Addison spent the day with Luke and Amara Jane. She woke the next morning, thinking about the strange dream she’d had of a man she’d met several years before, a man she knew little about, who had once helped her find information on a missing woman. In the dream, he’d called out to her. She didn’t know why. She only knew she needed to see him.
A few hours later, Addison parked the car outside the library in New York City. She placed Amara Jane into her stroller and wheeled her into the library. She scanned the main level of the first floor and smiled when she found the man she’d come to see. He glanced at her from behind a long, oval desk, stood, and walked in her direction, bending down when he reached her. He poked his head under the blanket covering Amara Jane and said, “Well, isn’t she precious?”
“Thank you,” Addison said. “It’s been a while.”
He nodded. “It has. I remember you.”
“I was hoping you would.”
He tapped a finger against the side of his head, thinking. “Let’s see now. I’d guess it’s been about six years or so since you were here last, but you don’t look like you’ve aged a day.”
“Your name is Larry, right?”
He frowned. “It’s Barry. Close enough.”
When Addison first met Barry, he’d been a fair bit larger than the man standing before her now. He’d slimmed down, but he didn’t look healthy. He looked frail and unwell.
“You’ve lost weight,” Addison said.
He patted his belly and nodded. “Yep. I had a heart attack a few years ago, and I made a lot of changes to my diet. I still eat a lot of the same food. I just don’t eat as much.”
“I see you’re still wearing suspenders.”
He looked down at the blue-and-white striped suspenders clipped to his jeans. “Yeah, it’s a comfort thing, I guess. What brings you in today?”
“I need information on a missing woman.”
“Last time you were here for something similar, if I recall, but you scampered out of here before I ever knew if you’d found what you needed.”
“I did.”
“What do you do for a living, anyway?” he asked.
Addison bent her head toward her daughter. “I raise this little one.”
He laughed. “There isn’t a better job in the world. You got a name?”
“She’s Amara Jane.”
“Amara Jane. She’s a beauty, but I’m after the name of the person you want information on.”
“Oh, right. I have a first name, but not a last. It’s Libby.”
“What time period?”
“Earlier seventies, I believe.”
“Alive or dead?”
“Dead.”
He stroked his chin. “Mmph. I wonder ... you happen to know what she looked like?”
“Thin and petite. Long, blond hair. She was young. Early twenties.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m off in twenty-five minutes. You think you could wait until then?”
Last time Addison visited the library, Barry had escorted her downstairs where the old newspapers were kept and then left the room, allowing her to peruse the boxes at her leisure. This time, he seemed keen to join her treasure hunt. She wondered why.
“If you’d just point me in the direction of the right box like you did last time, I should be able to locate what I need myself.”
He crossed his arms. “You’d find a few things, I would guess. Depends on what you’re after. If you can hang around until I’m off the clock, we can grab a cup of coffee in the café, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Everything I need to know about ...”
“The woman you’re looking for. Libby Carrington.”