Page 70 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder
“What about the library?”
“Do you even have a Dunsborough library card?”
Dylan is looking smug about something. “I thought we could talk to Laura.”
“Laura?” The name sounds familiar, but I don’t get there before Dylan fills me in, which I hate.
“My mum said she was a friend of GG’s, remember? I thought maybe she’d know something about…well, I’m not sure, exactly, but something relevant?”
“That’s not a terrible idea.”
“I know.”
“Have you ever heard of self-deprecation?”
“Of course not, I’m a moron.”
“I see what you did there.”
It doesn’t take long to find the library, where a woman withLaurapinned over one boob is handily right behind the desk.
Laura’s way younger than I expected, not GG’s age but late twenties, maaaaaybe thirties if she’s hard-core aboutusing SPF50. She’s too cool to work in a library, too, with a hi-top fade haircut and a nose ring worn where you’d put it on a bull.
“Excuse me?”
“How can I help?”
I wait for Dylan to step in but he just gives me ago onlook, like we’re kids again and Mum’s sent us to the shop to buy our own ice creams. (Dylan never wanted to be the one to pay.)
“My name’s Ruth. I know this is a strange question, but are you the Laura who knew my, uh, Gertie McCulloch?”
Laura’s smile goes on quite a journey, from polite to genuine and then (don’t ask me how her lips pull this off) melancholy.
“Ruth! Of course. Gertie told me about you. Poor Gertie. I’m so sorry for your family.” She looks expectantly at Dylan.
“I’m Dylan. I’m a family friend.”
“I like your T-shirt.”
“Yours too.”
That’s when I notice Laura is also wearing a Pokémon T-shirt. (Seriously,arePokémon cool or did Dylan just get lucky?)
“We heard that you were friendly with Gertie?” I say.
“That’s right. She used to come in here a bit. She was great.”
I avoid the temptation to ask what a cool librarian and a twice-widowed geriatric lady might find to chat about, but only just.
“We’re trying to find out anything we can about Gertie to understand, I guess, why someone could have killed her.She didn’t talk about many friends, so we thought maybe you might know something?”
I’m floundering like a two-year-old in the deep end. We should have rehearsed this.
Laura frowns, looking genuinely concerned. (Fair enough, too.) “You’re wondering ifIknow anything about Gertie’s death?”
“Not like that,” I say quickly, in case she thinks I’m accusing her of getting handsy with the typewriter. “I just mean, GG used to come in here a lot. Did she ever say anything about, uh, her health or her…family?”
“We talked about books, mostly. We were both into mystery novels.”
