Page 30 of The Executioners Three
After a single swipe at the library entrance with his key card, Theo led Freddie inside. She hurried after him, wondering how much longer she had until these crickets started singing. As long as Theo was with her, she couldn’t release them.
What a conundrum. And honestly, it was a wonder Theo hadn’t already asked her about her bag. Then again, he seemed preoccupied. That restless energy from Saturday was back, and he kept touching his face. Scrubbing at his hair.
Freddie hardly blamed him. She really wanted to touch his face and scrub his hair too. No human had any right to look that good with a black eye.
A librarian glanced up from a desk at the heart of the room. Theo grinned and waved. “Hey, Mr. Kowalski,” he called before strutting by.
Mr. Kowalski nodded back and after sparing a cursory glance for Freddie, he declared, “No hats in the library!”
“Sorry,” Freddie replied in what she hoped was a very gruff and very manly voice.
Judging by Theo’s smirking side eye, it was not.
Fortunately, Mr. Kowalski didn’t notice—nor did he watch them cut down an aisle or see how Freddie left her hat exactly where it had been all along.
Nor did he catch sight of Freddie’s oddly shaped bag, which she kept shaking every few steps to ensure the crickets stayed quiet.
Theo led Freddie all the way to the back of the library, to a quiet corner with a low desk as shiny and spotless as every other surface nearby. (Allard Fortin Preparatory School must spend a lot of money on wood polish.)
“Okay,” Theo said, slouching onto the edge of the desk and crossing his arms. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Freddie hesitated. Last night, before bed, she’d worked out an explanation for Theo.
Though she didn’t like lying, sometimes a detective really had no choice.
After all, Theo was the sheriff’s nephew and Freddie had now been warned by two separate cops not to look into what was happening at the county park.
Of course, Freddie had also not expected Theo to join her here. Her story from last night wasn’t going to cut it as long as he could simply look over her shoulder and see what she was doing.
“Fine,” she said with her most dramatic sigh. She yanked off her cap; her hair tumbled out.
Theo tensed against the table.
“I need access to your newspaper collection. Miss Gupta at the Berm Library said that Fortin Prep had original copies of all the local papers.”
“We do. Why do you need them?”
“I have a report due,” she said, falling back on the same cover story she’d given Mom. Except she improvised: “It’s on unsolved murders from the seventies and eighties. The articles I needed weren’t at the Berm Library, so here we are.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Why not get a special research permit, then? Why do you need to break in?”
“It’s not ‘breaking in’ if someone is giving you their key card. And I need it now because my paper is due tomorrow.”
“Hmmm,” Theo replied, and Freddie could tell he didn’t believe her. But he also—to her shock—didn’t argue. He just straightened and said, “Follow me. And hey,” he added over his shoulder, “put your hat back on. You could kill a guy with that hair.”
He disappeared down a nearby row, leaving Freddie mildly stunned. He had, yet again, maybe given her a compliment? It certainly felt like one in her chest (which had gone all tingly and goopy).
NO, she reminded herself as she hastily stuffed the cap back over her hair. He was a Montague. His compliments were poison; she needed to keep her eye on the prize. Remember your vow.
A short walk later, Theo paused before an arched doorway that looked Very Gothic Indeed.
He swiped his card over a blocky key reader.
A lock clicked, Theo swung the door wide, and after holding it open for Freddie, he descended down a brightly lit stairwell.
The stairs doubled back once before opening into a large concrete cellar packed with wooden filing cabinets.
Row after row spanned for as long as the library above ran.
It was like a much fancier version of Les Archives.
“Wow,” Freddie breathed. “That’s a lot of newspapers.”
“We have one of the best high school journalism programs in the country,” Theo murmured, almost like a reflex. Then he cocked his chin forward, hair flopping, and said, “Local papers are that way.”
With a surety that spoke of frequent time spent here, Theo led Freddie halfway down the cellar, where he veered right, into a row of more identical cabinets. A desk was wedged between two cabinets, and above it was a recessed window. Morning’s first light trickled in.
He waved to the left. “ Berm Sentinel over there.” He pointed toward the window-wall.
“The now defunct Elmore Gazette over there. And other nearby periodicals are on the right. It’s all arranged by date, so…
” He twirled around to face Freddie—quite graceful.
Definitely worthy of the Backstreet Boys.
And, for the first time since Freddie had arrived, some of his restlessness seemed to melt away. Like this cellar was a place that made sense to him. Like here he could be at ease.
Freddie understood that. She’d felt the same, sitting in Bowman’s car or exploring her way through the tiny police station—or just scouring security footage while hunting for a shoplifter.
It was in those moments that Freddie had really felt like Yeah.
This is where I’m supposed to be, finding answers .
“I’m impressed, Mr. Porter.” Freddie set down the bag of crickets at the end of the aisle (giving them a solid kick for good measure). “You know your way around this place.”
He bounced a single shoulder. “I was in the journalism program.”
“Was?”
A beat passed. Then he amended, “ Am in the journalism program.”
Freddie didn’t buy that cover, but she also didn’t press him on it. Bad Boys were entitled to their secrets. Plus, she didn’t know how much pestering she could get away with before he either revoked her access to this basement or else paid a little too much attention to her duffle bag.
So she opened her arms and declared: “In that case, Mr. Porter, I beg for your journalistic assistance. Please, if you would be so kind, tell me where to find the Berm Sentinel from 1975.”
A lilt of his lips. A slight nod. “You got it, Gellar. Follow me.”