Not assuaged, she raised a brow and pointed to the sign. “You’ll have to take your call outside.”

“There’s no one else in the whole building,” Danny protested. Wrong move. Mrs. Proctor crossed her arms.

“Rules are rules.” Under her thinning, snow-white hair, her eyes were solid, clear, and filled with the superiority of the aged.

“OK, OK. I’m going.” Annoyed with rules, tight-assed old people, and his arrogant brother, Danny spoke into the phone. “I’ll call you back in a few. I have to go outside.”

Over the line, he could hear Conor chuckling. “You’ve been served, baby brother.”

Danny hung up on him. “Can I print this article?” he asked the librarian.

“It’ll cost you a dime per page.” Unbelievably, Mrs. Proctor’s posture stiffened.

“That’ll be fine, ma’am.”

She turned on an old printer in the corner of the room and entered a passcode. Then she supervised his use of the machine. Danny shelled out the fifty cents, took his pages, and bolted for the exit.

One curse and he was on the librarian’s shit list. Small town life was going to take some adjustment. As soon as his sneakers hit the sidewalk, he was dialing Conor’s number. His brother picked up.

“Stop laughing.” Danny got into his car and flipped through the article.

Conor snorted. “Sorry.”

“How can you irritate me eight hundred miles away?”

“It’s a skill. Now what’s up?”

“The Winston Museum of Art and Archeology in Bangor was robbed last night,” Danny started. “The only objects stolen were part of a Celtic History exhibit.”

“Is there a list of what was stolen?”

Danny skimmed the text. “No, but the thief bypassed more valuable pieces to lift the Celtic stuff. The journalist speculates about it being an inside job, based on the assumption that if there’s no forced entry, the thief had a key.”

“You know what happens when you assume. Criminals know lots of clever ways to get into buildings.”

“But they usually go for stuff that’s easy to fence.” Danny always had. He waited for the slap of guilt that usually followed memories of his dark teen years, but all he felt was a nudge. “Celtic artifacts are not easy cash.”

“What are you thinking, Danny?”

“That the police confiscated Nathan’s collection of Celtic objects back in December. Maybe he needs stuff.”

“For what?”

“No idea,” Danny said. “But it’s weird, and weird shit gives me hives. It makes me worry about Jayne.” And Mandy.

“How far is Bangor from Huntsville?” His brother’s wheels were turning.

Danny checked his map app. “Couple of hours by car.”