Chapter 3

With a disgruntled sigh, Nero pushed the drawer to the card catalogue closed again. The placard with Last Update 1998 scrawled on it had been his first clue. He'd hoped to find articles written about the three teens who'd gone missing in the 1980s. One had been found— murdered—but the other two had never been seen again. The distinct scent of the thousands of aging paper author-title-subject cards inside the oak cabinet wafted upward. Ah, the scent of knowledge, Nero thought. How many people in Cooper Springs knew how to use the catalogue?

Nero found it aggravating that Cooper Springs Library wasn't fully on the internet; however, that would have made his research too easy. Too modern. The librarian had informed him it was a matter of pride to keep the card catalogue in these days of computer everything. But what Nero wanted wasn't there anyway—or had never been catalogued in the first place.

"Frankly, we've never been allocated the money for an update to a full electronic catalogue of our older holdings. Not a large enough library or population in the area. No one seems to mind. The school-aged children use their tablets and phones for everything these days."

R. Fernsby, Volunteer, made "these days" sound like their reality was a Blade Runner-style dystopian society.

"If they need something for a project, the Timberland cross-county system has OverDrive and some databases," he informed Nero.

OverDrive was just one of many programs that allowed people to check out electronic books with the right library card. "R. Fernsby" also made OverDrive sound like it was kin to Skynet or whatever those robots were attached to in RoboCop. Unfortunately, Nero had learned that the building housing the local newspaper had been torn down in the late 1990s. Sometimes progress sucked.

He'd been about to ask "R. Fernsby" what Cooper Springs Library's purpose was if it wasn't serving the needs of the citizens when several young children burst inside, chattering loudly about what each of them was going to pick out for story time. For the last thirty minutes, while he'd been fruitlessly searching the catalogue, Nero'd also been regaled with 1-2-3 Salish Sea, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and a rousing rendition of Are You My Mother.

Obviously, Cooper Springs Library did what all libraries did—provided a safe and fun space for people to read and learn. These little kids were the future of the small town, Nero knew that, but he wasn't interested in the future. Although he enjoyed other people's kids and a quality Eric Carle read-aloud, he was interested in the past right now.

And the past he was hunting didn't appear to be lurking inside the card catalogue.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Fernsby asked.

Fucking hell, he'd snuck up behind him. Nero about jumped out of his skin but managed not to curse out loud.

"Um, no," he said, turning around to face the older man. "I'm interested in articles and stories about the area from the 1970s and '80s. I know there used to be a newspaper out of Cooper Springs, but I'm not seeing anything listed in the catalogue."

"Oh, you should've said as much. This isn't the original library building," Fernsby explained. "After the Cooper family donated the building to the city, we were moved into the old Cooper Mansion for a while. But in the early '90s, the building had a major leak and we moved here. There are still some documents stored in the mansion's basement, and the catalogue associated with them is there as well. It's possible hard copies of the Sentinel are there. We just don't have the space here and as much as we argued for a larger building…" R. Fernsby shrugged. "It was a dark time in our history."

Nero was amused by Fernsby's attitude. Dark times was akin to the Dark Ages, he figured, when Krakatoa erupted and blocked out the sun for years and years. Crops failed, people starved. Europe plunged into chaos. In Cooper Springs, dark times meant the timber economy had been taken off life support and the town had nothing else. Hard times for everyone.

"Are they accessible? Can I get in there?"

He'd driven by the mansion a couple times, and it didn't seem to be in great shape. If they'd had a leak thirty years ago, what was it like inside there now?

Fernsby pursed his lips thoughtfully at the question. He thought the man—Nero's height and lean to the point of skinny—was somewhere around sixty. He even wore a cardigan a la Mr. Rogers, the ultimate in librarian fashion.

"Unfortunately, you need special permission and a library card. Due to the nature of the collection there and the building's historical importance to the town, we can't just let anyone inside. And to get a library card, you need a local address."

But then Fernsby seemed to come to a decision—maybe that Nero was morally worthy of a library card anyway? Nero had no idea. Brushing past him, Fernsby raised a hinged countertop that kept the hoi polloi from sneaking into Librarian Headquarters. From behind the counter, he plucked a paper from a cubbyhole and slid it across the counter so Nero could read it.

"However, the library always needs donations. Anyone who gives over this amount"—he tapped the paper with his index finger—"is issued a library card regardless of their home address."

Nero scanned the information listed on the library letterhead. Aside from a short history of the facility, there was a plea for money and several checkboxes. The highest listed amount, and the one that Fernsby indicated, was three hundred dollars. Nero looked back up, catching Fernsby's assessing gaze. The man knew he wouldn't back down.

"Of course, a person could always donate more," he said with the hint of a smile.

With a slow shake of his head, Nero reached for his wallet. Might as well put his severance pay toward something worthy.

Twenty minutes later, after filling out the form, he was four hundred dollars poorer—he'd actually had to grab his checkbook out of his car—and in possession of one provisional CSP library card with the promise that the permanent one would be sent to his address at Cooper Springs Resort, Cabin Five.

"Be sure to keep the receipt in a safe place. You can write off the donation," Fernsby reminded him.

Nero nodded, tucking the slim piece of paper into the pages of his battered and barely used checkbook. It was so out-of-date that the address printed on the checks was pre-Austin.

"You're the young man who's doing a story on the missing girls, aren't you? Kaylee Fernsby and the two other girls?"

"News travels fast. But, yes, I am."

"Kaylee was my cousin."

Nero was mildly embarrassed that he hadn't made the connection himself. It seemed everyone was related to everyone in this town one way or another; he supposed this shouldn't have come as a surprise to him.

Fernsby continued to pin Nero with his gaze for several long, uncomfortable moments. Nero automatically straightened his posture, as if that would somehow make him more trustworthy to this guardian to the portal of knowledge. He resisted running his fingers through his hair to flatten it. His hair had a mind of its own.

"What was Kaylee like?" Nero finally asked.

"I babysat her when she was a child. She was a typical teenager for the most part, testing her parents at every turn. My uncle, Bruce"—Fernsby eyed Nero again—"he had traditional ideas about how girls should be. Conservative ideas. Kaylee wanted to experience the world. She was smart, wanted to be an engineer Would have been good at it too."

"Did she have a boyfriend?"

Fernsby glanced down at the counter and back up at Nero. "I don't think she did, but by the time she was in high school, Kaylee didn't want to hang out with me much, even if I wasn't that much older."

Nero cocked his head, trying to figure out what Fernsby wanted to tell him. The tiny rainbow sticker on the corner of his name badge caught his eye again.

"Was Kaylee seeing someone not a boy?" Nero guessed.

Fernsby nodded. "I was the only one who knew. As far as I knew, the only one she ever told."

If Kaylee's conservative father had learned she was gay, would he have been angry enough to resort to violence?

"Do you think?—"

"No," Fernsby said emphatically. "I don't. Bruce was devastated, a changed man after Kaylee… was found. I suppose he could have been responsible, maybe in a rage. But he was her father."

Nero didn't point out that stranger abduction was very rare. More often than not, women were killed by male family members. Fernsby was probably fully aware of the statistics—he was a librarian, after all.

"Thank you for telling me. I'd like to talk to you again, learn more about Kaylee, so that when I do the show, I can present her three-dimensionally. That is, if you don't mind."

"I'm here two days a week, easy enough to track down." His tone returned to crisp and unemotional. The conversation about his cousin was over for the day.

* * *

"Ugh,"Nero said to the gray clouds.

The weather hadn't changed while Nero'd been inside the library. It was still drizzling heavily. He paused on the steps of the tiny wooden building that had once been someone's home and re-buttoned his peacoat, flipping up the collar so water didn't drip down his neck. The Cooper Mansion was one block down while The Steam Donkey, the town's pub, and a warm lunch were the other direction.

Obviously, he wouldn't be able to get inside the mansion yet, but curiosity tugged at him as it always did. Promising himself a warm meal afterward, he turned toward the historic building.

Wrought iron fencing that surrounded the structure was the first thing Nero noticed as he approached. Nero paused on the sidewalk and took in what had once been a magnificent building. Cooper Mansion was one of those Victorian/Edwardian mashups from the 1880s that looked like the architect hadn't wanted to commit to one style. During his travels, Nero had seen a handful of these spread across the Olympic Peninsula, all built by timber money. The mansion desperately needed a new roof and gutters and every windowpane in the front was cracked. Based on the general air of disrepair, he wasn't sure how anything stored in there was safe from the elements.

Disheartened, Nero decided not to move his truck from where it was parked and turned around on the sidewalk to head toward the pub.

He'd walked a block when he felt his cell phone vibrate in his jeans pocket. Most of the time, the thing served as an expensive paperweight in this town, to the extent that he didn't know why he carried it around with him. The stars and a satellite must have aligned perfectly today because a text from his mother had made its way through.

Mom: I've been thinking about you. I hope you're doing okay.

Nero drew air in through his nose and held it for a minute, along with a healthy dose of well-earned guilt. He should've stopped by for a visit when he sped along I-5 through Olympia on his way to Cooper Springs last month, but he hadn't told her he was coming back to Washington State. He also hadn't told her that he and Austin were finished.

Just another failure on his part.

His mom meant well, and he knew how much she loved him. Which was better than one would probably expect from, say, a devout Christian his mother's age. Nero had been anxious for days and unable to sleep when he'd decided to come out to her. Lili Vik had just smiled and hugged him tightly and then they'd gone and had espresso and croissants together at the French bakery. It was still a favorite memory.

But she didn't understand him.

Visiting with his mom would be stilted, peppered with questions that led to the same answers: Yes, he was still actively looking for Cousin Donny. Yes, he was aware Donny had been missing for over twenty years. And now he'd added Kaylee and the two missing teens to his list. And the missing girl from last fall, Blair Cruz. He re-pocketed his phone. He'd connect with her later. At some point.

Ten minutes later, thoroughly wet in a way that only drizzling rain could achieve and sporting the frizzy hair to go along with it, Nero stepped inside the Steam Donkey.

* * *

"Nero! Sit anywhere you like,"Magnus called from where he was standing near the taps.

Nero glanced around and almost immediately spotted Forrest Cooper.

He sighed inwardly. Cooper had taken an instant dislike to him, a problem only because Nero was determined to interview the man—along with many other long-time Cooper Springs residents. Plus, his last name was Cooper; chances were high that he was related to the town's founder, even more so than probably half the current denizens. Great for backstory. Hopefully, he'd wear him down.

With Nero's history of making unfortunate choices—Austin the Ex being merely his latest—it was probably a good thing Cooper regarded Nero as if he'd stepped in something particularly stinky. It was a small solace that the first time he and Cooper had crossed paths, he'd looked at Nero quite differently. There'd been heat to his gaze, hot enough to make Nero's dick sit up and take notice.

Nero may have usually made bad choices, but he knew when those bad choices were interested.

Today's glare was Extra-Frosty. Boo.

"Screw it," Nero muttered.

Sitting alone meant he couldn't involve himself in the conversation but sitting at the bar next to Cooper wasn't exactly a hardship. He'd just have to endure the cold shoulder.

Nero walked over to stand by the open spot. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, meeting Forrest's dark gaze in the mirror behind the taps and various bottles of liquor.

"Nope," the guy to Nero's left said. "Feel free to join us. I, at least, don't bite." Chuckling, the guy stuck his hand out. "Tim Dennis, pleased to meet you."

Nero had seen Tim around town with Xavier Stone but hadn't officially met him yet. Tim wasn't on Nero's list of people to talk to—unfortunately, Nero thought as he checked out Tim's infectious smile—since he was almost as new to Cooper Springs as Nero was.

"Nice to meet you. Nero Vik," Nero said, shaking the proffered hand.

"I've heard you're a podcaster. Is that right?" Tim asked while Nero made himself comfortable.

"And an ex-journalist." Nero smiled. "Good thing I wasn't keeping it a secret."

"Small town," Tim countered with a mischievous grin and eyebrow waggle.

Dammit, why couldn't Tim be on Nero's list? He was clearly open to conversation—and possibly more. Nero somehow recognized that Tim was trouble, but in a good way. The kind of person who might play harmless but funny practical jokes. Nero thought of one of his favorite words from childhood: rapscallion. It really was too bad Nero didn't have a reason to interview him.

"What can I get for you today?" Magnus asked, stepping over to where Nero sat.

Magnus Ferguson had been pleasant from the first time Nero stepped in the pub. But then, he was obviously a lifelong publican and very good at his chosen profession. He'd even encouraged Martin Purdy to rent the cabin to him, for which Nero was thankful. Car camping on the Pacific Coast in the winter was no picnic.

"I'll have a Tree Hugger, and"—he paused, considering his waistline—"the soup-and-salad combo, with the chef salad." Sitting in front of a computer most of the day was not the healthiest thing, but it happened in epic fashion when he was deep into a story.

"How'd you get into podcasting?" Tim asked as soon as Magnus stepped away again. "Is it a full-time gig for you?" Aside from roguish, Tim was also a curious guy. Why was Nero never interested in the easygoing guys? Why was it always the broody-moody ones? The ones who inevitably broke his heart.

Everybody always asked him that too; podcasting for a living was still something a bit unusual. Maybe he needed a t-shirt: Get Your Own Podcast sounded appealing. Much like every time he ended up at the Steam Donkey, Nero knew everyone within hearing distance was listening in. It was like repeatedly auditioning for a part in the school play, only he was less likely to throw up afterward.

"It is now. I was recently laid off from my other job, although there are those who claim journalism isn't a real job either. But podcasting's a natural move for me, so hopefully I can make it work." He grinned and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Gotta do something to pay for my gaming habit, after all."

Tim laughed at that. "As one does. You have a few shows under your belt already, I heard. How do you decide what cases you look at? I bet everyone asks you this."

"Yes, but it's a great question. There are so many, but I tend to gravitate toward the forgotten ones, the cold cases that got little attention from the very beginning."

Donny's case had gotten attention at first. But when Nero couldn't tell the police anything about kidnapper beyond that he wore a baseball cap and the van was white, they'd started to think he was covering up for Donny running away. Nobody would listen when the whole family kept saying that Donny was happy and had nothing to run away from, so the case had gone cold quickly.

"Like… there just wasn't evidence?" Tim asked.

"That or maybe no one believed the family when a person was reported missing. Or maybe the person wasn't reported because they'd left their family behind, so no one knew something bad happened."

"What you're saying is, it's complicated."

"Exactly that," Nero agreed, warming up to one of his favorite subjects—forensic science. "Identifying human remains is so much more complicated than measuring femurs or looking at hip bones like we see on TV. Dental records are helpful, but only if there is someone to provide them and a match is found." He paused to sip the beer Magnus set in front of him.

"Also, did you know that dentists aren't required to keep records the same way hospitals are? If a dentist stops practicing, their records can be and often are destroyed and lost forever. And if the person never had dental care, then there is nothing to go by."

"Yikes, I had no idea. And there are plenty of folks without dental insurance."

The fact that Tim was still listening to Nero nerd out about cold cases, DNA, and dental records was endearing. Once again, Nero was a bit sad that Tim wasn't on his radar for much of anything. He tried not to wonder if Forrest Cooper was listening as well.

"Right? For sure, dental records are a good place to start, but there is a significant percentage of people who remain unidentified purely because wrong assumptions are made—maybe from the very beginning of the case. Bones don't always tell the full story. Maybe they are misgendered. Maybe the victim was trans. Not every human falls within the bell curve."

Nero would argue that most humans didn't, that everyone was somehow unique. But that was probably more information than Tim wanted to hear right now.

"Wow, that's intense. I had no idea. MBA here, not a science degree." There was that grin again. "So, what brought you here to Cooper Springs in the first place? Pretend I haven't heard any of the rumors flying around."

As Tim had pointed out, Cooper Springs was a small town and the reason Nero was there wasn't a secret.

"I'm doing research for a show surrounding the two teens who went missing in the 1980s. Another girl disappeared too, but she was found later—not alive, unfortunately. Kaylee Fernsby, Morgan Blass, and Sarah Turner. I read that remains were recently discovered, and if any match the girls, maybe we can shed a little light on what happened to them. Just having a show and listeners talking about it online can help solve a case." Nero then added, "I was at the library just now hoping to look at old newspapers, but no dice. Turns out they're stored somewhere else. With any luck, I'll be able to access them soon."

"For fuck's sake, give the man a chance to drink his beer, Tim," Magnus said abruptly, as if he'd only just realized everyone in the bar was listening in. "I think your salad is ready." Swinging around, Magnus headed back into the kitchen.

Tim snickered. He clearly knew Magnus well enough and didn't take the scolding to heart. Nero appreciated Magnus running interference though—it wasn't something he was used to.

Forrest Cooper hadn't moved a muscle since Nero had started talking. But maybe now he'd understand that Nero meant no harm. Maybe, if Forrest would speak to him, Nero could tell him that one of the reasons he'd come to town was because he thought his cousin Donny might be up on that mountain. But he wasn't sharing that now. For one thing, the idea was far-fetched, and for another, Donny was his personal project. Donny had been his cousin but also his friend and Nero was protective of him, even if he'd now been a ghost longer than he'd been Nero's cousin.

Returning with the soup and salad, Magnus set it down in front of Nero with a thump, then grabbed a set of flatware from somewhere underneath the countertop.

"Here you go," the publican said before looking around again at the people lining the bar. "I'm not running a damn zoo here. Let the man eat his meal."

Nero's stomach rumbled. He picked up the fork and shoved a bite of lettuce in his mouth.

Was it bugging him that he and Cooper were sitting next to each other, but the man hadn't done more than growl his direction? Hadn't even bothered to acknowledge the message Nero'd left on his answering machine earlier in the week? Yes, it did. Nero accidentally caught Forrest's gaze in the mirror again and thought he saw that flash of heat. His dick thought so too.

Those mixed signals were killing him.

Nero wasn't exactly everyone's cup of tea. Flaky. Unwilling to commit. Elusive. Entirely too attached to his computer, always researching and recording Grave Secrets or gaming. Once again, Austin the Ex and his grumbling popped into his head. Maybe it was best to ignore the now familiar simmering spark of attraction that popped up whenever he was in Forrest's proximity. It wasn't as if he planned on staying in Cooper Springs forever.

"He says he's not running a zoo, and yet he lets the likes of us in here almost every day," the woman sitting on the other side of Tim said. She'd introduced herself to Nero as "the better half of the Critter and Mags team." Mags wore her usual forest service uniform, and her curly dark hair was tied back in a long, neat braid protecting it from the damp. Maybe he should try something like that too. "Speaking of zoos, have you all seen that Reptile Man is back?"

Rufus Ferguson, who must've been in the kitchen or just come inside, spoke up from near the end of the bar. "Reptile Man? I thought they were out of business. Didn't that Bernie guy finally die? Wasn't he strangled by one of his own boa constrictors? Fitting death, I say."

Speculation erupted around Nero as the other folks at the bar ignored him to discuss whether or not the business in question had gone bankrupt or been put out of business by Fish and Game for trafficking in endangered species. And whether Bernie was really dead or if he'd faked it by putting out the story of the boa constrictor.

"Nope," a man also wearing the forest service uniform insisted. Nero thought he was called Critter. "They got busted but paid the fine. And Bernie's definitely still alive."

"Critter, pull your head out. They'd never pay the fine," Magnus countered, confirming Nero's memory. "I bet they waited a while and just opened up again, hoping the state isn't paying any attention."

"I always thought that place was cool. I used to beg my dad to take me there when I was a kid," said a woman Nero didn't know. He'd seen her around a couple times though and thought he'd heard she was competing in the upcoming chainsaw festival. "I must have spent three or four birthdays petting crocodiles and holding snakes."

"Personally," Rufus interjected, "that place always gave me the creeps. I didn't like it back in the seventies when— what's his name?" He snapped his fingers. "Harry Dixon first opened it up. Harry was creepy and so were the animals he had caged up. And his creepy son owns it now?"

"Yeah, I think it's still in the family, Pops. And as far as I know, Harry Dixon is still alive and kicking," Magnus said. "I can't believe you took me there if you hated it so much."

"Maybe hate is a strong word. And anyway, you know I'm not a fan of snakes. They should be left alone, far away from human settlements. It was typical of him that Magnus was weirdly fascinated by them as a boy."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I brought a garter snake into the house?" Magnus said to everyone sitting near him.

Rufus groaned and shook his head but suffered listening to his son tell the story.

Magnus pointed a hand at his dad. "Here is a man who has spent the majority of his life outdoors hiking and camping in the wilderness with no backup. He's canoed in the Yukon Territory. Been held captive by a moose and later the same day had a badger charge him. Climbed glaciers and mountain peaks before we had satellite phones. We all know about the Bigfoot thing. And he is frightened of snakes."

"Snakes are creepy," Rufus insisted, dragging a stool around to sit at the opposite end of the bar from Nero. "And I'm sticking to it."

"So anyway," Magnus continued, "when I was around twelve, before Mom got sick, I found this sweet, innocent little garter snake in our front yard and brought it inside to show them." He threw his head back and guffawed loudly at the memory. "I am not kidding you guys, Pops shrieked and fainted dead away. We had to take him to the ER for stitches because he banged his head on the doorjamb. The snake slithered somewhere and disappeared. We never found it. I was devastated."

"Yes, and your mother never let me forget it, either. I ended up with three damn stitches." He glowered at his son. "And the incident did nothing to change my opinion on snakes."

Everyone was laughing, including Forrest Cooper. Even Rufus Ferguson, who was probably tired of having that story retold, started chuckling. Nero caught Forrest Cooper's reluctantly amused expression in the bar mirror. Smiling himself, Nero scooped up the last bite of salad and jammed it into his mouth. For the first time in ages, he felt like he belonged.

Cooper Springs was a town of weirdos, and he suspected he might fit in if he let himself.