Nigel glanced in the wing mirror; he could still see Heather sleeping. 'It's complicated,' he muttered.
'As far as I see it, it ain't that complicated. You tell her how you feel and you all know where you stand.'
'Maybe I did once and maybe I didn't like what happened next. You know the phrase "once bitten, twice shy"? Well, there's something to be said for that.'
Donna gave him a kind look. 'Sometimes it's worth hanging in there, honey. I don't know much, but people appreciate someone who loves them without question.
My ex-husband only loved himself. Me, I'm looking for someone who loves me happy or sad, fat or thin, with make-up or without, the whole nine yards. Generally someone who thinks the sun rises and falls at the back of my ass. Do that with Heather and she might come to her senses. I mean, I look at you and I think she's mad. If you knew your doctrine and covenants and got yourself a temple recommend, I'd be looking to get sealed with you for all eternity.' She squeezed his thigh to emphasize her point.
Maybe the Mormon Church wasn't so bad, he thought.
They entered the city limits for Llewellyn as the afternoon light left. In the rapidly descending twilight it was hard to see much of the town, though Nigel suspected he might not be missing a great deal in terms of scenery. He was wrong: as they drove into town, Donna pointed out the dark shadow of the LDS Temple on a hill overlooking the town, backlit by a dramatic blood-red sky. They rode downtown, past the historic district and along the main drag, past shops and the occasional office block until they reached the library. As the car stopped, Heather woke from her slumber with a start.
'Have I been asleep all the time?' she mumbled apologetically.
'Sparko,'
Donna said.
The library formed part of the county office building, a grand old department store comprising several buildings connected and remodelled over several decades. The library occupied the ground floors and seemed cramped in such a tight space, though there were few people using it at that hour. Donna wasted no time approaching the desk and asking for copies of the Logan Leader. They were pointed towards the library's collection of microfilmed newspapers.
The Logan Leader was there but its origins were the same as that in Salt Lake City -- the missing editions were still absent. Nigel went back to the desk and to the demure young woman manning it.
'Do you have the originals?' he asked.
She shook her head sadly. 'We donated most of our materials to the Church,' she said. 'That includes the newspapers.'
He cursed. 'Do you have anything at all about the history of the area?'
She showed a few local histories, but they mostly told the story of the pioneers and their heroic struggles against nature, disease and apostates. He went back to the desk.
'Do you have anything, anything at all, about a place called Temperance?'
She looked shocked. 'Temperance? Why, no, I don't think so. Is it a genealogical inquiry because we have family search . . .'
'No,' Nigel said. 'Not really' He decided to be honest.
'I'm trying to find details of an incident that took place in Temperance in 1890, maybe a disaster of some kind, where quite a lot of people died . . .'
His question tailed away as he saw the blank look on the woman's face. It was clear she did not know what he was talking about.
'Sorry, sir,' she said. 'Have you checked the newspaper reports for the area? We have them all on microfilm.'
Not all, he thought, but he couldn't be bothered explaining about the missing copies. 'Thanks,' he said and went in search of Donna. She was ploughing through another section of local histories and memoirs with an equal lack of success.
'This is pointless,' Nigel said wearily.
Donna's resigned look suggested agreement.
You people want to know about Temperance?'
The voice came from behind them. They both turned.
A woman in her forties with jam-jar spectacles and a friendly face was smiling at them.
'We sure do,' Donna said. 'Why, can you help?'
She looked over her shoulder. 'Might get myself in some trouble over this, but I know someone who can.
What do you two think of frequenting bars?'
Nigel looked at her as if she was mad. What did she mean?
Donna laughed. 'These guys are English. I don't think they'll mind. Which bar?'
'Oh, we only have one in Llewellyn. Called Hooky's, just off Main. You're looking for a guy named Pettibone.
Josiah Pettibone.'
'Thanks,' Donna said.
'Just one other thing,' the woman added. 'I didn't send you.'
Half an hour later they had found Hooky's, a subterranean dive tucked away apologetically down a side street to nowhere. The last building on the left, just before the pavement ran out. Nigel could sense Donna's reluctance and he hesitated at the top of the stairs. 'Looks like a nice joint,' he said sardonically.
Heather brushed past. 'A bar's a bar,' she said brusquely.
'I should know, I've done my time in the pubs of the north.'
She headed down the stairs and through the door.
Donna and Nigel followed.
Inside, while by no means salubrious, the bar was at least clean and bright. A radio or jukebox played some muffled country music, while the only patrons were a couple of men drinking alone, who raised their heads as one to see the new customers. So this is where the local apostates celebrated the freedom to trash their liver, thought Nigel. The barman watched them approach.
Heather took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer; Nigel did likewise, while Donna went for a Diet Coke. Heather paid and remembered to tip, a custom Nigel couldn't fathom.
They drank in silence for a few seconds.
'Josiah Pettibone been in?' Heather asked.
The barman narrowed his eyes. 'Not yet. But he will be presently.' He paused. 'You from Australia?'
'England,' she replied.
'Long way to come to find a man like Josiah.'
'I'm hoping he can help us.'
The barman flashed a toothy smile. 'I'd hate to know what your problem is if Josiah is your answer.'
Heather smiled and shrugged. The barman disappeared to the other side of the bar. Heather turned to Donna.
'Donna, you get back to Salt Lake City, no need for us to detain you. We'll wait for this guy, book a hotel, and then hire a car to drive back in the morning. I'll drive.'
'It's OK,' she said. 'I'll stick around.'
'You sure? What about your kids?'
'They're with my sister and her husband.'
'She's OK to have them?'
Yeah. Hell, she's got nine of her own. What difference's another two gonna make? We better find a hotel, though.'
'Well, if you're sure.'
Donna asked the barman about a place to stay and then went outside to make a phone call. Heather turned to Nigel, who took the liberty of ordering another beer. 'I spoke to Foster while you and Donna were in the library.
They've turned up nothing new. A bit like us,' she added.
'I hear you're looking for me.'
The interloper was a tall man in jeans and a battered suede cowboy jacket, with a drooping moustache and straggling long hair, all of which suggested he was a casualty of the 1960s, except it seemed more likely that was the decade in which he'd been born.
Heather spoke. Yes, we are, sir,' she said politely. 'Can I get you a drink?'
'That depends on what you want me for. I can hear you're not from around here.'
We're not.' Heather got her badge out. 'London Metropolitan Police. I can assure you that you're not in any kind of trouble, but we're hoping you might be able to help us with someone who is.'
'Now you got me intrigued.' He gestured to the barman. 'The usual please, Jim.' The barman grabbed a beer and filled a small glass with Scotch. He placed them on the counter. Pettibone picked up and downed the Scotch and took a sip of beer, then gasped his pleasure.