Friday and the weekend, she stayed home, wrapped in her afghan and sitting in front of the fire. Even when using her laptop, she stayed in the living room, warm and cozy. She did spread fertilizer on the front sidewalk, so she could get out to the mail box. On Monday, Sydney planned to check out the mess in the stacks.
Doctor Arnold finally returned her calls. Mostly the message was, “We’ll talk about this when I get back.” Getting started on the cleanup was more important. The mess was not quite as bad as she remembered from the quick inspection on Thursday. She suspected that the intruder pulled the top off a box, looked at the folder titles, then dropped it. Some fell to the floor, often upside down, but some became wedged between the shelf it sat on and the one above, leaving the box dangling over the edge. Hopefully, that would make it easier to match box and contents, since things weren’t shuffled around.
Otis had asked that she give him an accounting of what might be missing or damaged. The work would be done with that in mind. However, the work could be difficult, given the inaccuracies in the finding aid and her lack of familiarity with much of the material. She knew generally what was in the boxes from her earlier search; however, the details proved to be more of a mystery.
She’d used the weekend at home, while the forensics people did their work, to draw up a plan for the task. It wouldn’t be foolproof, since she didn’t have an exact idea of how much disorder was created. Now that she knew the pattern, and using the original inventory, the task didn’t seem quite so daunting. Obviously, there were a few items that would have to be guessed at, but it would be relatively easy to find a logical placement.
Before she touched anything, she called Charlene Hooks, her part-time assistant, to see if she could come in and help. Charlene never turned down the opportunity before and she didn’t on this occasion, either, in spite of the road conditions. All Sydney told her was that vandals got into the archives and left a mess.
“Don’t even try if your roads are dangerous,” Sydney said.
Doctor Arnold would probably be furious since she didn’t check with him first, but she could always remind him that he didn’t return any of her earlier phone calls until days later. Not to mention that the new alarm system failed. She would have to call the security company and see why. Just one more thing for Doctor Arnold to fuss about.
She shrugged off that issue for now, planning to make time to address it later. Sydney studied the inventory again. Not much more than a box and folder list, it gave a lot of room for rapid re-sorting of most of the papers. She ran two copies of the box list after making notes, keeping the original intact.
The final task would be to examine each box not emptied to make certain that nothing was obviously amiss inside. The bulk of the work would be pulling the papers back together into the boxes they came out of.
It was frustrating having to bring the collection back together, without actually re-organizing it. Still, it would take quite a bit of time. Yet, she’d been given a perfect opportunity to become even more familiar with the contents and look for anything pertaining to the search for information on Lily and Johnny. She grabbed a couple of boxes, pushing some folders back in and picking up others from the floor, and took them to her office. As always, she found herself getting lost in reading documents, knowing full well that she couldn’t afford the time. It took an effort to concentrate on working as quickly as possible. Still, the people became even more real, living and breathing. This was a big reason she was an archivist in the first place.
One box was completed and the second begun when Charlene arrived, her usual quiet efficiency lending further calm to the task. Sydney gave her the second copy of the inventory, marks indicating the boxes Sydney wanted her to work on, none of them including the dates of most interest in her search, then set her up in the reading room instead of the processing room downstairs. No researchers were expected and it would be easier for the two of them to compare notes. Plus it was warmer on the first floor than it was in the basement. Charlene began with boxes numbered five and seven. Box six had not been touched by the intruders.
The random nature of the damage seemed to indicate they had no idea what boxes to look in. The incomplete finding aid posted on the website would have helped, if they knew it existed. The fact that they did select only certain boxes had at first made her think they had consulted the finding aid. The website was one of the first things she marked for improvement when she took the job. It was well organized and fully searchable, which, to her mind, made it one of the best she had seen. However, it was the details that were lacking.
She checked the list again and confirmed that all of the boxes in which she found journals were among those dropped onto the floor. The rest were probably pulled because none of the journals were in boxes where they were expected. Instead, they were lying on her desk in the office here or in her book bag at home when the intruders broke in.
That thought made her stop. Had the intruder at home looked for the journals? Was his sole purpose to harm or scare her? Did he not know about the journals and how important they were? From the actual details of recent events, it was impossible to tell what these people knew and didn’t know.
Sydney double checked the journals still sitting on the desk. All of the information she gleaned on the Johnny Whitefeather and Lily Blair events came from them. They were all there and seemingly untouched, which was not terribly strange, since the door to her office was locked and they didn’t bother with it. Or, so it appeared, since it was still locked when the damage was discovered, and the key to the front door didn’t work on her office door. Of course, whoever got in knew how to pick a lock and may have been looking for something other than the journals. If they found what they wanted, there would have been no need to search further. Or the intruder was in the archives when Deputy Kent checked the building and sneaked out the back, leaving the search incomplete.
From now on, the journals would be stored in the vault, at least until everything was resolved. She took a moment and did just that, taking those in her book bag first, then gathering the ones on her desk, she found a box the right size to put them in and placed the box on one of the shelves of the vault.
Before settling back into the work, Sydney picked up the phone and called Desideria Diego. Desi, as everyone in town called her, was the only realtor with an office in Gansel. Just a few years earlier, she and her domestic partner Linda Zabat built a brand new house just outside Gansel for themselves and their two children. It was time to test the waters for herself, not only as a security measure, but also as a financially sound move. If she stayed in Gansel, as she was planning to do, owning a home instead of renting should be her next move. And after four years, it looked like she would be staying put. Her home in Norman would have to go up for sale, and with the proceeds as a down payment, she could afford it. Ben’s other choice for her she shoved into the back of her mind for the time being.
Desi was delighted with Sydney’s interest in a new home and they discussed the options. At that moment there were only five homes up for sale in town and two beyond the city limits, most of which needed a good deal of updating. They made plans to visit them the next day. In the meantime, Desi said, a few builders were becoming interested in possibly starting up building projects. With greater interest in oil and natural gas in the northern part of the state, people were moving into the area and Gansel was in their sights. She’d heard that a new housing addition was being planned, but it was only speculation at the moment.
The phone rang just as Sydney let Charlene out the door to go to lunch. She was going to follow immediately and almost left the call to voice mail.
Caller ID showed it was Doctor Arnold calling. He asked what the hell was going on. She started to explain, but he cut her off.
“You do seem to have difficulties keeping out of trouble,” he said, his tone reasonable, but icy. “Too bad the alarm system installation wasn’t completed.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No. That Mr. Langston needed other materials since some of the wiring in the building is so old. He’ll finish the installation today.”
She nearly laughed out loud. She’d been so worried. Of course, no one had told her about the delay.
“Anyway, if he’d kept to his schedule things might not have happened the way they did.”
“Of course.” She certainly wasn’t going to comment further.
It was usual for her boss not to inform her of scheduling changes and time was wasted worrying about the system. That didn’t change what happened, but not being kept informed certainly rankled. She planned to give Mr. Langston a piece of her mind.
“How many days were you out last week?” he went on.
“All week.”
“Surely food poisoning isn’t that bad.”
“It wasn’t exactly food poisoning.”
“No? That’s what you said in your message.”
“Yes, that’s what everyone …”
“Anyway, not too many people were out and about with the way the weather’s been, so hopefully, no harm done.”
“Right.”
“I’ll let you know when Langston calls to finish the installation.”
That would be nice, she thought, then remembered he’d said it would be today
“Anything else?”
“I called Charlene in to help with straightening up the mess with the papers.”
“Oh, good. Keep me posted.”
He said goodbye this time and hung up. Sydney sat looking at the telephone in her hand for a long moment in amazement. He didn’t once ask how she was. But he also didn’t complain about the length of time she was out of the archives. Nor about why she was calling Charlene in. Well, if he said nothing today, he probably would when it came time for her annual review.
She gathered up her things and, locking all of the doors behind her, stepped through the front door onto the sidewalk onLogan Avenue. The wind coming out of the south penetrated her coat, and she wondered if walking to Molly’s Restaurant was a good idea. She gritted her teeth and walked anyway. After all of the days of inaction, she could use the exercise. At least the sidewalks were cleared; otherwise, she wouldn’t consider it. Her teeth were chattering by the time she got inside, where it was warm and cheerful. Fewer diners than usual sat in booths and at tables. The cold was either keeping people home from work, or they ate earlier. Looking at her watch, she realized it was later than she thought.
Molly’s beef stew with corn bread was especially good and she lingered over it, until she remembered that Charlene would be returning to the archives any time. She had her own key to the front door, and could let herself in, but the idea of her being in the building alone for any length of time was unsettling.
She got back to find Charlene already back at work, totally unconcerned. She’d been there only a few minutes, she said, so no harm done. The rest of the day passed quickly and the work of straightening up the mess went smoothly. Most of the upended boxes held material from the late 1920s to 1940, lending more credence to Lily and Johnny Whitefeather being at the center of the search.
An hour before closing time, Sydney found a folder of special interest. It contained letters and other papers erasing Lily’s name from any inheritance of the Blair Bar Ranch and all businesses pertaining to it. Lily was dead to them, apparently. But did she actually die? Or did she get away? If she were dead, was their any need to expunge her claim to an inheritance? Then there was her baby. Did it survive? If so, what happened to it?
None of the papers said anything about where she was, or whether she gave birth. Nor did they specify the reason for her disinheritance, although that was clear, given what Sydney already knew. The details were probably in the personal journals.
Sydney continued working, deeply engrossed in what she was finding, even though there was nothing more on Lily or Johnny. Five o’clock came and Charlene said goodbye. Sydney let her out the main door, locking it securely behind her.
The sun was down, with just a glow on the western horizon, and the archives were dark inside. Most of the lights were turned out in the stacks, only the night lights glowed, making more shadow than light. She checked the building, making sure, again, that everything was locked up tight.
She also tested all of the windows on the first floor. None of them were easily raised, some on the second floor were still painted shut. When she first took over as archivist, she insisted on being able to raise the first floor windows as a safety measure; however, two of them had not yielded to their attempts. The papers, journals, boxes, and most other material were highly flammable. If people were inside when a fire broke out, they might escape through one of the windows on the first floor. No one except staff should ever be in the stacks on the second floor, and escape from there required getting to the west side of the building where there was a fire escape. That door was steel and double bolted. If anyone was trapped on the east side of the second floor, they would have to break a window and jump.
She pushed on the lower sashes and twisted the locks. Finished, she looked down the nearest aisle between shelves. Someone could be hiding in the shadows in most of the aisles. Should she call Otis and ask if one of his deputies could come check out the stacks upstairs? Since she’d been in the stacks downstairs all day, she doubted anyone could be in there. The floors creaked after all, in spite of the reinforcement that was done when the building was renovated. Boxes of papers were very heavy, especially when there were hundreds of them.
The cell phone in her pocket chimed and she jumped. She dug it out of the pocket of her wool slacks and leaned against the window sill.
“Where are you?” Ben’s voice asked when she answered.
“In the archives. Where are you?”
“I’m actually home early for a change. I was thinking about you and tried the house phone first.”
She smiled and said it was good to hear his voice, and meant it. As they talked, she began walking back toward her office. He was chagrined when she told him about the phone conversation with Doctor Arnold. She relaxed in her chair as they continued to talk about their days. The front bell rang, startling her again. Someone was at the door.
“Just a minute,” she said. “Someone wants in.”
“Don’t answer it!”
“I’ll take you with me and I’ll check before I open it.”
Standing on the sidewalk out front was Kent, Otis’s deputy. She opened the door and greeted him.
“I saw the lights still on and thought I’d better check.”
She was holding the cell phone so that Ben could hear the deputy.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “But I wonder if you could check around, especially upstairs. Since you’re here”
“Sure, I can do that.”
She stepped back to let him in.
“I’ll call you back,” she said into the phone.
“Okay. Be sure you do.”
She disconnected, turning on the lights so Kent could see his way up the stairs. The light came on in the hallway and she stayed at the foot of the stairs and listened. The floor creaked with his every footstep. The light in the aisles between the shelves was dim even during the day, with the blinds all down. Light was the enemy of paper preservation. The former bank building was a good choice in some ways for an archive. There were few lights in some parts. The building was sell constructed. But there were windows in all of the walls except the west wall. When the walls between the former offices were taken down, light through the windows became more of a problem.
He came back downstairs, announcing that nothing was out of order.
“I’ll be off then. ’Night, Miz St. John.”
“’Nite, Deputy.”
He went out the front door and she picked up her bags, ready to follow. The journals were safely locked up in the vault, the stacks on the first floor were checked, and she was tired and hungry.
The temperature dropped once the sun went down. It was a clear cold night with the moon nearly full overhead, very white and casting shadows on the ground. The sound of her footsteps in the gravel of the parking lot was muffled, reminding her of how the world sounded when it snowed. At the car, she turned and looked across the street at the dark buildings over there, then up at the black sky. The moon was so bright that no stars were visible around it, except for Venus which shone brightly as the evening star.
No headlights reflected from the rear view mirror as she drove home. Few cars were on the road, period. It was a bit late and the weather was still threatening. The street lights on the corners of her block did not relieve the darkness of her driveway. Streaks of light glowed between the slats of the venetian blinds at the windows of the living room. At least her timer was working.
As always, Lewis demanded to be fed first thing. He finished his canned food as she started to undress and he jumped up on the bed, demanding the rest of his due. Petting, talking, squirming, not to mention shedding. His fur was soft to the touch, and they both enjoyed these moments when she stroked his back, scratched his ears and under his chin, just the two of them. No cooking, TV, reading, nothing to take her attention away from him. His loud purr, sounding nearly as loud as a Harley Davidson motorcycle in the next block, soothed in the quiet.
Standing, she shook off the drowsiness that threatened to overwhelm her. Finally getting into her fleece lounger, she went back into the kitchen to find her own meal. Canned soup would do for tonight, as she wasn’t very hungry. She opened a can of beef barley and dumped the contents into a pan to set on the stove burner.
Having promised Ben that she would call back, she picked up the phone and dialed. They chatted until the soup was hot. She promised she would “keep her head down,” and they said good night. She opened the morning’s newspaper that she hadn’t made the time earlier to read.
The lead article was something about the state budget about to be passed and how it would take more money away from education in the state. A sidebar to that was a description of a bill introduced by Senator Blair for a memorial to his grandfather. Some in the Senate decried it as a waste of taxpayers’ money, while others praised both the man and the memorial. If passed, it would be one of the Senator’s last acts in the state legislature.
She was too tired to focus on the details. Her thoughts strayed to what she was doing this very evening, the life she was leading, alone and basically very boring. Only her work interested her on a day-to-day basis. Maybe Ben was right. She should move to California, find a job there, take advantage of the weather and the beaches and mountains. Surely there was an archive where she could find a job. Perhaps even a boss who appreciated her. Who also appreciated the collections over which he or she had authority.
Doctor Arnold would probably give up authority over the archives in order to gain a more prestigious position. His wife, Eleanor Titus Arnold, was socially ambitious. They chose a poor place to make their mark. But her need to interfere, if known to any potential employer, would always be a barrier to his chances of bettering his situation elsewhere. As were his own shortcomings. Intelligent, knowledgeable on many things, his limited skills or experience with archives, and no people skills, made him a less than desirable candidate. The two of them made decisions about organizing the archives and processing the collections that Sydney learned to ignore or work around most of the time.
The only person who knew the full extent of her dissatisfaction with her boss was Ben. He listened when she expressed her frustration with the status quo and offered suggestions only when she asked for them. Of late though, the two Arnolds appeared infrequently, meaning much less interference from them. For which she was very grateful. Still, she couldn’t help wondering what they were doing and when they would re-emerge.
She ate as she finished the paper, then searched the Internet, until realizing the soup was cold. Covering the bowl, she put the remains in the fridge, which she would probably end up throwing away. She poured a glass of water from the filter pitcher and took it into the office.
As she continued the search for information on the Blair Bar Ranch, the computer chimed, indicating a new email. It was on her work account.
Still searching for information on the Blairs, I see. Don’t make me come over there.
Her first reaction was to laugh. “Don’t make me come over there”? She forwarded the message to Sheriff Otis’s email address, with a note about just receiving it. The wording was funny, but the fact that someone knew what she was doing on her computer, and knew her email address, was disturbing. After all, someone came into her house once, already.
How did they know? It was common knowledge that people could hack into others’ computers. If that was the case here, which computer was hacked? The message was sent to the work email address, but that didn’t mean anything. She started to shut down the computer, having no taste for continuing to work. However, she remembered something and opened the files on her computer. There she found the “Shared” option and clicked on it. She’d never used it, yet there were two other computers listed. Had she inadvertently enabled the option, or had someone done it for her? Or was it possible for someone to access her computer that way if she didn’t close it down?
Sharing was a mystery to her, but she made a note to check it out the next day. For now, it was time to go to bed, where she lay worrying about who was monitoring her computer activity.
She slept poorly, dreaming about someone spying on her through the computers, their blurred faces staring at her from the screen. Once she got to work next morning, she called the IT office for the county and asked for Tamara who said she would be over a little later in the morning.
The phone rang as soon as Sydney disconnected the first call.
“Sydney, it’s Otis.”
“Good morning.”
“I got your email. Were you on your home computer or the one in the archives?”
“The laptop at home. But the message came to my work email. I’ve asked Tamara to come check out both. I don’t know if she can tell if someone’s hacked into it or not.”
“Yeah, let her look at it. If she can’t tell anything, we need to get someone from the state police to check it.”
“Why them?”
“They have people with the expertise. Plus it’s a crime to hack into an individual’s computer, more so when it’s a government computer system. It’s also a crime to threaten someone.”
“I see.”
“Have Tamara call me when she’s done.”
“Will do.”
Charlene came in just after they hung up. They worked steadily on cleaning up the mess, making good headway. When Tamara came in, Sydney handed her the MacBook and gave her the desk to work on, where she could also access the desktop computer. She moved the papers and box she was currently sorting over to the table and continued working, but with an eye on Tamara. The computer tech was very good. She had installed the new Mac desktop a year earlier and helped Sydney set up her laptop so that she could access files on the server from home. This particular assignment took a little less than an hour.
“Here it is,” Tamara said.
“What?”
“Someone has accessed your Internet activity.”
“How did they do that? No one’s been in here and gotten to my computer.”
Tamara explained the process in very technical terms which Sydney understood only a little. What it boiled down to was that someone was sharing the activity on the desktop in a way that allowed them to “see” everything she did on the Internet. And because desktop computer and laptop were linked, they could also see activity when she was home.
“They actually got into the county system in order to get to your computer. We’ll get it blocked, but whoever did it is good. They’ll be back.”
“There’s no way to permanently block them?”
Tamara shook her head. “Even if we block their IP address, they can always set up another one.”
“Sheriff Otis wants you to call him and let him know what you’ve found.”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll call from here, if you don’t mind. He may have questions.”
Sydney agreed and left the office. She checked on the work going on in the reading room. Charlene looked up and shook her head.
“Problems?”
“No. Just maddening that someone could be so mean. At least the last two boxes went really fast.”
Sydney agreed that it was a mean thing to do, then checked on Tamara. It sounded like the conversation with Otis was winding down.
“He’s going to get the state police involved. They should be able to track down the person who hacked in.”
“Meanwhile?”
“You might want to give them a day or two to work on it. They need for your computer to stay as it is, so they can watch for them.”
“If I’m online does it make it easier to trace them?”
The tech didn’t think so, but they’d let her know if they needed anything different. She gathered up her things and left. Since the hackers got into the entire system, a lot of work probably waited for her back at the IT center.
Sydney went back to the reading room.
“Charlene, I think I’m going to do some outside research tomorrow. There’s a chance that Doctor Berger may show up sometime this week.”
“Okay. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
She decided that visiting the Kay County courthouse in Newkirk would help keep her off the computer. Plus she could do research there without being afraid someone else was listening in.
The drive north was uneventful, thanks to good weather. The sun even came out off and on. Sydney walked into the clerk’s office and leaned against the counter.
“Hi, Sandy.”
The county clerk looked up from her desk and smiled.
“I have the records over on that desk for you,” Sandy said.
It wasn’t the first time Sydney visited there to do research, either looking for records not yet put online or looking for more detail than was usually posted. As usual, Sandy outdid herself in making the search easy.
First, Sydney looked through all of the records on the Blair Bar Ranch. Property deeds, land sales and purchases, tax information, all in the paper records. That far back it was all written in large ledger books in a fine hand. In spite of the dust, reading the individual listings was a pleasure.
Birth records were on file for all of the Blair children and grandchildren. However, there was no record of Grayson, Sr.’s marriage. At least not under the “B”s.
Sydney asked for the records under the letter “X”. In some offices, records that people wanted to hide were filed there, by clerks who could not or would not destroy them. First, she looked in the marriage licenses issued. There were more than expected, but she found what she was looking for quickly.
“X Blair, Grayson, wed to Gladys Smith, 20 August 1940.”
The birth record of Grayson, Jr., was right behind the marriage record rather than in the birth records: “X Blair, Grayson, Jr., born 23 January 1941.” It listed the parents’ names, that they were married, and that the baby boy was “white,” brown eyed, and other details. The date of birth was five months after the date on the wedding license. It was not unusual for a bride to be pregnant, not even in the early 1900s. But in this case, the possibility that the father was not the name listed on the birth certificate loomed large. She was beginning to suspect that was the case.
Sydney made notes since she could not get copies of the originals unless she was a member of the family or an authorized representative, such as a professional genealogist hired by them. She always carried a journal for recording information, unlike most people these days who used a laptop or electronic tablet. Writing things down by hand also made it easier to remember later on.