“Sounds like more than half of men in that age range. Is there anything else I’d remember about him?” She tapped her nose. “Rings or studs anywhere you’d notice? How about tattoos?”

I shook my head and considered the point she’d made, that the general description I’d given her of Ryan wasn’t very useful. “You know, I’ve never thought about it this way, but you’re right. He’s not one of those people who is instantly memorable. He’s a blends-in-with-the-crowd person.”

Aunt Frances laughed. “Sounds like the perfect spy. Is that why you’re looking for him? Maybe he’s hiding in plain sight.” She glanced around the room.

This made me smile, just a little. “There are downstate police looking for Ryan. They think he robbed a bank down there and killed a security guard. But”—I added hastily—“there’s obviously some sort of mistake going on. Ryan is the nicest person ever. There’s no way he did any of that.”

My aunt put down her mug and gave me the Full-On Aunt Look. “You know that how, exactly? And don’t tell me it’s because he’s a regular library visitor, has never had any overdue fines, and donates to the Friends of the Library.”

“Okay, I won’t,” I said, because I had no idea if he donated to the Friends. The nonprofit group was important to the library, but they operated independently. Sometimes more independently than Graydon and the library board preferred. “Ryan is a regular bookmobile visitor, though, and he only once was late returning a book.”

“Minnie—”

I held up my hand to stop the objection I knew was coming. “Plus, Eddie likes him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then that settles it. Why haven’t you told the police about the feline stamp of approval?”

“If I’m asked, I will.” I imagined the scene. I’d be in the small interview room at the same table where I’d sat many times before, facing Detective Hal Inwood and detective-in-training Deputy Ash Wolverson. They’d have their notepads out and pens clicked, waiting to take down my information. I’d tell them that Eddie liked Ryan, so they could stop the search, and neither one of them would move a muscle. I’d get irritated; they’d put on their patient voices and tell me to stop wasting their time and to go away and not come back until I had something real to tell them. In an excruciatingly polite way, of course, but that would be the general gist.

Aunt Frances made a tsking noise. She was probably imagining the same scene. “This Ryan isn’t from here?” she asked. “What does he do?”