Chapter 2: Whit & Sharon
“Uh, hello...?” Whit said as brightly as he could manage to no one before a shiny, faux wood counter top at the back of the awkwardly small Saint Joseph County Library.
Shortly after a tall, lissome lady of about his age peeked out from a doorway behind it with a chuckle. Her long, strawberry blond hair, ankle-length, flowered sundress, and sandals rather reminded him of a hippy. She bore squarely into his gaze with a big smile wrinkling the crow’s feet of her blue eyes.
“How are you?” she asked, her bright volume quickly dashing any preconceived notions of a quiet librarian.
She actually startled Whit enough to make him glance around until the panicked moth in his abdomen calmed its wings.
“Great!” he lied.
Then, his awkward silence prompting her, “What can I do for you?”
“Oh!” he said. “Where would I find the local history section?”
“Ah,” she said with a sly grin, “Ghost hunter, huh?” Then, Whit's astonishment lost on her, “Oh come on...” she said, still smiling, “I've seen all of the shows. They always send the lackeys, usually girls unfortunately, to go research the properties they're investigating. What most people don't know,” she said, leaning toward him to speak quieter, “Is that it is always done before the show. They just bring the cameras in for a few moments on their way out of town.”
Just how haunted is this burg, Whit thought.
“Here, let me show you something,” she said, quickening from around the counter upon noticing Whit's quizzical expression.
She waved him after her toward a single, slender bookcase in the corner. Whit's heart sank upon noticing that it was only about the height and width of a tall man's reach.
The librarian waved her hand over the case, “This would be it.” She said still gazing over it.
Whit lingered for a moment in her scent unable to place it, not sweet, more incense-like, but not unpleasant.
“What exactly are you looking for?” she said, breaking the spell.
“I need information on Quarry Lake,” he said.
“You're in luck.” She said, raising an index finger before dragging a tomb from a high shelf. “I'm also the local historian—director of the library—librarian—local historian,” she said as if it all made perfect sense.
She motioned for him to take a seat opposite of her while plopping the tome down on a small table between them.
He noticed that the dark volume read, Saint Joseph County Register 1954, before she quickly set to perusing it.
“Thanks.” He said to the top of her head. Silent moments later he added, “I'm not a ghost hunter...” Awkward moments later still, “...Or a lackey...”
“Of course not,” she said, still engrossed. “You're not a cute little coed.” She said, finally looking up with a twinkle. “I'm afraid there's not much. I took an interest in the place years ago when I overheard my boys talking about sneaking out there.”
Whit's heart sank further despite noticing that she didn't wear a wedding ring.
“I couldn't place why I got so angry with them until I remembered that a boy just a little older than me drowned there when I was a kid.”
Whit looked away embarrassed by the coloring, he was sure was in his face.
He noticed that the library, dead when he arrived, was filling up with people milling about. They kept such a distance, he wondered if they were alive.
“I lost my husband a little while ago. But I could never imagine losing a child. My mom's sister disappeared too when she was growing up. She said grandma and grandpa were never the same.”
Whit's heart leaped into his throat, his expression driving her gaze away from him. She noticed the other patrons. A smile brightened her face again.
She turned the book toward him. “My book club, sorry,” she said. “There's a two or three page chronology of property ownership there. Wish I could be more help.”
“Sharon!” One of the single guys there said, waving.
She left Whit with, “Don't hesitate to let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.” And she was gone, enfolded into her circle of friends, leaving Whit slightly jealous of her for it.
His quick review of the pages proved fruitless. The land surrounding the quarry was owned by the same company since 1874, Living Rock Ltd. The land use purpose being “...the mining and wholesale distribution of quartz.” Whit examined a few other promising volumes on the book shelf for anything pertaining to Living Rock Ltd. Perhaps some notable citizen would be cited as owner, anything. Until, frustrated by the hopeless search, he slinked out so Sharon wouldn't notice him leave.