Page 217 of Secrets Along the Shore
THIRTEEN
I watchedEvan drive away from the library, the red of his Jeep fading into the sweltering heat. I appreciated his willingness to help but was glad I kept him from seeing what I was seeking here.
The town library appeared to have been updated recently—glass sliding doors, a television monitor for a community board, and a fresh coat of paint on the walls—but the smell of old books couldn’t be masked. I figure most had been shelved since the 1950s—scents of old paper and sun-warmed carpet wafted around me.
I made my way to the reference desk, where a woman with silver hair and smart tortoiseshell glasses looked up from her screen.
“Can I help you?”
I signed as I spoke. “I’m looking for articles on the Bayberry Deaf School. The one that used to operate a few miles out of town. I want to find any from within the last thirty years.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Bayberry? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
“I used to attend,” I said. “I’m trying to trace some…classmates. Names, dates. Anything you have would help.”
The woman studied me for a moment, her gaze sharp, and I wondered if she recognized me. Then she stood and motioned for me to follow. “You’re not the first to ask,” she said over her shoulder.
That stopped me. “Who else?”
She paused, hand on the key to a locked door marked ARCHIVES. “Tall man. Mid-thirties. Wore a suit even though it was ninety degrees outside. Didn’t give a name.”
A chill ran the length of my arms. “How long ago?”
“Week and a half. Maybe two.”
She opened the door, and I stepped inside. The archive room was small, lined with metal cabinets and dusty shelves. There was a single table, a flickering overhead light, and a box fan in the corner. The woman turned it on for me.
“He asked for student rosters from the early 2000s. And anything we had on Headmaster Scanlon,” she said. “Didn’t find much, though. A lot of those records were never officially submitted to the town. But if you’re looking for newspaper articles, you might find more than he did.”
I nodded, pulse quickening. “I don’t need much. Just enough to trace names.”
She pulled a few file boxes from a back shelf and set them down with a soft grunt. “Start with these. They’re all on microfiche. Haven’t caught up to the digital world yet. Most days, it’s just me inside these walls, and it’s all Greek to me.”
I sat down at the machine and opened the first box to scan. Most of the files were administrative—permits, newsletters, old event posters—but eventually, I found something interesting.
An article about a female child being in a car accident where both parents were killed. The Bayberry School for the Deaf had taken in the child who had no living relatives. The year of the accident was the year I began at the school as well. The child would have been my age, but I didn’t recognize the name.
Katherine Nieves.
I stared at it. Something about it scraped at the inside of my skull. I changed to a roster of students at Bayberry that year. I scanned the lists twice but found no listing for the girl.
So what happened to her?
I turned the dial of the viewer, moving on to any other articles available. Lines of grainy text flashed across the screen, one headline at a time. Most of the town’s history was unremarkable—localelection results, holiday parades, bake sales. But then I found her name again.
Katherine Nieves.
DEAF SCHOOL STUDENT PRESUMED ABDUCTED
My breath caught. I leaned forward, the words swimming slightly as I read.
Six-year-old Katherine Nieves was reported missing from the Bayberry School for the Deaf late Tuesday evening. According to staff, the child was last seen in the courtyard just after dinner. A search of the grounds yielded no clues. Authorities have not ruled out the possibility of abduction.
School administrators stated Katherine had been brought to the facility earlier that summer after her parents were killed in a car accident. Katherine became Deaf after a severe illness resulted in permanent hearing loss. The school was her legal guardian.
Outrage has erupted across the county as details emerge about the school’s handling of Katherine’s care. Parents of other students have demanded greater oversight, and at least three families have withdrawn their children. “We were told this place was safe,” said one mother, Beatrice Mahoney. “Now a little girl is gone, and no one knows where she went.”
I kept reading, my eyes devouring each article, following the fallout. The town had turned inward on itself after the incident. Scanlon made one public appearance to speak to reporters, claiming Katherine had wandered off and that the school bore no responsibility for her disappearance. It didn’t stop the speculation. Or the rumors.
