She was tall and slim, and the figure visible beneath her T-shirt and blue jeans suggested that her high school physique wasn’t entirely a thing of the past. The chocolate-colored hair that curled behind her ears held no trace of gray; then again, Libby was only in her late thirties. Her wide brown eyes were partially hidden by a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. She looked like the stereotype of the pretty librarian. “How are things going?” Libby asked me, sending me a concerned glance as she peeled a carrot. “Oh, fine. I mean, you don’t have to worry. Jack is taking good care of me. You all are.” “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, Madeline, with everyone around, but I feel just terrible about what happened. And I know Slider and Molly do, too. Slider could have no way of knowing—” “I absolutely understand,” I told Libby, touching her shoulder. “The responsibility lies with the person who gave the order, and Jack and I are pretty sure we know who that is.” Libby scratched her nose with the back of her hand and shot me a curious look.
