September 3, Tuesday

THE BELL over Coleman's Grocery door jingled as I entered, basket of eggs in hand. Coleman's weathered face creased into a smile.

"Mornin', Josephine. Got some beauties for me today?"

I nodded, setting the basket on the counter. As he examined the eggs, I couldn't help but notice the tension in his shoulders. The whole town seemed on edge since the vandalism.

"It was nice of you to help with the graveyard cleanup," I offered. "Do you have loved ones in the cemetery?" More than once I'd thought about the scrying mirror I'd seen in his office that he'd called a family knickknack.

"Not really," he said lightly. "Just being neighborly."

I had no choice but to believe him.

After our transaction, I pocketed the cash and headed out. My next stop was the Irving Public Library. The stately brick building heralded a previous century and ivy crept up the walls as if nature was trying to reclaim the space. I pushed open the heavy wooden door, wincing at the loud creak. The musty scent of old books enveloped me as I stepped inside. Tilda Benson sat behind the circulation desk.

"Can I help you?" Her tone was frosty.

"Hi, Tilda. I was hoping you could point me towards some local genealogy resources. Specifically, for the Whisper and Benson families."

Tilda's lips pressed into a thin line. "Any particular reason for your interest?"

"Just trying to understand the history of the property I'm caring for," I said casually. "The Whispers and Bensons seem to have deep roots here."

"Deeper than anyone knows," she murmured. "Fine. Follow me."

She led me to a back corner of the library, where a rickety wooden ladder leaned against tall shelves packed with leather-bound volumes.

"Town records are up there," Tilda said, gesturing vaguely upward. "Birth certificates, death records, marriage licenses. Have at it."

As she turned to leave, I called out, "Actually, I was hoping for something a bit more... organized. Maybe a family tree?"

Tilda pivoted back. "No. We're not that organized, as you put it."

I shrugged. "No worries. It was just curiosity."

She angled her head. "You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat."

I was stunned into silence.

"You don't belong here," she said, "and you certainly don't belong with Sawyer."

I blinked, taken aback by the venom in her voice. "Sawyer and I are just friends."

Tilda scoffed. "Right. But believe me—the man will lead you to ruin. You'd do well to keep your distance."

Another patron entered the library, effectively ending our conversation. Tilda turned and strode back to the circulation desk, leaving me more confused than ever.