubbles flickering in and out. Ok, you had your joke. Time’s running out.
I don’t see why I can’t like Chris Hemsworth. I obviously have a thing for blonds. And he’s got bigger arms than you. Maybe he could keep up with me on back and biceps day at the gym.
Nothing. Not even a bubble.
John?
Hazard let his phone time out.
From the circulation desk, Jessica called, “I’ve got the picture.”
“I don’t need it,” Hazard shouted back.
“It would have been nice to know that five minutes ago.”
Unlocking his phone, he typed another message to Somers. Next clue, please?
No.
Fine, it’s your game.
I’m going to eat all these quiches by myself. And these fudge bites. And all the other good things.
Maybe I want a fudge bite.
Chris Hemsworth can get you a fudge bite. And that’s not a sex thing, so don’t make a dumb joke.
Hazard had to bite the inside of his cheek.
Another message from Somers came through before Hazard could reply: And then you can go to the gym together.
This time, Hazard couldn’t help it; he grinned.
Let’s have the next clue, he messaged.
Nope. I gave you all the clues you need. You’re on your own.
Don’t be mad.
I’m not mad.
And then about fifty skull and knife and gun emojis came through.
V
APRIL 24
WEDNESDAY
8:44 AM
SOMERS DIDN’T ANSWER any messages after that. He didn’t answer any calls. Nothing. So Hazard walked over to the circulation desk and slid both DVDs across the counter.
“Check these out.”
“Please,” Jessica said.
“You keep saying that.”
Grinning, Jessica checked out the DVDs and passed them back. “You know, this is actually a job. I have real work to do besides help you and your fiancé play footsie.”
“Fine,” Hazard said. “Now help me figure this out.”
“Please.”
“Sure, whatever.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “We’re opening in fifteen minutes.”
“Help me figure this out, please, and I’ll help you do whatever you need to do.”
“God, no,” Jessica said. “You’d probably rearrange everything while my back was turned. Do you still have that crazy idea about revising the Dewey Decimal System?”
Hazard thought of the dream and said, “That’s ridiculous. Although, to be fair, everything needs to be updated once in a while. Are you going to help me or not?”
“Yeah, Dewey worked all right for the first hundred years, but now we’ve got a real library genius on our hands. We can finally iron out all the kinks.”
“This is why people don’t like librarians.”
“This is why librarians don’t like people.”
Hazard smiled in spite of himself and held out his phone. “John said he gave me all the clues. But all he did was make me take a stupid picture of a nursing home and then send me here.”
“Did you try googling how scavenger hunts are supposed to work?”
“I know how scavenger hunts work. I’m doing one right now.”
“Fine,” Jessica said with a sigh. “I’ll do it.”
She typed and clicked; Hazard sorted through the pens and threw away all the red and black ones.
“Those are my pens,” Jessica said, still looking at the screen.
“Technically, they’re the library’s pens.”
“They’re perfectly good pens. Get them out of the trash.”
“I’m doing you a favor. Adults write in blue ink, Jessica. Black ink doesn’t contrast with printed text. And red is garish; you’re not running a clown college.”
“I’m going to talk to the board about instituting a policy on lifelong bans.”
“Do you realize your pencils aren’t all sharpened to the same length?”
Jessica grabbed the container of pencils and put it behind her back. “Here,” she said. “A
