13. Zoe

The smellof old books and wood filled my nose as I strode inside of the local library that I had been in more times than I could count.

My mom took me here in the summer when school was out, letting me pick out a book to read every two weeks. The library seemed so fun and wondrous back then.

Now, a quiet, still atmosphere lingered around me as the few people who were inside either worked here or were students studying at the long, wooden tables in the back. Rows of bookshelves stretched across the whole room in front of me, making me pause.

Where did I even start?

I wandered up and down the aisles until I found myself on the right side of the library where there were a few desktop computers. From what I saw looking in the aisles, there weren’t any physical newspapers to look at, so they must’ve been stored in a digital archive. It was worth a shot to look.

I took a seat and searched the library’s website until I saw a link to the newspaper archive. Bingo. I clicked and was greeted with a search box, prompting me to type in the word ‘arson’ first to see what it brought up. After a few moments of loading, links to scanned newspapers started popping up on the page.

Just from scanning the dates, it didn’t take me long to notice that there were clusters this year and from four years ago. I clicked on a newspaper article from four years ago, leaning closer to the computer screen to make out the slightly blurry, black text.

“Another arson attack destroys a local bakery,” I quietly read to myself. “This is the fifth arson attack to happen in a month’s span. The arsonist remains unknown, and citizens are worried that the attacks won’t cease for a long time.”

All of this happened four years ago. It sounded exactly like what was happening now. Suspicious.

It had to be the same people, right? How many serial arsonists lived in this town? According to the articles four years ago, the attacks were the same style as the ones happening now. Barely any clues. No suspects seen in the area. Businesses and houses set on fire with no clear motive.

Carbon copy crimes.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I took some time to look over more articles and take down notes, trying to seek out any possible clues, but they were just as clueless back then as they were now. Why would this arsonist come back four years later and commit the same crimes? What was the purpose?

I didn’t have any answers to my questions. Honestly, I had more questions now than I did when I first walked into the library a few hours ago. A defeated sigh drifted from me as I wrapped up and headed toward the front, only to almost run into an elderly librarian.

“Oh, sorry,” I said as I stopped in place.

The old woman placed her hand on her heart.

“You scared me, dear,” she said with a laugh. She peered through her thin-framed glasses at me for a second before her eyes widened. “You look so familiar. You’re Zoe Collins, right? Ellen’s daughter?”

A surprised look crossed my face as I nodded.

“I am. How do you know my mom?” I asked her.

“I’m Ann, one of your mom’s old friends,” she introduced herself with a warm smile. “Your mom came here all the time! She’d bring me coffee in the morning, and we’d just get to chatting.”

I couldn’t help but smile. That sounded like my mom. She always went out of her way to do nice things for other people, and she was always down for a good, long chat.

“It makes sense that she’d come here a lot. What better place to research criminal behavior than a library?” I replied as I glanced around, wondering why aisles she frequented the most. The psychology section? The criminal justice section? I could picture her holding a stack of books in her arms as she moved from aisle to aisle.

Ann laughed a little and nodded.

“She sure did love this place. I loved seeing her come in,” she said before reaching out to pat my arm. “She’d be so happy to see you here. You’re just like her in so many ways. So smart and so motivated.”

I gave her a grateful look. That was a compliment that I would gladly accept any day because my mom was a wonderful person through and through. Smart and kind and patient. I felt like I fell short in a lot of ways, though.

“I was just reading up on all the arson cases this town has dealt with throughout the years,” I explained.

An intrigued expression filled her face.

“Oh, really? Your mom did the same thing. She’d come in here and read about the fires,” Ann told me.

“Really?” I asked, my heartbeat quickening.

My mom had studied the same thing? Then again, she was interested in criminal behavior. This was the most criminal activity that this town had ever seen.

Ann nodded.

“I mean, you know your mom. She loved all that crime stuff,” she laughed softly, not knowing just how important her words were.

“Of course. But from what I remember, she focused mostly on drug-related crimes or murders. Cases that were complex or personal,” I explained. “Fires are so… impersonal. Almost sloppy. At least, that’s how they come off.”

Ann hummed under her breath.

“Well, that’s an interesting way to think about it. I just remember her taking a special interest in arson cases and arsonists at a time,” she responded.

At a time. I felt like I already knew the answer, but I wanted confirmation.

“Would you say that time was about four years ago?” I inquired, my heartbeat maintaining a rapid pace.

Ann thought for a few seconds before nodding. Her face then softened.

“I do remember it being close to the time she passed away,” she admitted. “I figured it was a new research project of hers.”

“Why would you say that? Did she make copies of documents here or say something about doing a project?” I questioned her. “Are you sure it wasn’t just standard browsing?”

“Oh, no. This wasn’t scratching an itch of curiosity,” Ann assured me. “She would spend hours looking through newspaper archives about arson cases. She pulled every biography or article about arsonists that she could and made copies for reference. It was like a research project.”

My mom never half-assed anything that she was passionate about. I remembered her repainting my bedroom wall three times because we couldn’t get the right shade of violet blue that I wanted. She brought that same energy to her work, so something really caught her eye to make her focus on arsonists instead of her usual drug lords or murderers.

“I believe that the fires happening now and the fires that happened four years ago are connected. It may be the same person,” I told her. “Did my mom say anything about a possible suspect or about having a theory?”

“She mentioned finding proof, but she never told me the details,” Ann sighed, giving me an apologetic look. “She told me that about a week before she passed.”

A strong wave of grief crashed down on me. Damn it. She was so close, and I could only imagine how excited she was to get to the bottom of it all. But if she had proof, where was it? What did she find? So badly, I wished that I could ask her in person.

“I’ll have to look around. Thank you, Ann,” I told her, bidding her a polite but quick goodbye before hurrying out of the library.

I breathed in a deep breath of fresh air, steadying myself as my mind swirled with questions and possibilities. I knew that this case was complicated and personal, but I never realized how deep this went. There was so much that I didn’t know.

But evidently, my mom knew a lot more than I did. I just had to find out what.