library building, a circumstance Laurel had only ever seen in the movies), and they walked up the broad gray-white steps to another set of glass-and-bronze-gated doors.
The library was small, but had the feel almost of a college library: a main room with high molded ceilings and long, scarred old wood tables with built-in lamps running down the center. The aisles of books were off to both sides.
A gray-haired and elegant librarian obviously closing in on retirement, if not already past, looked up from the front counter as they walked in. “You must be the Duke people who called.”
“That obvious, huh?” Brendan grinned at her.
“Just a bit,” the librarian answered, wryly. “So you want the clip files on the Folger family.”
“We’d love to look at the town newspapers, too, if you have them. We’re interested in 1965 in particular.” Laurel said.
“Of course. Right this way.” The librarian escorted them to the glassed-in Reference and Periodicals room and pointed them to the shelves of bound volumes of old town newspapers. “In the mid-seventies we started putting the paper on microfilm. Before then—well, the Courier wasn’t really big enough back then, and there’s something about the feel of an old paper, isn’t there?”
Laurel smiled at her. The librarian indicated a row of shelves. “1900 through 1975 are in those shelves. I’ll go pull the clip files for you.”
Brendan grabbed the Courier book for 1965 and he and Laurel sat at the long table to look at the newspapers. First, of course, they flipped to March 13, 1965. Side by side, they scanned the whole paper, and then the papers for the next several months, but there were neither reports of unusual goings-on at the Folger House, nor of any research investigation at the house in the few months after.
“So nothing about the rock showers or any Duke experiment taking place at the house,” Brendan frowned.
Someone cleared her throat behind them and the two of them turned. The librarian stood in the doorway of the Periodicals room, looking distressed.
“I’m very sorry to tell you this, but the clip files on the Folger family are empty.”
Brendan and Laurel exchanged a glance. “There’s nothing at all on the family?” Brendan said, perplexed.
“No, what I mean is—the files have been emptied.” The librarian crossed to the table to show them the manila folders she held in her hand. They were weathered and sprung—the creases of the folders sagging, as if the folders had once been stuffed with documents.
“When did this happen?” Brendan demanded, and Laurel elbowed him.
The librarian shook her head. “There’s no way of telling. Obviously it was never discovered, so we would have no idea how long ago it happened.” She hesitated, then added, “Unfortunately, it happens more often than you would think.”
“Who takes them?” Laurel asked.
The librarian looked rueful. “More often than not, the families themselves. Disappear the dysfunction, so to speak. Obviously it’s easy to do—you two could have walked out with anything you had a mind to, just now, while I was out of the room. I hope you can find what you’re looking for in the newspapers.”
“Do you know the house? I mean, where it is?” Laurel asked.
“I know it’s out Wyndham Road … about six miles out of town. Please let me know if there’s something else I can help you find.” She lifted her hands apologetically, then withdrew.
Brendan looked at Laurel. “So, our cleanup man—or crew—strikes again.”
They both looked around them at the shelves of bound volumes. They hardly had time to go through a whole century of newspapers.
“Police station,” Brendan said decisively. “Let’s find out if that police report was for real.”
The uniformed officer at the police station counter, whose nameplate read “P. Callaghan,” was far too young to know anything about an incident from 1965; in fact was quite possible that even his father had not been born at the time of the year in question. He was freckled and towheaded, if a twenty-something male could be called towheaded, and instantly, obviously smitten with Laurel.
Brendan gave Laurel a nudging sideways glance, and Laurel realized he probably thought she’d get further with the young officer. She was just able to stop herself from shooting Brendan a baleful look. Instead she forced a pleasant and innocent tone into her voice and leaned on the counter with what she hoped was an appealing expression.
“Um. Hi. We’re from Duke University. Dr. Cody and Dr. MacDonald. We’re doing some research into an incident that took place in town, oh, quite a while