Chapter 11 #2
A few minutes later, a fire truck pulled up in front of the library with its lights flashing, but no siren on.
When the driver hopped down from the cab, Caitlin did a double take.
That’s the guy from the Halloween party, the one who made the joke about rescuing me from a tree , she realized.
Which means he wasn’t dressed in a costume after all—he was wearing his uniform.
The head librarian circled around from the other side of the building just as he was coming up the walkway. “Hi, Miriam. Are you burning books again?” he joked.
She gave him an apologetic look and shook her head. “Sorry to make you come out here a second time for a false alarm.”
“Better a false alarm than a fire.” When he smiled and his cheeks dimpled, Caitlin had no doubt he was the blond guy pictured in Nicole’s old photos from the arcade. “We’ll reset the detector in a jiff so everybody can get back inside where it’s warm.”
“That would be great, Craig.”
Craig? Caitlin silently questioned, as he and a second firefighter jogged up the front steps and disappeared into the building. If that’s his name, it means he wasn’t the boy Nicole meant when she wrote N. hearts R. So R. must have been the other guy in the photo—the one with dark hair and a tan.
Then again, perhaps Caitlin hadn’t heard the firefighter’s name correctly; maybe the librarian had called him Ray , not Craig ?
A flicker of yellow in her peripheral vision caught her eye, pulling Caitlin from her thoughts: the firefighters were hustling down the front stairs. She tried not to gawk as they headed to the truck.
“All clear,” the driver called, waving to the waiting crowd.
“You guys are the best. Bye, Jose. See you later, Craig,” the librarian replied, putting to rest Caitlin’s doubt that she’d misheard his name.
She filed into the library behind the other patrons and retrieved her purse from where she’d left it.
But now Caitlin was too cold to walk to the bus stop, or even to hurry a couple doors down to a café to get a hot beverage.
Yet she was too agitated to sit idly by the fire.
Despite her best attempts to put what happened to Nicole out of her mind, now that she was positive that Craig was the same guy she’d seen in the photo, it was all Caitlin could think about.
Using her phone, she did a quick internet search for the local fire department.
Sure enough, she found his name: Craig Thompson.
He’s not just a firefighter, he’s the fire chief , she realized, a little impressed.
I wonder if rescuing swimmers as a teenage lifeguard influenced his professional aspirations?
But now she was far more curious about the other lifeguard in the photos she’d found, the guy Nicole apparently had liked.
Who was he, and did he still live on Dune Island?
If I could find out more about him—about what he was like twenty years ago—it might give me a better picture of what else Nicole was doing that summer.
It might even shed some light on why she’d written “August 29” on the placemat from the arcade.
But how can I research R., when I only know his first initial and what he looked like as a teenager?
It occurred to her that as a lifelong islander, Marion undoubtedly had known Craig and R.
—as well as the brunette girl in the photo—when they were young, or at least she’d been acquainted with their families.
Caitlin supposed she could question her about them, but then her neighbor would want to know why she was asking.
And so far, Marion hadn’t uttered a word about Nicole’s drowning, which was one of the reasons Caitlin felt so at ease in her presence.
It was as if they had an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t talk about what had happened, and that was the way Caitlin wanted to keep it.
She was suddenly struck by an idea. I can search the library’s online copies of Hope Haven High School yearbooks!
I’m sure I’ll recognize R.’s photo, and he’ll be identified by his full name.
Most senior yearbooks also list the graduating students’ interests and activities, which will give me a lot more information about him.
Yet within a few minutes of logging onto the library’s system, Caitlin discovered the digital copies of the yearbook only dated back fifteen years.
So, even though it made her feel conspicuous, she approached the reference librarian’s desk and inquired, “Does this library have print copies of Hope Haven High School yearbooks?”
“We certainly do. They’re kept in an archival storage room, to protect them from heat, moisture, and light, and they’re available for in-house use only.” She pulled a big ring of keys from her desk and stood up. “Which year would you like to peruse?”
“I… I’m not sure,” Caitlin faltered, since she didn’t know when R. had graduated. He looked a little older than Nicole, who’d been about to enter her junior year, so she took her best guess and asked, “Could I see the copies for twenty to twenty-three years ago?”
The librarian frowned. “Yes, but only one at a time. I’ll bring you the copy from twenty years ago, and if you don’t find who you’re looking for, let me know, and I’ll bring you the one from the next year.
” Then, in a whisper, she added, “You wouldn’t believe how many visitors return to the island in search of locals they had summer flings with when they were teenagers. ”
Caitlin protested, “That’s not what I’m doing!” Her voice carried throughout the quiet room, causing several patrons to glance her way.
“No, of course it isn’t,” the librarian said, winking.
As the woman scurried from the room, Caitlin felt so mortified she was tempted to flee the library completely. If I had known I was going to draw so much attention to myself, I never would have asked to see the yearbooks , she thought ruefully.
Once she was seated at a desk with the book in hand, Caitlin kept her head down as she flipped it open.
Dune Island’s regional high school was home to students from all five towns in Hope Haven, but because the year-round population was small, it didn’t take Caitlin long to scrutinize the seniors’ formal photos.
As she expected, beneath each picture, the student’s name was listed, along with their hobbies, club and sport participation, aspirations, and favorite quote.
There were only a handful of boys whose first names began with the letter R ; none of them even slightly resembled the boy in the photo with Nicole.
She examined the swim team members’ faces, too, but didn’t see R.
among those boys, either. Caitlin also kept an eye out for the brunette girl from the arcade, but since she’d been wearing sunglasses and was on the periphery of the frame, she would’ve been difficult to identify.
Reluctantly, she closed the cover and asked the reference librarian if she could see the yearbook from twenty-one years ago.
Caitlin repeated the process, with similar results.
By then, her fingers and toes had sufficiently warmed and she was getting hungry.
Caitlin’s burning curiosity had faded to a dim flicker, and she decided she’d rather eat lunch than continue her wild goose chase.
I think the pub Shane told me he likes is just around the corner. I should go there for chowder , she thought.
“Any luck with that one?” the librarian asked when Caitlin handed her the yearbook.
Skirting the heart of her question, Caitlin answered, “I’m all set, thanks.”
“Okay, but if there’s anything else I can do to help, just ask. I know everyone on the island, so if you were to describe the student to me, I could tell you who he is, where he lives now, and what he does for a living.”
I’m sure you could, which is why I’d never ask you , thought Caitlin, but she just smiled. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No problem. I’m a sucker for a good reunion romance,” she said with another wink.
Lesson learned , thought Caitlin as she hurried down the sidewalk. That’s the last time I’ll ask for help with personal research.
Caitlin wasn’t expecting Ahab’s to be so crowded, but she supposed it made sense; because it was a weekend, residents had more time to eat lunch out than they did on weekdays.
Still flabbergasted from her interaction with the nosy librarian, Caitlin had hoped to linger over a quiet meal, but she could hardly hear her own thoughts above the rowdy conversations and background thump of music. I think I’ll take my chowder to go.
“Hello,” the host greeted her. “Table for one or are you meeting your party here?”
“Neither, thanks,” she answered. “I’d just like to get a bowl of chowder to go, please.”
“No problem. You can tell the bartender, and he’ll put that order through for you,” he replied, gesturing toward a jam-packed area to the left of the entrance.
Caitlin twisted this way and that, squeezing through the customers who were milling around the bar, drinks in hand. Finally, she reached an opening near a single vacant stool. Leaning forward over the soiled dishes, she focused her gaze on the bartender until she caught his eye.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“A bowl of chowder to go. I don’t need crackers or utensils, thanks.”
“That’ll be out in two minutes.”
After paying him, Caitlin decided to sit down. When she turned to ask the customer next to her if he knew whether the seat was still occupied, her mouth dropped open. “ Shane? ”
He’d been angled in the opposite direction so he could watch the game on the screen at the other end of the bar, but when he swiveled to face her, he looked as surprised as she was. “Ca-Caitlin. What are you doing here?”