The Librarian's Detour

The town faded behind her. Fields replaced houses. Cows stared at her with the judgment of creatures who had never been fingerprinted. She stuck out her thumb at every passing car. None stopped. One driver flipped her off. Another pretended to swerve at her. Small-town hospitality, she guessed.

After an hour, her legs ached. She sat on a guardrail and pulled out the romance novel. A duke and a secret baby. The duke was brooding. The baby was adorable. Elizabeth wondered if Gene would be a good father. Probably. He'd read bedtime stories and do all the voices. The thought made her chest tight.

A car slowed. Not the sedan—this was a vintage convertible, pale blue, with fins like a fish. The driver was a woman in her seventies, white hair pinned up with a pencil, cat-eye sunglasses, and a scarf that billowed behind her like a flag.

"Need a ride, dear?" The woman's voice was smoky, cheerful.

Elizabeth jumped up. "Yes! Thank you!"

"Throw your bag in the back. Mind the dog."

There was a dog in the back seat. A small, fluffy thing that looked like a dust mop with legs. It yapped once, then went back to sleep.

Elizabeth climbed in. The seats were leather and hot enough to fry an egg. She barely noticed. The convertible roared to life and they pulled away. In the rearview mirror, the black sedan hesitated, then turned down a side road.

"Lost them," the woman said. "I know that car. Been following you since the diner. I was having my morning coffee and saw you get picked up by Officer Billy. Then I saw that suit get out and watch you walk. Figured you could use a friend."

"You were at the diner?"

"Every morning. The oatmeal there is the only edible thing in this town. I'm Beatrice, by the way. Retired librarian, amateur sleuth, professional busybody."

"I'm Elizabeth."

"I know. You're famous, honey. The whole town's been buzzing about the shoplifter who couldn't afford a grilled cheese. Doris told me everything."

Elizabeth groaned. "I didn't steal anything."

"Oh, I know. That hardware store hasn't had a shoplifter since 2019, and it was a kid who stole a slingshot. This is something else. That suit—Pemberton, right?—he's up to something. I saw him come out of the diner looking like he ate a lemon."

"He wants me to leave my boyfriend."

"Rich people wanting to break up young love. That's a classic. I've read a hundred books like that. Never ends well for the rich people, if you ask me."

Beatrice drove with the confidence of someone who had been driving since before seatbelts were invented. She took curves fast, ran a stop sign, and honked at a pigeon. "So where are we going?"

"Milltown. My boyfriend's in the county lockup there. They're trying to transfer him interstate."

"Milltown is two counties over. That's a two-hour drive. I can take you, but I need to stop for gas. And maybe pie."

"I don't have money."

"I didn't ask. You can pay me by telling me your story. I love a good story."

So Elizabeth told her. About the friend's house, the instant connection, the week of bliss. About the police showing up at Gene's hard-to-find apartment—"impossible to find, and they just appeared"—and the jail, and the flight to the next state, and the camping, and the warrant, and the arrest. Then the second arrest, the note from Gene, the suit with the bribe, and now this.

Beatrice listened without interrupting. When Elizabeth finished, she nodded slowly. "That's a good one. Has all the elements. The star-crossed lovers. The mysterious organization. The corrupt small-town police. You need a mentor figure. I'll be that."

"You're going to help me?"

"I'm already helping. I'm driving you to Milltown. That's phase one."

They stopped at a gas station that also sold bait and fireworks. Beatrice filled the tank while Elizabeth used the restroom. When she came back, Beatrice was holding two slices of pie wrapped in napkins. "Apple. They were out of cherry. Get in."

Back on the road, the pie was warm, flaky, and exactly what she needed. The convertible ate up the miles. Beatrice talked about her late husband, her cat, and the time she saw a UFO. "It was shaped like a potato. I named him Spud."

An hour later, they entered Milltown. It was bigger than the last town, with actual traffic lights and a McDonald's. Beatrice pulled into the parking lot of the county courthouse, which also housed the lockup.

"Here we are. Want me to wait?"

"I don't know how long this will take. You've done enough."

"Nonsense. I'll wait. I have a book in the car. It's about a duke and a secret baby."

"No way."

"Yes way. It's a good one. The duke has a mole."

Elizabeth smiled. It was the first real smile in days. She grabbed her bag and walked into the courthouse. The air conditioning hit her like a wall. A bored-looking deputy sat behind a desk, reading a magazine.

"I'm here to visit an inmate. Gene Thompson."

The deputy didn't look up. "Thompson was transferred this morning. Interstate transport."

Elizabeth's heart dropped. "Where?"

"Can't say. Confidential."

"Please. I'm his fiancée. I need to know."

"Fiancée? He never mentioned a fiancée. Look, lady, I don't make the rules. He's gone. That's all I know."

She stood there, stunned. The building hummed. A fluorescent light flickered. She had walked all this way for nothing.

Then a voice whispered from a doorway. "Psst. Hey."

A guard she hadn't noticed before, a young man with acne and a kind face, motioned her over. "You Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

"Thompson left this for you. Said you'd come." He handed her a folded piece of paper. "He said to check the bus station locker. Number seven. Key's inside."

She unfolded the paper. It was a key. A small, brass key.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't mention it. He seemed like a good guy. Hope you find him."

She walked out in a daze. Beatrice was reading in the convertible, dog on her lap. "That was quick. Good news or bad?"

"He's been transferred. But he left me a clue."

"Excellent. A clue. Get in. We're going to the bus station."

The bus station was a sad building with a broken clock and a vending machine that only took Canadian coins. Locker number seven was in the back, next to a man sleeping on a bench. Elizabeth inserted the key. It clicked. The door swung open.

Inside was a black duffel bag—not hers, smaller. She unzipped it. A thick spiral notebook and a stack of cash. She counted. Five hundred dollars. The same amount Pemberton had offered her. She opened the notebook. Gene's handwriting, messy and urgent.

Lizzie, if you're reading this, I got away. Sort of. The transfer was a setup. A guy in a suit—Pemberton—he's got people everywhere. But I made a friend in here. A hacker. He helped me fake some paperwork. They think I'm in another state. I'm not. I'm hiding. I can't tell you where in case this falls into the wrong hands. But I left you money and a map. Turn to page 47.

She flipped to page 47. A crude hand-drawn map with an X. A town called Oakwood. Three counties east. And a note: Meet me at the old water tower. I'll be there at midnight on the 15th. That's three days from now. Come alone. I love you. —G.

She clutched the notebook. She had a destination. She had money. She had a plan.

Beatrice peered over her shoulder. "Oakwood? That's four hours from here. But I know a shortcut."

"You'd drive me?"

"Honey, I haven't had this much fun since I caught my husband cheating with a bingo caller. Of course I'll drive you. But first, we need supplies. And maybe a disguise."

"A disguise?"

"That black car is still out there somewhere. Trust me. I've read enough mysteries to know: the villain always shows up at the worst possible moment."

They walked out of the bus station. The sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink. And across the street, idling under a flickering streetlamp, was a black sedan.

The window rolled down. Mr. Pemberton's face appeared, expressionless.

"Going somewhere, Elizabeth?"

Beatrice stepped in front of her. "She's with me, pal. And I've got a car full of pie and a very angry dust mop. You want to try something, you go through us."

The dog yapped.

Mr. Pemberton stared. Then, slowly, the window rolled back up. The sedan pulled away and disappeared around a corner.

Beatrice turned to Elizabeth. "Okay, new plan. We leave now. Like, right now. And we take the back roads."

Elizabeth nodded, clutching the notebook. She had three days. A map. A ride. And a man who loved her enough to outsmart a shadowy organization.

They got in the convertible and drove into the night, the wind in their hair, the yellow lines a blur beneath them. Behind them, somewhere in the darkness, the sedan waited. But for now, she was free.

And she was going to find Gene.