I bundled myself up and went out into the storm with the intention of visiting the local library, where I thought I might look for any history that would explain the events nearby. The door opened as I came up the walk, revealing a plump, middle-aged woman with a pencil stuck into her graying bun, thick glasses, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
    "Saw you coming up the street," she chirped. "Come on in."
    "Hello."
    "You look like you're new to town, haven't seen you before?"
    "Just got in today."
    "Well, come on, come on."
    I relaxed in the warmth and looked around. The library is surprisingly large for a town this size, and well-maintained, with desks for two other librarians. There is a large central area with a gallery winding around it, and then two wings on either side.
    "What can I help you find? What are you here looking for?"
    "I'm here with my... husband and one of his business associates," I started.
    "Oh, marriage," she sighed happily. "You're so young, you must have just gotten married, what, three or four years ago?"
    "It was two, actually." I found myself rather amused by the deception.
    "Was it a lovely ceremony?"
    "Of course."
    "He's probably a lovely, lovely man."
    "He's probably a blood-sucking jerk," interjected a voice both young and petulant.
    "Dear!" the older woman remonstrated.
    "Anyway," I continued, ignoring the interruption, "since I'm not sure how long I'm going to be in town, I thought I would look up some of the town history perhaps."
    "Town history! Lovely! Come this way."
    Seeing the light of enthusiasm in her eyes, I resigned myself to many hours of talk on the subject, only hoping to find something useful to our mission. The librarian busied herself for some time and brought me a pile of books.
    "What are you looking for?" she asked helpfully.
    "Oh, I thought I'd start with some of the early colonial history, perhaps...."
    "Wonderful." She scurried off and brought another stack, sorting out the ones she thought might be useful.
    Above, on the gallery, I saw the young woman I had heard before, shelving books. She looked about my age, and that skirt had not been made with the weather in mind. Tad short for this kind of place, I thought, turning my attention to the books before me. I felt at home here, working through the stack in search of anything that might provide an explanation for the "funny stuff" going on in the area. Nothing about Millinocket itself seemed to stand out, but the Millinocket Register seemed to note more than its share of odd goings-on in Ambajejus, a small town on Ambajejus Lake, between Millinocket and Baxter State Park. [Note: This is a real location. Look at a map if you don't believe us. No one would make up a name like that.]
    It seems someone had hoped to recreate the success that was Millinocket on the next lake, expanding the timber industry and using the lakes for transport. The town never grew larger than a couple hundred people, and the stories set bills ringing madly in the back of my mind; far too many headlines such as "Four Found Dead in Ambajejus."
    The librarian didn't know much about the place, went off to another wing to speak to what I assume was the third member of the staff and came back armed with the names of the town founders, stories about their children, and sundry additional details.
    "Unfortunately, while we do have an extensive collection of family Bibles, we don't have any of the ones from the Ambajejus area," she told me regretfully, then went on a whisper, "I'm not sure they had them. They were... those sorts."
    I made a mental note not to let her know that I was from such a den of iniquity as Chicago. "I see. This is all incredibly interesting. You have a lovely little town."
    "Are you planning on revitalizing the town?" she asked, glancing at the strewn Ambajejus materials on the desk. "I heard that you were here for...."
    "Looking at timber prospects."
    "There is good timber up there," she said sagely.
    "You never know what might happen. I leave the business to my husband."
    "Oh. And there are the remains of their mill," she added.
    "Oh really. So they could put that back in operation?"
    "It would do wonders for the town," she chirped.
    "Well, I'm sure if--"
    WHAM. The girl upstairs dropped a stack of books. "I just know her husband will suck all the life out of it. Telling you right now, I know all about his type," she muttered to herself, glanced down and saw my raised eyebrows. "What?!"
    "Martha, I will not hear that from you. This woman is our guest," the older woman said sternly.
    I decided it would be most polite to pretend it hadn't happened; perhaps she'd just had a bad break-up. Or perhaps she saw me as competition, poor child. It wouldn't be the first time.
    "I insist that you apologize to her," the matron continued.
    "Oh no, no, it's all right," I told her kindly.
    "Hm." The girl sniffed. "Husband didn't care very much, did he?"
    "I beg your pardon?" I was forced to ask.
    "I don't see any ring."
    "It got lost before we left," I fabricated. "We haven't had time to replace it."
    "See," the older woman sighed, "there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything, but you—if you weren't my—" she gave an exasperated sigh.
    "You're just staying in town a few days, aren't you?" Martha asked.
    "That's our intent, yes."
    "Well, have a nice... stay," she didn't quite hiss.
    "I'm sure we will," I smiled back as she stalked off on higher heels than I would consider wearing in a place like this.
    

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