The Liar Society Part 12

"Oh," I said, confused. "Thanks for the suggestion. I'll have to talk to her."

I wondered why Ms. D. would have stopped teaching History to take a job in security. Definitely an interesting career move. Plus she'd never mentioned it before. Granted we weren't all that close, and I'm sure it wasn't the type of information you really wanted to broadcast, but still.

"Here we are." The man stopped in front of the reference section. "There should be one copy available. It's leather-bound, maroon, I think."

He bent to check the t.i.tles, but I knew after my quick scan that the book was not on the shelf. I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Hmm, I'm not seeing it. Someone might be using it within the library, or maybe it was an error. But I can hold a copy for you when it becomes available."

Time was one of the many things I really didn't have a lot of at the moment, but it was worth a try. "Um, yeah, that'd be great. My name is Kate. Kate Lowry."

He wrote my name down in a small notebook and asked if he could help me with anything else. Before I could speak, the librarian who had been giving me the once-over at the desk stalked toward us.

"Thanks, Charles. There's a young lady who needs your help at the reference desk. I can take over from here. Kate, is it?"

"Actually, I need to look through some old newspapers." I didn't trust her, but she was being forced on me, so I'd have to be flexible.

"May I ask what you're looking for?"

"I'm just...um...researching Pemberly Brown during the seventies for a paper."

She c.o.c.ked her head slightly to the side. I wondered if she was equally concerned with every library patron's information searches. If that was the case, her job must have been exhausting.

"Let me take you to the newspaper archives on the microfilm machine. You'll find what you're looking for down there."

"Show me the way," I said as the librarian led me toward a stairwell. Just as we were about to step down, a voice broke through the otherwise silent s.p.a.ce.

"Hey, Kate!" The sound came from behind a huge stack of books.

The librarian stopped in her tracks and shushed the voice, throwing a stern look in my direction. I couldn't suppress a groan when red curls emerged over the stack.

"Oh, hey, Seth."

"What're you doing here?"

"Research." I hoped he'd disappear back behind his pile of conspiracy theories.

"On what?" I really should have known better. After all, this was Seth Allen.

"Um...on a long-lost cousin of my dad's. It's extra credit for World History if I research someone in my family tree," I lied, rolling a single pearl of Grace's necklace between my fingers. "She went to PB in the seventies."

"Want some help?"

I was about to decline his offer, but then I remembered that my search involved something called a microfilm machine and I reconsidered.

"Yeah, I guess."

The librarian stood at the top of the stairs tapping her foot-she sure meant business. "Ready?" she asked.

We nodded and followed her down the winding staircase to the bowels of the library. A quick wave of nervousness washed over me when I recalled my last experience with a library's bas.e.m.e.nt, and I silently thanked Seth for being nosy enough to want to help.

Two lonely microfilm machines sat tucked into a corner next to drawers overflowing with microfilm rolls. It looked like the place where old school filmstrips went to die.

"Have a seat," the librarian said.

I sat in front of one machine, and Seth pulled up a chair.

"Have you ever used one of these before?" she asked.

"No," I responded.

"Yes," Seth chimed in.

"Oh, good," she said handing me a huge roll of film labeled, "The Cleveland Plain Dealer: 1970 to 1975."

Without thinking twice, I handed the roll over to Seth. He expertly loaded the film and pulled up the first article.

"Oh, and Kate?" the librarian asked from the foot of the stairs. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Um, thanks," I said, but she had already started walking back up the stairs. "What was her deal?" I mumbled.

"What? I thought she seemed nice." Seth glanced back toward the stairs before slyly pulling a bag of Cheetos from his jacket pocket. "Please tell me you've tried Google already," he said while messing with the focus k.n.o.b.

"What do you think I am? An idiot? I couldn't find anything. Trust me, the library was a last resort."

"Okay, okay. Let's just start. What're we looking for?"

"Anything related to an incident on Pemberly Brown's campus. Technically an a.s.sault."

"I thought you said this was a project about your dad's cousin, family-tree research." Seth looked me dead in the eyes, the corners of his mouth stained with orange powder.

c.r.a.p.

"Oh, yeah, um...I'm working on that project too. But first I'm researching a paper for my Women's Studies cla.s.s about the history of a.s.sault against women at PB."

"Oh, okay." Seth pushed the b.u.t.ton and the print became a blur, and I let out a huge sigh of relief. I couldn't believe Seth was buying this c.r.a.p. Maybe love really was blind.

Seth whizzed and whirred his way through 1970.

"Anything?"

"Keep going. I'll tell you when to stop."

By the time we got to May 1971, an hour had pa.s.sed. This wasn't going to be as easy as I had thought. By July my eyes had glazed over, and I was pretty sure that even if I did see something having to do with Pemberly Brown, I wouldn't realize it.

But then the machine made a strange clicking sound, and even though Seth turned the k.n.o.b, the film was stuck.

"That's strange. I'll go get the librarian." Seth pushed out his chair.

"I thought you said you've used one of these." I turned the k.n.o.b manually and backed up the film. When I pushed the Forward b.u.t.ton, the strip got stuck again at the same place. As I reversed it, I noticed a thin line in the film. I gently pulled at it to get a closer look.

"Is that tape?" Seth asked. "Someone must have tried to fix it." He leaned his head in super-close to mine. His breath smelled like artificial cheese, and I resisted the urge to stuff a piece of gum in his mouth.

"Wait." I loaded the film again and pulled up the article right before the split in the film. There was nothing on the screen about an a.s.sault. I manually turned the film forward and stopped directly after the piece of tape. "Somebody cut out an article."

"No one even uses microfilm anymore. I'm sure it just broke or something. Keep going. I've gotta get back upstairs soon."

Leaning in close to the screen, I saw the remainder of an article in the upper left-hand corner.

-berly Brown accused a fellow student of a.s.sault. The minor accused was an accomplished student and athlete, and police theorize Moore killed herself after friends and cla.s.smates turned against her. Along with her family, Elisa Moore, the victim's sister, is speaking out- "I think this is it," I said, biting my thumbnail. "But it's all broken apart, and I need an address, I mean...for the project."

"Why? It's not like you can interview her. She's dead." Seth pointed out helpfully.

"Yeah, but there's always her sister." Opening my slam book, I noted Elisa Moore's name and shoved the book back in my bag. "Thanks for your help with the machine, Seth. I could never have figured it out by myself." I pulled the film out of the machine, placed it back in its canister, and tucked that in the drawer along the wall.

"Wait. How will you find the address?"

"I'll figure it out," I said, swinging my bag over my shoulder and rushing to the stairs. But before I started up, I softened, thinking of everything Seth had done for me. "Hey, I saw a commercial for some special on the History Channel about..."

"Conspiracy Theory Week," Seth cut me off. "DVRed."

"Well, I thought it looked...um...interesting." The lie rolled off my tongue, and Seth looked like he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Well, it's a date then! I'll call you later."

"Uh, yeah. Sounds great." I rushed up the steps thankful to have a friend in Seth, even if that meant I'd have to sit through hours of the History Channel. In surround sound, no less.

Back on the main floor of the library, I found an empty computer terminal and started limbering up for some serious Google-fu.

The last name "Moore" was like "Smith." Googling it produced almost three million hits. The white-pages listings were pretty bad too. More than three hundred results were listed for "Moore" in the area alone.

"Elisa Moore" was a little different. There were only two Elisa Moores listed, and one was an Elisabeth. Under Elisa's name was the name "Palm Manor Extended Care Facility," as well as the address. According to my complex mathematic calculations (basic arithmetic done on my cell-phone calculator), if Elisa was living at a nursing home, she must have been the victim's older sister. Pulling up Google, I typed the address in the box and clicked the search b.u.t.ton.

Within thirty-three seconds, Google spat out directions. G.o.d bless the interwebs.

Chapter 29.

I scooped the last two soggy Cheerios onto my spoon and slurped. I'd made the mistake of sitting to the left of my dad, so every time he turned a page of the Sunday paper, he sent a puff of nasty newspaper smell in my direction. Nothing ruined breakfast like nasty newspaper smell.

Dad was in his "lounge" clothes. Translation: he wore khaki pants and a b.u.t.ton-down shirt instead of his usual suit and tie. He must have been planning to take the day off.

"You're up early," he said. I watched the pupils of his eyes change size.

"I have a project to do today."

He lowered the paper and smiled. "Need some help? I'm free today." He nodded to his "lounge" clothes as if I couldn't see them for myself. My dad loved helping with school projects-well, at least he used to. I think he secretly missed tinkering around with science fair experiments and helping me spray-paint Styrofoam b.a.l.l.s to create atom mobiles.

"Nah, it's a group project for World History. But I'm kind of excited. We get to go to a nursing home and interview some of the residents."

He stared at me a second, and I fidgeted, sliding my tongue over my teeth and wondering if a Cheerio was stuck in the front or something.

"What?" I asked, covering my mouth with my hand.

"Nothing. It's just, well..." He put the newspaper down. "I haven't seen you excited about anything in a long time."

I had to give him credit. He was right.

My phone buzzed, and my dad sighed as he watched me touch the screen.

Liam's text read, On my way.

"Let me drive you," my dad said. "It'll be like old times."

I lifted the bowl to my mouth and sipped the sugary milk.

"My ride's on the way."

Today was all about killing two birds with one stone. I wanted to spend time with Liam, and I wanted to get information about what had really happened to the girl in the clock tower and how that connected to Sinclair's brother and Grace. Oh, and, of course, I needed a ride. So I guess I killed three birds. (Thank G.o.d I'm not a vegan.) Unfortunately I had to tell a few lies to get there. Like Seth, Liam thought we were visiting my dad's distant cousin for an extra-credit family-tree project in World History. And now my dad thought I was doing a group project for the same cla.s.s. I was weaving quite the tangled web.

I shot Liam a quick text back telling him to honk when he got to my house. No reason for my dad and Liam to meet. Especially when they'd both been fed slightly different lies.

As I placed the empty bowl in the sink, I glanced at my dad, who sat holding the newspaper but looking straight past it. He was probably trying to remember the last time I'd agreed to let him help me.

"Thanks for the offer, though, Dad." I briefly considered walking over and kissing his cheek but opted for an awkward pat on the back instead. He gave me a vague smile as Liam's honk rang out through the kitchen.

I grabbed my coat and shot through the door before my dad could demand an introduction.

"So when are you going to start driving me around?" Liam joked as I ducked into the car.

"My birthday's not till June, so it'll be awhile. Unless you want to hit up the backseat of my dad's Saab and listen to him yell at me about hand-over-hand turns." I rolled my eyes and Liam laughed, shifting the car into reverse.

"So how are you related to..."-he squinted his eyes trying to remember her name-"Elisa?"

"She's one of my dad's second cousins or something," I lied again. "I'm supposed to interview her about...um...growing up during World War II." I'd kind of pulled that one out of my a.s.s, thanks to Seth's lame-o doc.u.mentary. I tried to do the math to figure out if Elisa could have grown up during the war, but it was a little too early in the day, and I couldn't exactly whip out my phone for a quick calculation.

"You don't have to come in if you don't want. I don't have that many questions, so it won't take long."

"Nah, I'll come along. All of my grandparents are dead, so I've never really had the chance to talk to anyone that old."

As sweet as it was that he wanted to talk to Elisa, I panicked a little about not being able to ask her the right questions with Liam in the room. Even though I really didn't have a clue as to what the right questions were. I couldn't exactly show up in an old woman's room and ask her for the details surrounding her sister's death.