The sight of Camilla’s name in that ledger—it bugged her. It was a detail her brain couldn’t seem to process, went over again and again, snagging on it every time. She couldn’t explain it away no matter how hard she tried. What did it mean? Why had Camilla visited the periodicals room of the Serenity Point Public Library a week before her mother’s death? If she’d wanted to locate something in the archives of a newspaper or a magazine, why didn’t she just do an online search in the comfort of her own home? Because, like Alice, she’d been afraid her Internet activities at the house were being monitored, wanted the assurance of total privacy? That was the only reason Alice could think of. Still, even if by some miracle she was right and had correctly guessed at Camilla’s motive, Alice didn’t see how that helped her. After all, it didn’t tell her what Camilla had been looking for, just why she’d been looking where she’d been looking. Nor would a visit to the library tell her what Camilla had been looking for since recorded in the ledger were only a name and a date, and yet she was about to make one anyway. Maybe the librarian could tell her something. Alice laughed at the thought almost as soon as she had it. Yeah, sure, maybe the librarian, assuming the same one even still worked there, retained a crystal-clear memory of a visit made by a girl more than a year ago. Jesus Christ. Alice rubbed her face, sighed. Whatever. It was a long shot, but she had to take it since at this point it was her only shot.

She found a spot for the car, fed the meter, then jogged across the park and over to the library’s entrance. As before, the white-haired librarian was sitting behind the circulation desk. She recognized Alice, greeting her with a wave. “You’ll have the periodicals room all to yourself again, Alice,” she said, smiling. “Both computers, too. We’re a bit of ghost town around here today, I’m afraid.”

Alice took a quick glance at the nameplate on the edge of the desk. Hildi Snowden.

“I actually didn’t come here to use the periodicals room today, Mrs. Snowden.”

“No?”

“No. I came to talk to you.”

Mrs. Snowden looked surprised but pleased. Folding her hands pleasantly in front of her, she said, “Oh, all right. What do you want to talk to me about?”

“It’s the ledger you had me sign. There was another name in it. Camilla Flood. She’s what I want to talk to you about, her visit to the periodicals room.” Trying to jog Mrs. Snowden’s memory, “The last time I was here, you seemed familiar with the family. In fact, you thought I looked like I was part of it. Actually, I am. I’m a cousin.”