"Oh, who knows? That was a long time ago. It's not like you're asking me what I did with the morning newspaper."
And now he knew she was hiding something, for Hannah's memory was flawless, archiving even the stunned face of a frog drowned in a washing machine over thirty years ago. "Could those pictures be in the attic?"
"In Josh's darkroom? No, too risky. The judge is always up there looking through old pictures. He would've pitched a fit if he knew I had that last roll developed. I told you he didn't want Josh's things disturbed."
And it was unlike Hannah to repeat herself. She was stalling for time. He could almost see the bright work going on behind her eyes as she hunted for the right response.
And now she had it. I remember this much," she said. "I looked over the pictures before I left the drugstore. That shot of you two boys was the only one I cared about. I ordered the enlargement right then and there. So I would've left the negatives with the druggist. Maybe I left the whole envelope, negatives and prints, too. It's possible I never got them back."
"Do you remember anything about the other pictures?"
She shook her head. "Sorry, Oren. It was so long ago." Then you didn't see anything worth showing to William Swahn?"
She jerked her head to one side, her eyes wary and searching the stairs. Satisfied that they were alone, she turned back to him. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "The judge doesn't need to know about my business with Mr. Swahn."
"You've known this guy for a long time, but you call him mister? That's not like you. And Swahn calls you Miss Rice. He might be the only one in town to use your last name since I was three."
"So what else did he-"
"I know you gave Swahn all of Josh's negatives when you asked him to find me an alibi witness."
"And he did."
"He overdid it." Oren held up two fingers.
"Two witnesses?" Here she paused, sensing that he was not buying her pretense of surprise. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her house-dress, Hannah's version of a pout. "I think Mr. Swahn might have mentioned that."
"And he told you their names."
"No, he only told me that two women went to the sheriff with two different stories. Well, I could see where that might be worse than no alibi at all. Then Mr. Swahn called me one day and said everything worked out all right. One of those alibis held up."
"Was Swahn still working on my alibi when you developed Josh's last roll?"
"Oren Hobbs." Her tone carried the threat of no dessert and no television tonight. "Let it be." And now she must have remembered that she could not even stop his allowance anymore. Both hands flew up in surrender, but then she turned her face to the cellar window. "The judge is home."
After a few moments, he heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway.
Hannah walked to the foot of the stairs, looking up, listening for the front door. She turned to him, silently asking if they could end this now. No, not quite yet.
The librarian's madness appeared to have an off-switch.
The barbells sat on the floor, and Mavis Hardy sat in a chair, her hands folded in a ladylike fashion, as she answered a question for Ferris Monty. "Both of the Hobbs boys were readers, but the judge had a bigger library than this one. I think they came here because their father had better taste in literature-no science fiction or horror genre."
Ferris noticed that her hands were clenched tightly, as if holding on to something precious, or merely holding on. After scribbling a line of shorthand in his notebook, he lowered his reading glasses. "Did the boys get along well?"
"They did. Oren had a few years on his brother, but that didn't matter. In some ways, Josh was a hundred years older. That little boy listened to people like he really cared about what was going on in their lives. I miss that child. I didn't see much of him after he turned ten-except from a distance… the way I see everyone now."
And this must be the marker for the year when life had soured for the librarian.
There was no need to consult his old notes. By the time Joshua Hobbs turned ten years old, Mavis Hardy had evolved into the monster of the public library. Ferris remembered that year very clearly. The librarian was the one who had drawn him to Coventry in hopes of covering a sensational murder trial. Her homicide case had ended too soon and too softly, a few words spoken in open court for the public record and a quiet dismissal of charges.
And five years later, she had not figured as a suspect when a young boy disappeared.
Now that Ferris had become accustomed to her body odor, he could at least endure it, and he leaned toward her in the manner of inviting a confidence. "When Josh first disappeared, did you think he was a runaway- or did you suspect foul play?"
As if she were a perfectly rational person who had never done a murder of her own, Mavis Hardy paused to give this some thought. "Well, that's what kids do in this town. They run off as soon as they're able-usually older kids right out of high school. They just can't leave Coventry fast enough. My own son ran off. But Josh Hobbs was barely fifteen-way too young. No, I don't suppose I ever saw him as a runaway."
"So other teenagers have disappeared?"
"A few, but it's not like they dropped off the face of the earth. They packed bags. Josh didn't. And most kids drift back to town after a while, like my son, Dave-he came back."
"I heard a rumor that there was more than one set of bones found yesterday. Can you think of anyone else who might have gone missing around the same time?"
"Mr. Monty, you've lived here for a good long while." She pointed to the window with a view of the foothills. "You know what we've got out there in the woods-people nobody wants to keep track of. I imagine they disappear all the time, and who'd ever know?"
"You think one of those people could've murdered Josh? Maybe someone with a criminal background?"
"Not likely," she said. "Not one of our criminals. In my experience, outlaws make the best citizens. They pay their bills on time-in cash-and they never get speeding tickets."
Her eyes took on a crafty look as she rose from her chair. Ferris feared that the interlude of sanity might be drawing to a close.
She loomed over him. "You think I've got an inside track? I know what they say about me around town. Parents tell their children to behave or they'll be sent to the library, and I bet those kids don't sleep well at night. Do I figure into your nightmares, too, Mr. Monty?" She leaned down and placed both hands flat on the table. "If you've got a question to ask-ask."
"You haven't attended a birthday ball since the Hobbs boy disappeared." He looked up at her with expectation.
The librarian coughed up a mouthful of mucus and let it fly. So good was her aim that she hit one lens of Ferris's spectacles on the first try. He rose from his chair and fled the library.
Oren stood beside Hannah at the laundry table in the cellar. He rolled a pair of socks and added them to the pile, having already amazed her with his skill in smoothly folding T-shirts. "So you still go to the library."
"At least once a week. Mavis taught me how to work the computer, and sometimes she special-orders books from other libraries."
"Then you weren't kidding yesterday-when you told Dave you could get his mother over here to ream him out."
"Oh, I wouldn't have done that. I just wanted Dave to drop that damn shovel. You know how the judge feels about his flower garden."
"So nothing's changed. Mrs. Hardy still-"
"Everything has changed," said the judge from the top of the basement staircase. He walked briskly down the steps and joined them at the folding table. One hand ran back over his bald scalp in a loving memory of a time when he had hair.