“That’s not the good news,” Jude clarified archly. “The good news is that when the topic cycled back around to Bella Anthony, and our dear Phoebe Eloise happened to mention that it was a shame that the sheriff might eventually realize that the Freedom of Information Act only applies if you have enough specifics to zero in on the files you’re requesting…”

Free swiped at Jude for using her full name, but matched his grin. “The old gossip couldn’t help volunteering the information that someone else in town had already made some very specific FOIA requests.”

“His great-niece!” Jude was practically vibrating. “She works at the local library. I gathered that she wants to be an investigative journalist and is generally considered the black sheep of the Ferris family.”

“She requested copies of the missing persons reports?” I furrowed my brow. “Why?”

“To investigate!” Jude replied. “Journalistically.”

If we hadn’t run into Bella’s mother, I might have been able to leave it at that.

“This was supposed to be a distraction,” I pointed out.

“And what,” Free replied wickedly, “could be more distracting than the library?”

* * *

The Hunter’s Point library had, at one point in time, been a saloon. Old-fashioned doors still marked the entrance, and the checkout counter looked like it had once been a bar. The wood floors were scratched up enough that I deeply suspected Silver wasn’t the first dog to pass through the swinging doors.

I scanned the area: only one woman working. She was at least six feet tall, broad through the shoulders and thin through the waist. Her blue eyes matched the pointed plastic rims of her glasses almost exactly. She smiled and handed a picture book to a little girl with dark-haired pigtails. When we approached the desk, she tapped on the edge of her glasses and made a show of studying the three of us.

“Nonfiction,” she proclaimed, pointing her index finger at me before turning it on Free. “Something with explosions.” She paused and considered Jude. “And…”

“Happy endings,” he told her.

She nodded. “I can see it.”

“Clearly, you are a woman of true discernment,” Jude declared. “And hopefully one who might be willing to share any and all police reports she’s obtained from the local sheriff’s office?”

There was a single beat of silence.

“Who have you been talking to?” the librarian asked. Maybe her journalistic ambitions weren’t well-known.

“Who haven’t we been talking to?” Jude replied jubilantly.

From there, the conversation went exactly as one might have predicted. She wanted to know why teenagers were asking her for police reports. Jude mentioned that we’d been part of the search for Bella—though he may have conveniently left the past-tense aside.

The high-pitched sound of a child laughing, followed by the even-higher-pitched sound of one shrieking bloody murder, had the librarian whipping her head toward a colorful rug—and its many ankle-biting occupants.