Page 56 of All the Missing Pieces

He chuckled. “Well, if you’re done reliving those, the library’s this way.”

I followed him down the hall toward two doors that were propped open. In my research on the town, I’d found that while the population within city limits was small, their school system served a much larger population. So it wasn’t surprising that the library was impressive.

From the entryway, I could see rows and rows of shelves along with corridors that I assumed led to even more books. “Whoa,” I muttered.

“Yeah, it’s pretty massive,” Dean agreed.

“Mr. Mather,” a voice greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence during your summer break?”

I glanced at the woman, who looked to be in her midfifties. She was dressed on the formal side, wearing a linen skirt and a white blouse with a decorative necklace.

“Hey, Ms. Perkins. I’m here to check out some yearbooks.”

The librarian’s gaze cut to me. “And you are?”

I extended a hand. “Ridley Sawyer.”

Her eyes flared. “The podcaster?”

I nodded and waited. I couldn’t read her feelings about me in that initial greeting, but she didn’t make me wait long.

Her face broke out into a big smile. “I love your show. I listen every week.”

Relief swept through me. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Let me know how I can help. Dean knows where the yearbooks are, but you might also take a peek at the school papers from back then if you’re looking for background. They aren’t available to the public.”

That relief transformed into a bubble of excitement. “That would be great. Were you the librarian then?”

Ms. Perkins nodded, her excitement fading. “A horrible time. Emerson was such a hard worker. National Honor Society, varsity tennis even when she was a freshman, but more than that, she was incredibly kind.”

I could feel the sorrow in her words. “Would you be willing to sit down for an interview later this week?”

The librarian’s jaw went slack. “Me?”

I nodded. “It’s helpful to get to know the victim through the people who saw her day in and day out. Get a feel for Shady Cove at that time.”

“I don’t know,” Ms. Perkins began.

“Run it by Emerson if you’d like. She’s been supportive of the coverage so far.” I just hoped that continued.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks. Here’s my card so you can get in touch and let me know.” I fished a business card out of my pocket and handed it to her.

Ms. Perkins just stared down at it for a long moment. “I hope you find the bastard.”

“Me too,” I whispered, leaving Ms. Perkins to her memories.

“They’re over here,” Dean said, leading me to a shelving unit in the corner.

“Thanks. I think we want the years Emerson was enrolled and then maybe two on either side.” I crouched, scanning the years on the spines.Bingo.I grabbed the yearbook from exactly ten years ago.

That buzz of possibility was back. I didn’t want to wait to get to a table or my van. I opened it right there, flipping through the pages. There was the usual fare, class pictures and individual portraits, team shots and clubs. Emerson’s face shone up at me what felt like every few pages, she was so involved. Sophomore class government, tennis team, student council, school paper.

Then I reached the events section. The two-page spread on Community Service Day had Emerson grinning at the camera while wearing one of those horrid neon vests and holding a trash bag. There was so much life in her expression, so much openness and trust.

I flipped the page and found another too-common staple of a high school yearbook.In Loving Memory of Jason Kipp. There were a few candids and a shot of him playing baseball.

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