She was a short woman, maybe five feet tall, and she had that look some old people get—sort of like an old candle, tapering at the top and sagging toward the base. Her torso was pear-shaped, and she covered it with a sleeveless cotton sundress that had no particular color or form. Her upper arms were thick but still solid—the reward you apparently get for years of gardening in rocky soil. Her ankles were almost as wide as her calves, a probable indication that her kidneys could no longer process all of her body’s fluids. Her hair looked like it had lost its color a long time ago, and she had apparently quit doing anything about it; she wore it in tight gray curls that clung close to her head. It was difficult to judge her age; Nick would have guessed between seventy and eighty, but he had noticed that the mountains seem to wear people down a little earlier in life—and she looked to Nick like a genuine mountain woman, from her yellowed teeth that had never seen braces to her calloused hands that had seldom seen rest.

She supported herself on Nick’s arm as they started toward the library. “Bad knees—got a bit of the rheumatoid.”

“Can’t you get somebody else to do the digging?”

“Who you got in mind? Besides, it’s how I get my exercise. Now what are you lookin’ for?”

Nick held the door for her. “Historical records—information on the land around Endor.”

“You come to the right place. This is the Endor Regional Library—we got records from all around these parts, and I’m just the woman to help you find ’em. If we got it, I can put my finger on it.”

“I’m looking for grave registries.”

“We got those—I know right where to look.”

“Old ones—old enough to list a graveyard that nobody remembers anymore.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Where they’re building the Patriot Center.”

She stopped and thought.

“Do you know the place?”

“Everybody does. Give a soul a minute to think.” She seemed to stare off into space for a moment, then abruptly nodded her head. “Know right where to look—be right back.”

She disappeared through a doorway that led to a back room.

Nick looked around. It seemed like a typical small-town library, with minimal holdings and even less technology. Nice seating, though; there were a couple of comfortable-looking upholstered chairs where a local kid like Biff could cover his face with his math book and pretend to do his homework while he took a little snooze. He’d better watch himself here, Nick thought. That old bird looks pretty tough—she could toss him out on his ear. But Biff was probably in no danger; Nick had a feeling he didn’t spend a lot of time here.