

Lost in Cognito

By Pat Alvarado

Copyright 2012 Pat Alvarado

Cecropia Press

ISBN 978-9962-715-05-4, eBook

ISBN 978-9962-715-04-7, soft cover

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To all those who are lost

And wish to be found.

P.V.A.

Contents

Map of Cognito

I. Arrival

II. The Library

III. Research

IV. Dinner

V. The Cemetery

VI. Back to the Library

VII. Tea for Two

VIII. Marriages and Divorces

IX. Background

X. Neon Lights

XI. Lightning

XII. Jonquils

Epilogue

The Author

Other Works by Pat Alvarado

Thank You

COGNITO

Chapter I, Arrival

I BOOKED A ROOM for myself at the Cross Bow Hotel in Cognito, a pleasant little town just north of the border, away from the humdrum and fanfare of life. Only my secretary knew I was here. I liked to work alone so this was the perfect place.

By the time I checked in and unpacked, it was three o'clock. The sun slanted its golden light into the window and warmed the room. Tiny specks of dust danced toward the ceiling.

I called down for room service. I would indulge my pizza addiction before working on the job at hand.

"Good afternoon, this is Room 321. Could you please send up a large vegetarian pizza and a bottle of your house red?... Thirty minutes? Okay, thanks," I said to the room service clerk and hung up.

I had a job to do, but procrastination set in. I turned on the TV, flipped the remote to a sports channel and waited, but I could do without the bowling tournament this year, and probably every year for that matter. So I turned it off and hooked up my laptop. The world came into view. I clicked through the news. I skimmed through the sordid details of the lives of the rich and infamous and the marvelous discoveries of the universe. My viewing was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Room Service," came a voice from on the other side.

The smell of hot pizza invaded the room and my stomach growled.

"Just sign here, sir," the delivery boy said.

"Thank you," I replied.

I opened up the bottle of wine and poured a glass. Then I sat at the writing table and grabbed a slice of pizza. The crust was warm and crunchy, the way I like it. My hunger abated, I could tarry no longer. I faced the computer and opened up the file I was working on:

Marion Davis, anthropologist, age 37

Last seen on August 14, 1974, in Cognito

This was all I had to go on: No date of birth, no place of birth, nothing but her age and the date on which she was last seen, and an old faded and blurry photograph taken some time before she disappeared that provided a sketchy physical description. A thin woman with short-cropped brown hair smiled into the camera. She wore a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She was standing in an expanse of what looked like a desert with mountains in the distance, and she was pointing to them.

The person who hired me to locate her claimed that Marion Davis was a good friend who had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. I admit that I like a good challenge, and though this seemed a bit over the edge, I needed to find this person, and I would go to the limit to do so. That's why I came to Cognito.

The fact that she was an anthropologist was a tiny lead. The town boasted of a factual investigative library so that might be a good start. But it was late and the library was closed until the next morning. Meanwhile, I could do what I liked to do most – I could read. So I pulled out the volume of Caesar's Gallic Wars and dug in.

When I woke up, it was 6:00 A.M. The Gallic Wars lay face down on the floor next to the bed. One day I'd finish it.

I dragged myself out of bed, stretched, and then headed for the shower.

It was 7:00 A.M. by the time I reached the hotel dining room. I sat next to the window and gazed across the street. I had to laugh to myself. The sidewalks in this area were made of wood, but there weren't many trees. So where did they get the wood? They must have trucked it in, I suppose. Many of the buildings also were wooden. The whole place reminded me of something out of a western movie.

"What'll it be for you this morning, sir?" the waitress interrupted my thoughts. She was a short, chubby woman in her mid-thirties. Underneath her pink apron, she wore a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Her nametag said Elaine.

"Give me a minute here, miss," I said and squinted at the menu card on the table. "I'll have scrambled eggs, wheat toast and a cup of coffee."

"No bacon, sir?"

"No thanks, I'm toying with becoming a vegetarian," I confessed.

"Okay, sir, I'll be right back with this. My name's Elaine, by the way," she said and pointed to the tag.

"Right, thanks, Elaine." I returned to my thoughts about the wood. I wondered again just where that lumber had come from. How old were the sidewalks and why didn't the people of Cognito modernize completely and use concrete like most modern cities?

Elaine came back with a steaming cup of coffee on a chipped saucer and a tiny pitcher of milk. The crockery was thick and white with a thin green line around the rim of each piece. It reminded me of my grandmother's dishes.

"Here you go, sir – coffee, scrambled eggs and wheat toast."

"Thank you, Elaine," I said and poured some milk into my coffee and stirred. The sound of the spoon against the cup made me think of my childhood...

Grandma's Kitchen 1950

"Eat your oatmeal, Jake, it's good for you, it'll make you big and strong like Grandpa," she said wiping her hands on her apron.

"I don't like oatmeal, Grandma. It's too gooey," Jake complained and glanced over at his grandpa, dark brown eyes squinting at him over the rim of his coffee cup.

"What would you like to eat then?" she asked.

"I want to eat what Grandpa's eating. He's not eating oatmeal."

"But he did when he was young, that's why he's so big and strong today."

Jake looked over at his grandpa again.

"Give the boy what he wants, Edna," he said and winked at Jake.

She rolled her eyes and picked up the bowl of oatmeal.

"All right, Jake, I'll fix you some scrambled eggs and coffee, but you better eat it all," she warned.

"I will, Grandma."

The eggs went down easy, but it took lots of milk and a couple of teaspoons of sugar to make the coffee go down without gagging, but Jake cleaned his plate and drained his mug of coffee, just like Grandpa.

***

"Would you like some more coffee, sir?" Elaine asked bringing me back to the present.

"Yes, please."

"Those eggs okay?" she asked.

I looked down at my empty plate and smiled.

"I believe so, just like my grandma's cooking," I said.

"Thank you, sir, I'll tell the cook," she said and laid the bill face down on the table.

After I finished my coffee, I paid the tab and headed out the door where a steady, cool breeze greeted me.

The town was laid out in squares with one wide main street that ran north and south, and a broad avenue that ran east and west intersected this. Several smaller streets ran parallel on both sides of Main Street, and as many avenues ran parallel to Broad Avenue. The streets were numbered and the avenues were lettered. There was no getting lost in Cognito. You just had to follow the grid.

The Cross Bow Hotel was on East 3rd Street between South B and South C avenues, and the Cognito Research Library was on the corner of West 2nd Street and North B Avenue. I left the hotel and headed north, my sneakers not making the clumping sound I expected on the wooden sidewalk.

It was early still and not many shops were open, but the morning sky glowed deep blue and cloudless as I headed toward my destination and what I hoped would provide me with the lead I needed to find Marion Davis.
Chapter II, The Library

THE COGNITO RESEARCH LIBRARY was an impressive three-story wooden building with a wide veranda on the first and second floors and a smaller balcony on the third. The walls were painted an electric blue and the windows together with their open shutters were white. I couldn't imagine that it had always been a library, it seemed more like a remnant from the past, someone's home perhaps.

Seven broad steps brought me to the first veranda and the double inlaid beveled glass doors. A tiny woman sat at the main desk near the right wall, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

"May I help you?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

"Yes, please. I'm looking for someone who was last seen here in August 1974. I don't have much to go on except her name and this old photograph," I said and handed her the photo.

"I see, well, you've come to the right place. Just fill out this form and sign the registry, then follow me and I'll take you to our lab. We're open Monday through Saturday from eight thirty to five o'clock."

"Great," I said.

Once I filled out the form and signed in, she handed me a badge, and I followed her up the winding staircase to the second floor.

"We don't have an elevator, sorry," she whispered. Her right sneaker squeaked every other step.

"You're going to have to get that oiled," I said.

"Beg your pardon?" she whispered.

"Your sneaker, it needs oil," I said and pointed to her foot.

"Oh, yes, I suppose I will," she laughed. "Well, here we are."

"This is the lab?" I asked. A fifteen-foot ceiling topped an expanse of floor to ceiling bookshelves along one wall and an array of workstations near the windows.

"Just make yourself at home. The tomes are organized by year going back to the beginning of the 19th Century. If your person was in Cognito, she'll be registered in one of them, no doubt about it. No one gets lost in Cognito," she said and smiled.

"Let's hope not," I said and headed toward the workstation nearest the window and hooked up my laptop. Then I headed toward the stacks. The first year recorded was 1803. I climbed the sliding ladder and reached for the bound leather book with its gold embossed letters – Cognito – 1803.

Back at my workstation I opened the book to the first of the vellum pages and scanned the entries. The first entry read:

Juan Iota, founder of Cognito, I January, MDCCCIII.

Odd, I thought, why would he use the Latin for the year? Who was this Juan Iota? Was he a scholar? What brought him to these parts? Why did he found Cognito? Or better yet, what did he find in Cognito that made him want to stay? What future did he see here? There was nothing more about him, though I thought perhaps he might be Spanish with a name like that. Maybe I could write up a dossier on him, give him a past. But then, perhaps he didn't want a new or invented past. Maybe he was content to forget it. Maybe that's why he founded Cognito.

I read through a few more entries, all of them just names and dates. No clues as to who they were or what they were doing in Cognito. I pulled down another tome, 1804, and skimmed through the entries, more names and dates. If all the entries were like this, how was this going to help me locate Marion Davis? I continued through to the end of 1804 when finally bits and pieces of more information about an entry began to appear:

Thurston Thomas, arrived November 13, 1804, green grocer.

Selma M. Jones, arrived November 14, 1804, seamstress.

And so on went the entries. I moved on to the next year and skimmed through its pages. What I found odd was that no one left Cognito once they arrived or at least no one took note of departures of any kind. I was intrigued. So instead of going directly to 1974, I would study each year until I reached that one. It would be slow going, but I wanted to be thorough.

By lunchtime I had studied twelve years, taking notes as I went along. I replaced 1815 to its place on the shelf and stretched. I cleared my workstation and headed downstairs. I placed my badge on the main desk and signed out. It was twelve thirty. I'd be back in an hour. At the rate I was going, I calculated it would take me close to four days to read through all the tomes – a monumental task.

Once on the street, I headed north along 2nd Street. I found a little diner about two blocks from the library. I sat in a booth near the window and studied the menu. Today's special: Charlie's Chili. Sounded good to me.

"I'll have the chili and a large iced tea," I told the waiter, a young man in jeans and a black t-shirt. His nametag said Bill.

"Yes, sir, coming right up," he said and placed the order on the clip above the counter.

An old-fashioned jukebox graced the corner of the diner; neon bubbles seemed to flow along its rim framing the list of songs, beckoning me.

I got up and read the list and picked one of my old-time favorites, Dream Lover by Bobby Darin. The machine took my quarter, and I watched as the wheel spun to A-5 and the 45 came forward to lay flat and meet the needle. In the blink of an eye, the music took me back, way back...

High School, 1959

Jake's eyes followed Melissa as she entered the room and slid into her desk near the window. She placed her books in front of her. He remembered the day they met in the cafeteria way back in Seventh grade. She called him Burger Boy because he loved burgers of any kind, and he called her Salad Girl because she was a vegetarian. Now they were in Eleventh grade. They were still friends, but things had changed between them. They spoke, but they ran in different circles. She was into theater and acting. He was into sports, especially basketball. He wondered if she thought about him because he certainly thought a lot about her.

All of a sudden, she turned toward him and winked at him, and his heart did a double beat.

He smiled and nodded back at her, but he could feel the heat rise up through his face.

"Good morning, class," Mr. Johnson said.

"Good morning, Mr. J.," the class said in unison.

Mr. Johnson was Jake's favorite teacher. He made history come alive. It was like being there whenever he spoke of some event that might have occurred hundreds of years before.

"I know our minds are on summer vacation, but let's see if we can focus on history for a few minutes this morning. Today we're going to talk about the 3-D effect," Mr. Johnson said and wrote three capital D's on the board. "Sid, could you tell us the meaning of 3-D?"

"Sure, Mr. J., it means three-dimensional, not flat, with depth. At the movies things come to life, but you have to wear special glasses," Sid responded.

"And you are correct, Sid, so let me venture to talk about the big picture in 3-D," he said and pointed to Jake. "How many states are there in the United States, Jake?"

"Forty-nine," he said.

"Right, Jake. And when did this last state join the Union?"

"Just this year, in January, Alaska became a state."

Mr. Johnson drew what appeared to be a clinched fist with the thumb sticking out down to the right and labeled it USA.

Sid raised his hand.

"Yes, Sid?"

"You forgot Alaska," he said.

"No, I didn't. I just haven't put it on the board yet," he said and then drew another big fist facing the other way but without the thumb and labeled it Alaska.

"Why is it separated from the rest?" someone asked.

"Because Canada won't get out of the way," Sid said and everyone laughed.

"That's right, Sid," Mr. Johnson said and wrote Canada in between the two drawings. "Alaska is a non-contiguous state. The other 48 states are contiguous. Can you figure out the meaning of those two words?"

"Separate and together?" someone in front of the class offered.

"Very good," Mr. Johnson said.

Melissa raised her hand.

"Yes, Melissa?" he asked.

"Why did they wait so long to join? Everybody else joined a long time ago."

"Perhaps there were major advantages for the Alaskans and the nation," Mr. Johnson said.

"I can see what the US will get out of this, but what will the Alaskans get?" she asked.

"They'll get taxed," Sid said and everybody laughed again.

"Most certainly, but there were advantages on both sides. What do you know about Alaska that would be advantageous to the US? Does anyone wish to guess?" Mr. Johnson asked and scanned the room. No hands went up. "Okay, then I'll tell you, though I really don't like to do that. It's... nah... I'm not going to tell you. It's for me to know, and you to find out. By tomorrow! The first person to hand in the correct answer with a written explanation supporting his or her findings gets... let me see..."

"Exempt from finals!" Sid shouted and everyone laughed.

"Good try, Sid, but let's say 5 extra points toward the final. Now let's look at these 3 D's on the board."

***

"Here's your chili, sir," Bill the waiter said as he placed a steaming bowl on the table.

"Thank you. This looks real good," I said and dug in. I was hungry.
Chapter III, Research

IT WAS PAST ONE o'clock when I left the diner and made my way back to the library. I signed in and picked up a badge.

"Everything okay?" the little desk clerk whispered.

"Yes, thank you," I whispered back and took the stairs up to the lab.

The tall shelves loomed at me. Undaunted, I pulled the sliding ladder across the stacks and withdrew the tome marked 1816. At the workstation, I began my search, only a bit slower than the morning. The entries were more detailed than in previous years, and it was like reading mini-novels – each one a person's life in outline, no frills, just names, dates and facts. I finished 1816 and replaced it, and that's when I noticed the piece of paper wadded up at the back of the shelf. It was as if someone had hidden it there, or perhaps had tossed it in the air and it had landed behind the books. I picked it up and at the same time pulled down 1817.

Back at the workstation, I carefully un-wadded the yellowed paper and laid it flat on the table. It was a letter to someone named Maria. I felt slightly embarrassed reading someone else's mail, like I was invading their privacy or something, but I stifled my feelings and read the letter:

Cognito, January 7, 1850

My dearest Maria,

By the time you receive this, I will be on my way, heading west to California. I want to get there before the gold runs out. Once I strike it rich, I will send for you and the children. Please don't fret. I'll be careful and promise to write to you the next chance I get. And don't try to find me; I won't be in Cognito for long.

Yours faithfully,

Edward

Well, I hoped that this was Edward's draft and that he indeed sent another letter to Maria. Poor gal. Now I felt compelled to check the tome for 1850. So I pulled it down and there it was – the entry for an Edward Blakely:

Edward Blakely, arrived January 3, 1850, journalist.

Now I was caught. I'd have to skim through to see if I found someone named Maria, but I'd do that later, so I noted everything and opened up 1817, trying to stick to my original decision to methodically check each tome in chronological order, but it was difficult to concentrate. The letter kept nagging me. I needed to know whether or not Maria came to Cognito looking for Edward. I wouldn't relax until I knew for sure so I placed a bookmark on the page I was reading and closed 1817.

It was interesting how each tome grew in thickness with each passing year, but 1850 was unusually thick, thicker in fact than some of the later years I noticed. Could it have been gold fever that brought people to Cognito? And why were the subsequent years thinner, especially between 1861 and 1865? But I'd try to resolve that question later. First I'd try to find Maria.

I began at the beginning again, page one, 1850. There was Edward's name again on January 3, and as I read, the thought occurred to me that maybe he didn't leave at all. Maybe he decided to stay in Cognito forever and had scrapped his plans to pan for gold. My finger slid down the pages slowly, and I found her on page 73:

Maria Medina Blakely, arrived June 8, 1850, wife and mother.

Edward Blakely, Jr., arrived June 8, 1850, child.

Sue Ellen Blakely, arrived June 8, 1850, child.

So, Maria had come in search of Edward, or had she? If she were looking for him, did she find him here in Cognito? Did he find her? According to the librarian downstairs, no one gets lost here. But I would put this story to rest for the time being so I placed a bookmark on page 73 and closed the book on Maria and Edward. 1817 was calling me so I went back.

By four thirty, I had searched through to 1830, a bit more than I had calculated. It appeared that Cognito had a constant flow of people from all walks of life. There were slaves, freedmen, revolutionaries, soldiers, farmers, ironsmiths, sailors, cabinetmakers, milliners and even a few horse thieves, and Mr. Iota had noted them all. Why? I'd have to ask the little lady at the desk, maybe she'd know. So I packed up my things and made my way downstairs.

"You're leaving early," she whispered. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong, it's just that my eyes hurt, and I need some air," I whispered after I had signed out and turned in my badge.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "But reading can do that."

"I know. I just need a break, but can I ask you something before I leave?"

"About what?" she asked.

"About this place, this library, this town, the founder mostly. Why did he keep track of everyone coming to town? Why does this library look like somebody's house? How long did Mr. Iota keep track of everyone? Who replaced him when he died? Did he die? When did you get here?"

"Hold on, one thing at a time," she whispered. "I can answer all your questions, but not here. Why don't we meet for an early dinner? There's a lovely little Italian restaurant on the corner of West 4th Street and South B Avenue. Shall we say six o'clock?"

I was taken aback by her forwardness, but then everything is different in Cognito, and she wasn't bad looking.

"Sure, okay, that'd be fine. Do we need a reservation?" I stammered.

"No, I know the owners. In fact, they're relatives of mine," she whispered and pointed to her nametag: Rita Martini.

I read it and smiled, and so did she. Something seemed familiar in that smile.

"The corner of West 4th Street and South B Avenue, 6:00 P.M. I'll be there," I whispered.

"So will I," she whispered back. "Ciao."

"Ciao," I said and headed out the door.

On my way back to the hotel, I couldn't believe that I had accepted a blind date, well, not exactly blind, but a date with someone I didn't know at all. This was so unlike me. At least it would be Italian food. I simply love Italian food. It's so rich and spicy and savory, like whoever cooks it not only likes to cook, but likes to eat as well.

In my room, I dropped off my stuff and took a quick shower to freshen up a bit. Wouldn't want a cloud of flies to follow me to the restaurant. I pulled on my blue sweater and slipped on some loafers with my jeans. I hoped it was casual because casual was all I had to wear.

By five forty-five, I was out the door and heading west toward my rendezvous with Rita on West 4th Street and South B Avenue. I didn't want to be late, but I didn't want to be too early either. Dating has always made me nervous. Suppose she had nothing upstairs, what would we talk about? I forced myself to stop fretting over the small stuff. She invited me out so she must have something to say. I wondered if she had been born in Cognito. If she had, that would make her a Cognitian or maybe a Cognitonian? I'd have to ask her.

As I pondered these questions, I crossed the street and made my way to South B Avenue and headed west. The sun hung low in the sky, orange and glowing with its last burst before dropping beneath the horizon. How many times had it done that? How many more times would it pop up again on the other side?

Several passers-by strolled along, going home most likely. South B Avenue was wide, but the buildings changed somewhat as I neared 4th Street. They were closer to the sidewalk and smaller than the ones in the center of town. The shops boasted the usual fare that one would find in a town or small city, with quaint little wooden signs hanging out from the walls above the doors and entryways: a shoe for shoe repair, a tooth for a dentist, a pig for a butcher shop, a ladle for a restaurant on the corner.

The handle of the ladle sported a tiny little Italian flag in red, white and green. Inside the big picture window, I could see several tables covered in red-checkered tablecloths. Rita was sitting at the one nearest the window. She waved and smiled. I waved back and went in to meet my destiny.
Chapter IV, Dinner

WHEN I SAT DOWN, she said, "I hope you don't mind sitting near the window like this, but I love to watch people pass by."

"Not at all, so do I. It's like live video," I said.

A heavy man in a big white apron brought us the menu.

"Ah, Rita, what'll it be tonight, my gal?" he asked and gave me a cursory glance.

"Uncle Luigi, this is my detective friend Jake from the library. He's new in town."

"Detective, eh? Looking for someone special?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, I am, a woman who was last seen in Cognito a few years back, but I've only just started my investigation, and it's slow-going," I replied.

"Well, if she's here, you'll find her, no doubt about it. No one gets lost here."

"That's what they tell me," I said and glanced at Rita.

"Well, what'll it be then?" he asked again.

"What do you recommend, Uncle Luigi?" Rita asked. "I told Jake what a great place you have here."

"Ah, we make a great puttanesca and the anchovies come straight from Italy," he said.

Rita turned to me with a questioning look.

"Shall we try it?" she asked. "I can vouch for the sauce. I've had it many times."

"Yes, sounds delicious," I said.

"Okay then, I'll bring you some salad to begin and some focaccia and some wine, of course," Uncle Luigi said and left.

"I hope you do drink wine," Rita said.

"You can't eat Italian and not drink wine."

Uncle Luigi returned with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He uncorked the bottle and handed me the cork. I looked at the cork and then at Rita. She pointed to her nose.

"Ah, yes," I said and sniffed the cork and nodded to Uncle Luigi, who filled our glasses, smiled and left.

"Welcome to Cognito," Rita said and raised her glass.

"Thank you," I said. "It's nice to be here."

"Now tell me, what is it that you would like to know?" she asked.

"Well, for starters, who is Juan Iota and where did he come from?"

"Oh, that's a simple question. Juan Iota is the founder of the town. He arrived here in the early 19th Century and pitched his tent right at the intersection of Main Street and Broad Avenue. No one is sure of where he was before he arrived because he never spoke of it to anyone."

"Did he arrive alone? I mean did he have a family?"

"He arrived alone, but he married someone shortly after she arrived, or rather after a preacher arrived to conduct the ceremony. She was a seamstress, I believe. They had five children, all girls."

"Ah, so that explains why there was only one Iota in Cognito," I said.

"That's partially right, the girls married and took on their husbands' names, but actually there were two Iotas left, Juan and the missus."

"I stand corrected," I said.

Uncle Luigi showed up with a large mixed salad and the focaccia.

"How's the wine?" he asked.

"Very good," I said. "Smooth."

"I'll be back later with the puttanesca."

Rita smiled as he left.

"What else would you like to know?"

"Why did Mr. Iota keep track of everyone who came to town? And why is there no record of anyone leaving?"

"I'm not sure why he did that, but there is a record of those who left. It's just not in the lab or the library for that matter."

"Where is it then?" I asked incredulous.

"It's on the south side of town, opposite the railway station."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't he keep the records together?"

"I don't know, maybe it became too tedious for him, but that's just a guess on my part."

"But the only thing I saw when I came into town was a large cemetery."

"Right, that's where the record of those who left town is kept."

"I'll have to go there tomorrow and check it out," I said.

"Good idea, would you like some more salad?" she asked.

"Yes, please. This focaccia is super."

"Just wait till you taste the puttanesca. It'll make you think you died and went to Italy."

I raised my glass to her and we clinked glasses.

"To Italy," I said.

"To Italy," she repeated. "What else would you like to know?"

"What about the research library? Was it always a library?"

"Oh no, that was Juan Iota's home. When he and the missus departed, he left it to the town. For a time it was used as a hotel for new arrivals, but later it was declared an historic landmark, and for that reason it became a library. On the third floor, you'll find Juan Iota's personal library."

"His personal library?" I asked dumbfounded.

"Oh yes, he was an avid reader and writer. He seemed to be especially fond of history."

"Is it open to research also?" I asked.

"Certainly, but only on Mondays so you'll have to wait a few days for that."

"I'll look forward to it," I said.

"You might have to extend your stay," she said.

"If I have to, I will."

Just then Uncle Luigi arrived with the puttanesca, a steaming aroma of tomatoes, olives, capers and anchovies wafted over the table.

Rita picked up her napkin and tucked one corner of it into her collar and smiled at me across the table. I smiled back and did the same.

"How do you say 'this is delicious' in Italian?" I asked.

"Questo è delizioso," she said.

I raised my glass to Uncle Luigi, who stood near the counter, and said, "Questo è delizioso!"

"Grazie, grazie mille. E 'il mio piacere," he said and waved.

"You have won his heart," Rita said.

"And he has won mine," I said and laughed.

"What else would you like to know?"

"If I knew how to cook, I'd want the recipe to this puttanesca, but I'll leave that to Uncle Luigi. But may I ask a personal question?"

"Shoot."

"Are you a native Cognitian or Cognitonian? I mean were you born here?"

"Yes, I'm a native Cognitonian. My parents arrived a bit before World War II, and my brother and I were born a few years after that."

"You have a brother?"

"Yes, he's my twin. We're fraternal twins so we don't look too much alike, though there are similarities."

"Are your parents still here?"

"No, they departed together a couple of years ago," she said.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried."

"Oh no, don't worry. They were happy here, but they wanted to move on, so they did."

"When did Uncle Luigi get here?"

"He was here before my parents, and I really don't know when he arrived. He never said, and I never asked."

"Is your brother here?" I asked.

"Yes, he owns the Cross Bow Hotel on East 3rd Street, between South C and South B avenues."

"That's where I'm staying," I said.

"Great! His name is Robert, but we call him 'Dry' to tease him," she said and laughed.

"Oh, that's mean," I said.

"I won't tell you what he calls me."

"Aw, come on, what is it?"

"You'll have to guess."

"Hmm, let me see... could it be 'Double'?" I asked.

"Yes! How did you guess that?" she said and turned red.

"I put two and two together, you're twins, last name Martini... what else could it be?"

"You must be a very good detective," she said.

"I am, but it's lots of fun most of the time, so it doesn't seem like work, like putting together a puzzle."

Uncle Luigi showed up with a small platter of cheese and some strawberries.

"Va tutto bene?" he asked.

"Tutto bene, Zio Luigi, Tutto era delizioso." Rita said.

Uncle Luigi smiled broadly.

"Grazie, grazie mille, delizioso," I said.

"Il piacere è tutto mio," he said and patted me on the back.

When we had finished the fruit and the cheese, I asked Uncle Luigi for the check, but he waved at me and said, "E 'sulla casa."

This was more than generous. I felt almost like a pauper, which I am not, but Rita nudged me to accept graciously, that he would let me pay next time, so I did and thanked Uncle Luigi profusely for a most wonderful meal.

I walked Rita home, about two blocks from the restaurant, a small apartment on South C Avenue.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening," I said. "I haven't enjoyed a meal like that in a very long time."

"I had a good time, too," she said. "Thank you for accepting."

Now was the awkward part. I could feel the heat crawl up my neck and turn my face red. Thankfully the street lamp was behind me. I cleared my throat.

"Can you find your way back to the hotel?" she asked.

"Yes, I can't get lost here."

"See you tomorrow at the library?" she whispered and offered me her hand.

"Yes, tomorrow," I whispered.

I retraced my steps to the hotel and rested a while with Caesar's Gallic Wars until sleep closed my mind to the battle.
Chapter V, The Cemetery

MORNING IN COGNITO KNOCKED on my window bright and clear. It was six and I was wide-awake so I dressed quickly and put on my sneakers. I'd go for a run toward the train station before breakfast.

Not many people were on the streets, a few cars here and there, but mostly the town still slept. I made my way to East 3rd Street heading south. When I reached South Q Avenue, I turned west toward Main Street, then back south another couple of blocks toward the station.

The whistle broke the silence of the morning and the air filled with the chugging of the big engine. A few passengers stood on the ramp, but no one looked at me as I milled my way through the waiting crowd. The whistle blew again three times and the doors swung open for a while and then shut, and the train cranked slowly along the tracks toward the west.

Across the station I could discern the cemetery, its wrought-iron gates painted white against the blue sky. Like the town, the cemetery was laid out in a grid, with street signs to guide its visitors. The gravestones, all white on this crisp morning, lay in neat rows on well-manicured patches of grass. The names were chiseled into the marble. Some seemed familiar to me, surely because I had read them the day before in the library tomes. I stopped at one and read:

Edward Blakely, journalist, departed Cognito June 10, 1850.

So Edward Blakely had departed Cognito feet first. I wondered what had happened to him. Had Maria found him before he departed? How did he die? Did Maria find him and do him in? I paced along the row reading the next few tombstones, but Maria wasn't there. I knew that it was fruitless to read all of the names here, but I wanted to find Juan Iota's grave. I didn't have to search long. In the center of the grid stood a large bronze statue. A plaque at the bottom read:

Juan Iota, founder, departed Cognito April 12, 1863.

The man in the statue wore a long coat over his vest and trousers. His tousled hair fell across his brow and seemed to move in the gentle breeze. His right hand extended away from his body, with the index finger pointing heavenward.

I wondered if his wife had preceded him in his departure. My answer lay at the foot of the statue, another plaque that read:

Selma M. Jones Iota, seamstress, wife and mother, departed Cognito February 9, 1863.

I didn't tarry much longer. I had to find Marion Davis or at least find out whether or not she had truly ever been in Cognito and for that I would have to return to the library, so I re-traced my steps back to the hotel for a quick shower and breakfast. I'd come back here to the cemetery another day.

When I reached the hotel, there was a small group of people in the lobby, checking in no doubt. I wondered how long they would remain in Cognito and whether or not they would one day be registered in the logbooks at the library. Then another thought occurred to me – Who was in charge of registering the names of new arrivals? I'd forgotten to ask Rita that question at the restaurant. Was my name there? I made a mental note to look myself up.

It was eight thirty by the time I finished breakfast, a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. I drank in the warm rays from the sun as I headed to the library.

I climbed the few steps to the main lobby. Rita sat behind the big desk and smiled at me when I opened the door. What was it in that smile? Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Good morning," I whispered back. "That was a super dinner last night. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Uncle Luigi loves to cook."

"Yes, and it shows. Oh, I visited the cemetery this morning. I saw Juan Iota's statue. Impressive. Why is he pointing up?" I asked.

"Some say it's because he went up, not down," she said and pointed her finger up and then down and raised her eyebrows in mock horror.

"I thought maybe it was because he was the last Iota," I said and held my hand up with my index finger pointing up to make a number one.

"Oh, it can't be that, he had already departed so he would have had to make a zero," she held her thumb and forefinger together to form a circle and laughed a bit loudly. She blushed and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

I laughed too.

"That's a bit disrespectful of the founder of your city, don't you think?" I teased.

"Wait till you see his personal library," she said. "But like I said, you'll have to wait till Monday for that."

"I can wait, meanwhile I'll keep searching for my missing person," I said and signed the registry and headed up the stairs, but midway I stopped and came back down to the desk.

"Forget something?" Rita whispered.

"Yes, I meant to ask you who kept the registry after Juan Iota departed? And is it the same person still? And how do they know who comes into town?"

"All very easy questions to answer," she whispered. "But not here. Maybe we could go for lunch at a little café near the park. It's not far from here."

"Okay," I said. "But only if you let me pay."

"Sure," she whispered. "Does one o'clock sound good to you? We'll miss the crowds that way."

"I'll be down at 1:00 sharp," I said and headed back to my research.

Once inside the lab, I felt strangely isolated. A couple of tables were occupied by what appeared to be university students, but they were engrossed in their reading. I placed my stuff near a workstation close to the stacks and sat down to re-organize my thoughts. What had I learned so far about the person I was looking for? Not much to be honest. I had learned a great deal about the town and some bits of information about its founder, and by Monday, hopefully I'd know a lot more about him, but I hadn't come here for that. I had to find traces of Marion Davis, that was what I needed to do, but I really didn't want to change my approach. Perhaps if I knew more about the town and its customs, it would lead me to where I needed to go, so I got back to work.

The book for 1831 was more of the same, people arriving and arriving and arriving. It was driving me crazy, and Juan Iota's census method was getting on my nerves. It seemed so inane. You'd think he would have made two columns, one for arrivals and one for departures, or if he didn't want to use columns he could have skipped a line for that eventual occurrence. If he had done that, it certainly would have made things easier all around. I wondered about births in Cognito. When someone was born, did he just write:

So & so, arrived such & such a day, such & such a year, child?

If he did that, how would anyone know how old anyone really was? Did anyone celebrate birthdays in Cognito? Was the arrival date considered a person's birthday? I needed to write these thoughts down so I could ask Rita about them at lunch. Meanwhile, I replaced 1831 and continued with 1832. By twelve forty-five, I had reached 1850. Since I had already read that one, I stopped there and would begin again with 1851 after lunch. I packed up my gear and headed downstairs where Rita was waiting for me.

"If you'd like, you can lock up your gear in my desk. It'll be safe there, I promise," she whispered.

"Okay, thanks," I whispered back. "I'll just bring along my notebook so I can jot down those answers you promised."

We left the library to find the air had grown slightly chilly and brisk, and the sky was a deeper than usual blue, my favorite kind of weather.

"Oh, it feels like we're in for a norther, the first of the year," Rita said.

"A norther?" I asked.

"Yes, when it's like this, the wind picks up by evening and it just blows and blows for hours, and then it stops for a few days and starts all over again."

"You said the first of the season, how many northers do you get?"

"It can go on for three months or so, and then it stops as suddenly as it started and goes in reverse for another couple of months. When that happens, summer's on its way."

"What do you call the ones that go in reverse, southers?"

"Yes, how did you guess?" she asked.

"I'm a detective, remember? I get paid to guess."

"I thought detectives investigated," she said and smirked.

"We do, but a large part of it is guesswork and looking up leads."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right."

"Yes, I am."

"And you're not conceited, are you?" she said with a hint of a smile.

"Oh no, not at all. I just know that I do a lot of plodding along when I'm on a case. Oftentimes I'll be researching something for days, only to find out that it's a blind alley."

"That must be very frustrating," she said.

"It is, but it's all part of the job."

We crossed the intersection of North C Avenue and West 2nd Street and walked along the side of the park that took up the whole city block between North D and C avenues and West 3rd and 2nd streets. A few trees shaded the park benches that dotted the pathways.

"Trees," I said. "You have trees."

"Of course, we have trees. All the parks have trees."

"Cognito has more than one park?" I asked rather stupidly.

"Yes, we have more than one park. We have twelve, in fact, three in each quadrant of the city. That's where we keep our trees."

"So people don't have trees in their yards?" I asked.

"Not usually."

"Why not?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, but it probably has to do with space. Oh, here we are. This is the little café I told you about. They make wonderful hamburgers."

All of a sudden I was back in college...

Freshman Year, 1961

"Hey, Jake, come on, let's go! I'm hungry, and I only have forty-five minutes before my next class!" Sid pleaded.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Jake yelled and pulled on his jacket. "Where do you want to go?"

"Let's go to that little burger place off campus. It's close to the Geography building."

"Okay, I hope the burgers are good there."

"Jake, you can't ruin a burger," Sid said.

"Oh, yes you can."

The boys raced along the sidewalk, dodging students who were running in the opposite direction.

"Hey, watch out, man," Sid said as he stepped off the sidewalk to avoid a near collision with a girl.

"Watch out yourself, bozo, and I'm not a man," the girl retorted.

Sid did a double take and raised his hands to apologize.

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean it, I mean, yeah, I know you're not a man, uh, sorry, sorry, ma'am, MA'AM, sorry MA'AM."

"Jerk," she said and moved on.

"I said I was sorry, ma'am!" Sid yelled.

Jake grabbed Sid by his jacket sleeve and pulled him away.

"Come on, Sid, you'll never get a girl like that."

"I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, and she believed you," Jake said.

Sid pushed open the door to Bobby's Burgers and Fries, a small diner filled with university students. They found an empty booth near the back and sat down.

"What'll be, boys?" a matronly woman asked.

"I'll have a cheeseburger and a root beer," Jake said without looking at the menu.

"You want fries with that?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure."

"And you, my boy? What about you?"

"I'll have the same, except make mine a ginger ale," Sid said.

"Okay, coming right up," the waitress said and left to place the order.

"How's it going in Geography?" Jake asked.

"Oh man, I think I got the easiest class in town. The professor is about a hundred years old and wears a 3-piece suit. We have our first quiz today, and guess what it's on."

"States and capitals?" Jake asked.

"Right! So I think I'll ace it," he said and rubbed his nails along his shirt and then blew on them gloatingly.

"But that's just the first quiz. He probably wants to see what you know and how well you spell. They'll probably get a lot harder as you go along."

"Not a problem. I can spell and I'm smarter than the best of them," Sid said.

"Yes, I know, and you're not conceited either, right?"

"No man, I know I'm smart, and I accept it," he said.

Jake laughed.

"Sid, you're the funniest guy I know."

"That's right," he said and made way for the burgers the waitress brought to the table.

"Here you go, boys, two cheeseburgers, fries, a root beer and a ginger ale," she said and placed the bill face down next to Sid.

"Thanks," they said in unison.

The aroma of the cheeseburger made Jake's mouth water.

***

"Would you like fries with your cheeseburger?" Rita asked me bringing me back to Cognito.

"Oh yes, you can't have a cheeseburger without fries," I said.

"And to drink?" the waiter asked.

"Do you have root beer?" I asked.

"Certainly, sir," he replied. "I'll be back in a few minutes with your order."

"While we wait, why don't you ask me what you need to know?" Rita said.

"Yeah, okay, who kept the registry after Juan Iota departed?" I asked and opened up my notebook.

"One of his daughters took up the task, from what I understand. She kept the records until 1900, then one of her children continued until 1950, and at the moment one of Juan Iota's great-grandchildren keeps the record of those who enter."

"Do you think it might be possible for me to meet him or her?" I asked.

"Probably not, they're very private people."

"Well, then, how do they know who comes into town?"

"Hotel records provide some of the information, and since we don't have an airport, the train and bus logs fill most of the gaps."

"Why doesn't Cognito have an airport? It's certainly flat enough."

"Yes, it's flat, but the townspeople have voted it down every year – too much noise and too much hurry. Trains and buses allow travelers to think and adjust as they travel to a new destination."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. What about those who drive through?" I asked.

"Cognito has four major checkpoints, one at each entrance to the town. People have to sign the registry. The guards take this information and send it along to the Research Library so that it can be compiled."

"Is anyone turned away?"

"No."

"No one?" I asked, incredulous.

"No, everyone is welcome to come and stay as long as they like."

"That is unbelievable," I said. "I mean this is a border town. How do you control crime?"

"We don't have crime."

"I can't believe that. There's crime everywhere in the world!"

"Not in Cognito, there isn't," she said. "It's a matter of trust."
Chapter VI, Back to the Library

I WAS BACK TO the stacks by 2:00 P.M. The little café that Rita had chosen was just what the doctor ordered. There's nothing like a good cheeseburger to settle the mind. 1851 called to me so I dug in. As I read through the names, my thoughts wandered to what had been going on in and around Cognito during that time: What was happening in history that would make people come here? What would make them stay? Millard Fillmore was president of the United States then, and slavery was still legal, a scary thought. This made me wonder how many escaped slaves came through Cognito. Did the color of a person's skin have an impact on whether or not they would be able to remain or even stay in Cognito? Annoyingly, Juan Iota did not distinguish a person's race, creed or color. Perhaps it was a form of protection, or maybe he was ahead of his time in his thinking. Could he have been an abolitionist?

I would have to leave these questions for later, perhaps they would be answered when I visited his personal library. Rita said that it was only open to the public on Mondays, so I would just have to wait. Meanwhile, I would keep up my search for Marion Davis, the anthropologist who was last seen in Cognito on August 14, 1974. I know that most people would say go straight to that year and see if she is registered there, but who's to say that she arrived then? She may have arrived some time before that and perhaps she was on her way out of Cognito. Then again, I suppose there would be no way that she would have arrived too many years before, and especially not during the 19th Century! The other information I had on her was sketchy at best. I knew she was 37 years old. The big question, however, was whether she was 37 in the photograph or 37 on August 14, 1974? If she was 37 in the photograph, when was it taken? I pulled the photo out of its folder. There was no date on the back, just a brief inscription:

To Mickey, follow my lead; it's out there! Love, Marion

The fact that in the photo she was pointing to some mountains in the distance gave the impression that maybe she was heading in that direction, but there were no mountains around Cognito; however, there certainly was a great expanse of dry, desert looking land. I did know that this Mickey was not the name of my client. He made that clear from the start.

I replaced the photo and went back to my research in the tomes. I couldn't help stifling a yawn. This was going to take longer than I had anticipated, but I trudged reluctantly through the next few years, with more of the same: names, dates of arrival and occupational skills. Then it hit me. What I needed to do was to corroborate the names of the arrivals with the names of the departures in the cemetery. If I did that, then I would feel some sense of accomplishment, but I didn't relish the thought, no matter how peaceful the place was. Besides, though interesting, it was not the reason I had come to Cognito. I had to find Marion Davis, if only I could follow her lead.

It was four forty-six, nearly closing time. In the two or so hours that I had searched through the tomes, I had reached all the way to 1870, an extraordinary feat, but I also had an extraordinary headache so I quickly packed my gear and headed out of the lab and down the big staircase. Rita was not at her desk when I signed out. I whispered her name, but she didn't answer. I wouldn't wait, but rather I left the library and made my way back to the hotel to drop off my stuff, then I'd go for a walk to clear my mind.

As I passed the front desk in the hotel lobby, the clerk waved at me.

"You have a note, sir," he said and held up a long yellow envelope.

"Thanks," I said as I grabbed the envelope and moved on toward the stairs.

Only two people knew that I might be here in Cognito: my secretary and my client, but I hadn't been gone that long for him to write me a letter, and my secretary had strict instructions not to give out my whereabouts to anyone. The postmark was blurry, and I couldn't make out either the date or the place where it had been posted. In my room, I threw my gear on the bed and sat at the writing table near the window and opened the letter:

Dearest Burger Boy,

I don't know if this will reach you, but I had to try. It's been so long! You said that you would stay in touch, but you didn't! Not even a postcard! Is that the way friends treat each other?

I bumped into Sid the other day and asked about you. He said you were a missing persons analyst and always off on missions to places unknown. I begged him for an address, but he said that you didn't want to be found, but that you'd be happy to know that I am alive and well. And so I am – alive and well and wishing we could take up where we left off so many years ago. I miss you.

If you receive this please write.

Yours forever,

Salad Girl

My heart pounded in my chest, and I swallowed hard. My hands trembled as I held the letter and re-read her words. There was no date and no return address so how in the heck could I write back? Why didn't she include it in the letter? Unless she gave it to Sid and he gave it to my secretary; that would be the only way because not even Sid knew where I was. I picked up my phone and called the office. A feminine voice answered.

"Hello, Sherry? ... Yes, it's me... Sherry, I just received a letter here at the hotel. Did you give out my whereabouts?... Oh, so Sid brought over a letter and asked you to mail it to me, and you did. But Sherry, there's no return address on the envelope... Oh, I see, Sid gave you the letter without an envelope. All right, then, please give Sid a call and tell him I expect an explanation in writing. I should be back at the office some time next week... Thank you, you too."

That dork! Always pulling a prank! Sid probably wrote that letter himself and deliberately left off a return address. That would be about par for the course with him, but to give the letter without an envelope to my secretary! That was passed the limit! I'd have to get him back for that. I crumpled up the letter and threw it into the wastebasket. I needed some fresh air really bad.

As I rushed out the front door, I bumped smack dab into Rita.

"Oh, there you are!" she said all smiles with tiny little worry wrinkles on her forehead. "When I saw that you had signed out, I came over here to find you."

"Really? Why's that?" My anger toward Sid subsided.

"Well, uh, I thought maybe you'd like to see this. I was going through the archives and came across this. I don't know if it'll help you, but I thought you should have it anyway," she said and handed me a photograph of a couple sitting on a bench in one of the parks in Cognito. The woman in the picture was Marion Davis, or at least looked like her – the same short-cropped hair and face. It had to be her.

"Where did you say you find this?"

"It was in the archives under the letter D. Do you think it's her? Do you think it's Marion Davis?"

"It certainly looks like her."

The man in the picture seemed young. He had his arm around her shoulders and was pointing at the camera. I flipped the photo over and read:

Mickey and Marion, in Cognito, 1974

So Mickey had followed Marion's lead. He had found Marion, or maybe he had been in Cognito all along. Maybe he had taken that other photo that I had. Now I would have to look for a Mickey in the tomes. I wondered if they had departed Cognito, but to know that I would first have to find Mickey's last name.

"This is super, Rita. Thank you, really. I don't know what to say."

"Thanks is enough," she said.

"Would you happen to know who this Mickey is?" I asked hopefully.

"Can't say that I do. His face doesn't ring any bells for me."

"Yeah, well. It's still more than I had before. Say, I was just going for a walk, would you care to come along?"

"I'd love to. I know this pleasant little tea shop a few blocks from here just over the bridge."

"Sounds good to me," I said and offered her my arm.

We strolled for several blocks along East B Avenue toward the bridge that spanned the slow-moving Cognito River. Unlike the streets and avenues, the Cognito meandered its way through the town, a brown murky path of silt. We stopped along the side and gazed into its muddy water, and suddenly I was back in the dinghy on the bayou...

Paddling, 1962

"Come on, Sid, we gotta row together or else we'll keep going around in circles."

"I like circles, Jake. It's perfection, no beginning, no end."

"Yeah, but that's not the idea. If we want to get to the finish line, we have to paddle in a straight line."

"All right, but just for you, buddy," Sid said and began to pull his oar in unison with Jake's. "Say, guess who I saw in the quad yesterday?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"Aw, come on, guess," Sid begged.

"You know how I hate guessing."

"Okay, I'll give you a hint: lettuce and tomatoes."

"You saw Melissa? Where?" Jake said and stopped paddling. The boat began to turn in circles.

"Hey, we're going in circles again," Sid said and stopped paddling also.

"Sid, where did you see her?" Jake asked.

"I told you, in the quad, yesterday morning early."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did."

"That's not what I mean. Why didn't you tell me before? Was she alone? Did you talk to her?"

"It slipped my mind, I guess. And no, she wasn't alone. She was walking with a bunch of girls. She didn't see me, probably because they were yakking so much."

The boat drifted downstream with the current.

"Jake, why don't you give her a call, man? Ask her out. Just for a burger and a salad."

"Mind your own business."

"I am minding my own business. You're my friend so you're my business."

"Just paddle, okay?"

"Okay, buddy, but I think you're doing yourself a disservice. I know she likes you, always has, way back since Seventh grade."

"Give it a rest, Sid," Jake said and pulled hard on the oar causing the dinghy to rock low on one side. "Let's just finish this race, okay?"

"Sure, buddy," Sid said and dipped his paddle in unison with Jake's so that the boat cut through the water toward the finish line.

***

"Don't you just love the way that rivers never stop moving? How they flow along etching their own path across the earth?" Rita asked bringing me back to Cognito.

"Yeah, I do."

"And each one has its own personality. Some are forceful and strong and roll great boulders in their wake. Others are soft and gentle and slowly yield their earthen beds to distant shores. If you could be a river, which kind would you be?" Rita asked suddenly.

"I don't know. I suppose it would depend on my mood. Some days I'd like to change the world in a flash flood, but other days, I'd just like to shift the mud and cover things up. What about you?"

"I think I'm just a mud-shifter. It's less threatening," she said.

"Well, I'd say the Cognito certainly is a mud-shifter. Does it ever get angry and flood its banks?"

"No, not really. It just meanders along ever so gently. That little tea shop is right over there," she said and tugged softly on my arm.
Chapter VII, Tea for Two

THE TEA HOUSE WAS an elegant little place. All the tables were set with fancy cups and saucers and silver napkin rings. I felt a bit uncomfortable with so much delicacy, but the atmosphere was a warm welcome from the nippy air outside. Rita chose a table near the window.

"I hope this is okay," she said.

"Oh yes, I prefer to sit by the window. I'm not fond of enclosed spaces."

"Neither am I, though I know that sounds strange coming from a librarian," she laughed.

"You could hardly call the Cognito Research Library an enclosed space," I said.

"No, that's for sure, but still even with its high ceilings and big windows sometimes the walls seem to grow closer."

"That's creepy," I said.

"It can be," she said, "especially when I'm all alone. Sometimes I think I hear things."

"Things like what?" I asked a bit nervously.

"Footsteps, voices, you know, like ghosts..."

"Could it be the wind? You said the northers and southers blow pretty strong."

"That's what I tell myself, but still it can get spooky. I like my job, but maybe that house has too much history in it."

"The power of suggestion," I offered. "You think too much. Besides the lab, what other sections does the library have?"

"There's Juan Iota's personal library that I told you about. That's open only on Mondays, and there's a section on the construction of buildings, city plans and the designs allowed, you know, building codes."

"Why are most of the buildings made of wood? That doesn't seem very environmentally friendly, and where did the wood come from?"

"Maybe you should visit the building section tomorrow. It will have all the answers on that," she suggested.

"I think I will. That should give me a break from reading all those entries about arrivals," I said and laughed. "What other sections are there?"

"Ah, there's the legal section."

"And what does that one contain?"

"Oh, everything legal: court decisions, marriages and births."

"Marriages and births? Why didn't you tell me this before? I've been trudging through those tomes for the last few days reading about arrival after arrival. I thought you said that Juan Iota didn't record departures?" I asked, slightly put off.

"He didn't, but he did record marriages and births. How else would we know who was here? He just didn't keep them together."

"Why did he keep marriages and births together with court decisions?"

"Mainly because these things are legal documents. They contain what people did once they were already in Cognito. The arrivals list records only those who arrived from outside. I suppose if you were just passing through, you might not stay. But even so, someone may have stayed, contracted matrimony, even had children and then departed. It makes sense to me."

Before I had time to respond, a chubby lady in a frilly apron brought over a large teapot filled with boiling water. She placed it on the mat in the center of the table, next to a basket filled with assorted teabags.

"Here's your tea, love. I'll be getting your scones in a jiffy."

"What kind of tea do you like?" Rita asked passing me the basket.

"Eh, mint, I guess," I said and tore open a little green packet and laid the teabag in my teacup and handed the basket back to Rita.

"I think I'll have the chamomile. Shall I pour?"

"Please do," I said.

I watched as Rita's delicate hands nimbly held the teapot, one hand on the handle and the other holding the top so it wouldn't fall.

The chubby lady in the apron returned with a plate of scones and cheese.

"Just ring the little bell if you need anything else, love," she said and disappeared behind the swinging doors that I imagined led to the kitchen.

Rita passed me the plate of scones. I chose one and passed the plate back to her. Her eyes crinkled in a smile at me over the rim of her teacup. I smiled back.

"You'll find her," she said.

For a second, I wasn't sure who she meant and didn't say anything.

"Really, you will. No one gets lost in Cognito."

"Oh, yes, Marion Davis. Well, I may want to search that legal section to see if perhaps she and Mickey didn't get married. That might speed things up a bit. At least I'm pretty sure she came to Cognito. I'm just not sure if she stayed."

"And if she did, does she want to be found?" Rita asked.

"That I can't tell you, but I do know someone who wants me to find her, so I will try to locate her whereabouts and pass on the information to my client and let him deal with the ethics."

"It would seem to me that if she had wanted to get in touch with this person, your client, she would have done so."

"Maybe she doesn't know where he is," I suggested. "At least if I can find her, that gap will be closed."

"I suppose you're right. Many of us just give up the search for the missing persons in our lives."

We finished our tea and scones. I paid the tab and we retraced our steps back across the river. I left Rita at the door to her apartment. I kissed her hand and returned to my room at the hotel. It would be a long evening.

I picked up my volume of Caesar's Gallic Wars and opened it up to where I had left off the night before. The Rhine lay before us, me and Caesar. The words blurred before my eyes and I was back on campus...

History class, 1964

Professor Leonard stood near his desk checking the roster. Since it was a required subject, Jake had enrolled in Western European History with supposedly the best and toughest teacher in the department. He knew he wouldn't be able to skim through; he would have to study. He sat straight in the wooden desk with his notebook open and pen at the ready.

"Good morning, class, today we will look at rivers and the roles they played in the course of history," the professor's nasal tone belied a slightly French accent. "Would anyone care to give an estimate of how many rivers there are in the world?"

Jake raised his hand.

"Yes? What is your guess?"

"There are many thousands of rivers in the world, sir."

"That's vaguely correct, young man. Can you be more specific?"

"Well, sir, in the US alone, there are more than 250,000 rivers, some are longer than others, but all of them are considered rivers. As to how many on each continent, I have no idea," Jake said.

"Well, since we are focusing on Western European history, what might be the four major rivers in Europe?" he asked.

A girl near the window raised her hand.

"Yes, miss?"

"That would be the Danube, the Rhine, the Volga, and the Loire," she said.

"Very good, and where are these rivers located?"

Another hand went up, a boy near the front of the class.

"Yes?"

"The Danube begins in Germany, but it flows through a few countries and empties into the Black Sea."

"Correct. Now what about the other three?"

Someone else raised his hand. The professor nodded.

"The Rhine begins in the Swiss Alps and empties into the North Sea."

"That leaves two more rivers. Do I have any takers?"

A girl to Jake's left raised her hand.

"The Volga flows through central Russia into the Caspian Sea. It is the longest river in Europe."

"Now what about the Loire? Where would the Loire be?"

Someone behind Jake spoke up.

"The Loire is the longest river in France. It empties into the Atlantic Ocean. There are many castles along the river. One even spans the river itself."

"Really? Now where might that castle be?" the professor raised his eyebrows.

"I think it's called Chenonceau," the boy replied.

"Technically speaking, you are correct. So now let's recap what we have. The four major rivers in Europe are the Danube, the Rhine, the Volga and the Loire. These are not the only rivers in Europe, but they are the longest. Let's turn our attention now to why people settled along these routes. What do rivers provide?"

Jake raised his hand.

"They provide a means of transportation."

"Certainly. What else?" he said and pointed to another student.

"A food source, fishing."

"What else?" the professor asked and pointed to someone else.

"Protection from the enemy."

"Right you are. All of those things: transportation, a source of food, and protection," the professor said and turned to the board and wrote: July 13, 100 B.C. – March 15, 44 B.C. "What do these dates signify?"

The girl by the window raised her hand again.

"It looks like the life span of Julius Caesar," she said.

"And how can we tie in Julius Caesar with European rivers?" he asked and slapped the board.

***

I awoke with a start. Caesar's Gallic Wars lay on the floor next to the bed. The sun peeked through the window in what promised to be a clear Cognito day. My stomach growled. It was early yet, but I'd have a light breakfast down in the hotel and be on my way. I'd spend the morning in the legal section and then in the afternoon I'd go back to the lab and take up where I'd left off the day before.

By the time I reached the library, it was nearly eight thirty. The doors weren't open so I sat on one of the benches on the first floor veranda and read through some of my notes. Though I was closer to solving the case than I was before I arrived, I felt as if I was mired down in quicksand, flailing for life. What Rita had said at the teahouse about whether someone wanted to be found or not bothered me. Just what did I owe my client? He would pay me, of course, and I needed to work to live, but I had a nagging sensation that Marion Davis did not want to be found.

A key in the lock broke into my thoughts, and Rita's voice whispered, "Good morning. You're here early."

"Yes, I thought perhaps I'd begin in the legal section this morning, and then work in the lab after lunch."

"That sounds like a plan," she whispered.

I signed in and picked up my badge.

"Come, let me show you to that section," she whispered.

"Lead the way," I whispered back.

We climbed the big stairs up to the second floor, but this time she pointed me to some double doors on the left side of the landing.

"There it is, the legal section. Shall I give you a tour?"

"By all means," I said.
Chapter VIII, Marriages and Divorces

THE LEGAL SECTION WAS laid out similar to the lab, only the windows ran along the opposite wall and the stacks were perpendicular to the back wall, forming narrow hallways of shelves. The leather tomes stood packed according to the years, but for each year, there were two, a brown one that read Marriages and Divorces, and another, a blue one that read Births. I realized that if I followed my normal pattern of research, I would never finish, so I decided to go straight to the year in question – 1974.

It was a long shot, but I had to give it a try. I pulled the ladder over to the stack and removed both tomes. Page by page I scanned the entries. On page 19, I stopped and chuckled to myself. The fourth entry read:

Joe Blow, mechanic + Jane Doe, waitress, M: May 3, 1974

Then later on page 36, the seventh entry read:

Joe Blow, mechanic – Jane Doe, waitress, D: July 15, 1974

"Well, that certainly didn't last long," I said out loud.

Someone at the next table shushed me.

"Sorry," I whispered and continued my search.

When I turned the page, I saw it. It was the first entry on the page:

Mickey Clancy, scientist + Marion Davis, archaeologist, M: July 16, 1974

So they were here and they got hitched. Now the big question – Were they still together? At least I only had to move forward. I no longer needed to know when they arrived, but I would need to find out if either or both of them had departed.

To find out whether the marriage had lasted, at least here in Cognito, I'd have to scan through the remaining volumes and that could take several days, more time than I was willing to dedicate to this. For the moment, I knew they had married on July 16, and I had Mickey's last name, and I knew that he was a scientist. I wondered if they had any children. This would require a search through the registry of births. Since Mickey and Marion married in July 1974, the earliest possible birth for them would be some time in early 1975, if they had followed the norms of society.

I placed a bookmark on page 37 and closed the book on marriages and divorces for 1974. I might want to skim some more through that one later. I went back to the stacks and pulled down the tome on births for 1975 and began my search. The entries were slightly different than for arrivals, marriages and divorces. Here the date and time were listed first, then underneath, on the next line, came the child's name and its gender; and then on the third line came the names of the parents. The first entry read:

January 8, 1975, 16:45 P.M.

Sharon Bozeman, female

Joseph Bozeman + Mary Lacey Bozeman

That was it, no weight, no length, and no race. I found this intriguing. I wondered if the hospital had more information. Did they do blood tests? Did they take fingerprints? Hopefully they did. Though hospitals aren't my thing, I might want to visit one, just to see.

I traced my finger along the pages, entry after entry, noting the ratio of boys to girls. Decidedly the girls outnumbered the boys by a ratio of 3 to 2. So for every 10 births, 6 were females and 4 were males. Interesting, but not what I wanted to know. When I reached the last page of the book, I had found nothing to indicate that Mickey and Marion had a child that first year of their marriage, though that didn't mean that they hadn't had any. I'd give that a rest, but suddenly I remembered that Rita had said that her parents had arrived in Cognito before World War II and that she and her brother were born a few years later. My curiosity compelled me to find out exactly when they were born. Of course, I could just ask her, but where's the fun in that?

I replaced 1975 and moved back to 1942. The war had begun in Europe in 1939 and the United States entered the arena in December 1941, so if I defined a few years as two or three, 1942 would be a good place to begin. I skimmed through the pages quickly, looking for the name Martini. It had to be there, somewhere.

They were in the book of births for 1946, right there on page 13:

August 23, 1946, 2:30 A.M.

Rita Martini, female

Giancarlo Martini + Florella Lucia Martini

And right beneath that entry came her brother:

August 23, 1946, 2:33 A.M.

Roberto Martini, male

Giancarlo Martini + Florella Lucia Martini

So, Rita was older than her brother by three minutes. That would make her just a bit younger than me. When she was born, I was four years old. When she was twenty, I was twenty-four...

Southeast Asia, 1966

Light filtered through the canopy tracing odd patterns on the floor of the jungle. No one spoke. The squad leader signaled the men to stop, and then he pointed toward a tree in the distance. Jake held his rifle at the ready across his chest and followed his aim toward the branches of the farthest tree. Everything seemed so peaceful, too peaceful. The only sound he could hear was his pounding heart. This wasn't his first mission, but they were all the same – the bile in his throat, the sickly feeling in his gut, he swallowed hard trying to stay alert.

"Make it through this one today, and worry about the next one later," the squad leader had said before they set out. This guy seemed to have it together, more than the last one, for sure.

But there were never any guarantees. One false move, one bad step, and that was it – you were out of there.

The squad leader motioned for them to continue toward the right. Each man tried to step where the one ahead of him had stepped, watching for mines.

A slight movement in the shadows was all Jake saw before the ground exploded in front of him and the shrapnel tore a hole in his leg as he flew threw the air.

A bright light woke him. A man with a mask peered over him.

"Where am I?" Jake asked, his throat dry and raspy.

"You're in the hospital, soldier, but you're going to be okay. You'll be going home soon."

"How did I get here?" he asked.

"Your squad leader carried you back. Someone stepped on a mine and you took some shrapnel, but you'll be fine. Now get some sleep."

Jake didn't remember hitting the ground, but he must have landed, otherwise he wouldn't be here. He wondered who had stepped on the mine as his eyes slid closed and he drifted off.

***

"Are you okay?" Rita asked. Her voice brought me back to the present.

"Yeah, uh, yeah, I just dozed off, that's all," I said clearing my throat and rubbing my eyes.

"Boring stuff?" she asked.

"No, not really, it's pretty interesting actually. Just a lot of reading."

She gazed at the open book and then lifted her eyes back at me.

"I see," she said with something that approached a smirk. "You could've asked, you know. I would've told you."

"I thought about that, but that's too easy," I said. "I'm a detective, remember?"

"So now you know all about me, but I know next to nothing about you," she whispered, her tone slightly recriminating.

"Well, I wouldn't call this sketchy information knowing everything, but I tell you what, why don't we discuss this over lunch? Say about one o'clock to avoid the crowds? On me, but you pick the place?"

"All right, it's a deal. I know just the place. Meet you on the veranda at one," she said and left, an air of freshness remained in her wake.

I looked down at page 13, smiled and closed 1946. We'd fill in the gaps over lunch. Meanwhile, I would go back to 1976 and peruse the lists of marriages and divorces, just in case Mickey and Marion had decided to untie the knot.

By twelve fifty, I had reviewed all the way to the present, and it was apparent that if they had remained in Cognito, they were still together. I replaced the last tome and picked up my gear. When I signed out at the desk, Rita wasn't at her post, but a surge of butterflies invaded my stomach when I pushed open the big double doors and saw her sitting on the veranda.

"Are you ready for our next culinary adventure?" she asked.

"Lead on!" I said and offered her my arm.

We strolled south along 2nd Street and turned left on Broad Avenue heading west. The crisp air refreshed my mind, sluggish from so much reading.

"So, now you know how old I am," Rita chided.

"Or rather how young you are," I parried.

"I suppose you're going to say that it's a question of attitude, right?"

"Well, isn't it? Doesn't the way we think of ourselves reflect on our well being, on the way we view the world? I mean, just using the term 'old' carries with it a whole boatload of attitudes that weigh us down into a mire of stifled thinking. It's almost prophetic. We think we're old, therefore we are old."

"But we can't stop the clock," she said. "There are some things that can't happen after a certain period of time, no matter how much we would like them to."

"No, of course not, but we can stop the clocks in our minds, at least the ones that control how we think of ourselves. Forget the body for a moment – if we think we're young, and stay focused on that all our lives, then our minds will remain young, I'm certain of that."

"You mean, just don't focus on growing old?" she asked.

"Precisely, Rita. If you think and say that you are old, then you will act as if you are! It's as simple as that. I'm convinced of it."

"But you can't stop the clock."

"No, of course not, but you can slow it down with your attitude."

"Perhaps," she said and gave me that strange familiar smile. "Oh, here we are. I think you'll like this place – no frills, just good home cooking."

The place was everything and more. Rita ordered the day's special for both of us and there were no complaints from me. It was almost like being back at Grandma's house, with the string beans and the scalloped potatoes. I didn't want to leave! But leave we had to.

"This was wonderful," I said.

"I figured you'd like it. The lady only cooks home-type meals, so what you see is what you get... Period."

"I like home-cooked meals. In fact, I like most meals, especially those in pleasant company."

"Ooh, do I feel the air getting heavy around here?" she asked and fanned herself with her napkin.

"I guess," I said, "but it's filled with honesty."

Rita's eyes engaged mine directly. There was no wavering.

My eyes locked with hers, and it was as if I were transported to another planet. Someone had guided me here, I was sure of it. Someone, I wasn't sure who, had brought me to Cognito to meet this one person. Now the chip was on my side of the game board. The outcome was up to me.
Chapter IX, Background

BY THE TIME WE got back to the library, the weather had grown much colder. The norther blew incessantly, and the lab brought a welcome relief to the chilly outside. I dropped off my gear near the closest workstation and moved to the stacks. I looked up at 1871, waiting for me, beckoning me to read it. So I pulled it down from the shelf and commenced my reading reluctantly. I decided that I would skim through the pages and unless something struck my eye, I would make quick work of the last quarter of the 19th Century.

By the time I reached 1899, I was in for the surprise of my life. There on page 75 was my grandfather's name:

Joseph Brown, arrived December 3, 1899, trapper.

My fingers traced his name lovingly. It had to be him. He must have come through Cognito as a very young man and didn't stay, otherwise I wouldn't have known him, or else I might have been born a Cognitonian like Rita. My mom had told me that her dad had traveled across the country and stopped only when he met her mother, my grandma Edna. Ah, what a love story! The thought brought a smile to my face...

Home again, 1966

Jake watched through the window as the train pulled into the station. On the ramp, he could see his mother, and beside her stood his stepfather, the writer who wrote himself into their lives.

"Jake! Oh Jake!" his mother said running to him and hugging him tightly.

"Welcome home, Jake!" his stepfather said and gave him a double-pat-on-the-back hug like men do. "Here, let me take that."

Jake handed over his duffle bag and smiled at his mom. Her hair was grayer than he remembered, and worry lines etched her forehead. His stepfather looked the same.

When they reached the house, Jake glanced around the living room.

"You've got some new furniture, I see."

"Yes, the old sofa began to sag in the middle, so we retired it. This one's a lot more comfortable. Your room's the same though. We left everything like it was," his mom said.

"Good, I think I'll go up and put my stuff away," Jake said. He could feel their look of concern as he moved toward the stairs. "Just so you know, the doctors say that I won't have to use this cane for the rest of my life, so don't worry, okay?"

"Right, yes, of course," his mom said. Her voice cracked.

"Mom, don't cry. Really, I'm okay, it'll just take some time, that's all."

"Yes, yes, yes, I know," she said and sniffed a couple of times. "Go on, I'll have supper ready in a bit."

Jake climbed the stairs one at a time, his cane supporting his right leg. When he reached the landing, he opened the door to his room. Nothing had changed.

He picked up his high school album and traced the letters across the cover: 1960 – the numbers stood embossed above the picture on the front of the cover. He turned to the seniors and searched for her face. Her smile shone back at him – eternal, unchanged.

A knock at the door brought Jake out of his reverie.

"Supper's ready, Jake," his mom's voice called from the other side of the door.

"I'll be right down," he said and quickly shut the book.

***

I stared out the window near the workstation. Where are you, Melissa? Where have you gone? Did you really write that note? Or was it Sid in his prankster mode? I have found someone so like you. When we're together it's like being with you, only I know it is not you. Will we meet again in another lifetime? If only I could be sure of that, I would deny myself this current pleasure and wait, but alas, who can be sure of anything?

I closed 1899 and opened the 20th Century – a century filled with progress and mass destruction. With the world as the fulcrum, power and greed and science and research weighed the scales. All could tip the balance.

The year1900 brought with it not only a new century, it brought the U.S. Navy's first submarine, though submarines had been used during the American Civil War, the full impact of it in this century would change warfare and the balance of power, as would aviation in subsequent years.

By closing time, I had skimmed through to the years passed the Roaring 20's and into the Great Depression – a period that marked my parents' lives as children and vicariously left an impression on me as well. I would look over the rest of the century later, but now I had to leave.

Rita smiled at me as I signed out.

"See you tomorrow morning?" she whispered.

"See you then," I whispered back.

When I left the library, the cold air hit me like a wall of ice. The wind from the north blew steadily and I huddled myself against the cold. I needed to get my thoughts in order. I wanted so much to settle and have a real life with someone like Rita, but first I had to come to grips with my love for Melissa.

Through college, we had seen each other off and on, but after that, we had lost track of each other. No notes or letters until the one that came the other day, but that one was of doubtful origin. It truly could be from Sid's imagination. Perhaps he knew something that I did not, but the most probable scenario was that he had made it all up just for laughs – Sid, Mr. Cynic.

I made it back to the Cross Bow just as the sky fell, and I climbed the stairs to my room, eager to be alone with my thoughts. I'd have dinner alone in the hotel dining room.

The dining room was practically empty at seven when I entered. I found a table near the window, though it was dark outside and only offered a view of wet streets illuminated by the hazy streetlights and clouded by the heavy rains. My mind raced back through the years...

Back on Track, 1967

Jake pushed open the double doors to the restaurant. The air filtered tiny particles in a shaft of sunlight through the front window. He glanced around for Melissa. They had spoken once and agreed to meet here, but his vision clouded as he searched the tables for her presence. Where was she? Then he saw her, and his heart leapt. Nothing had changed.

"How have you been?" he asked.

"Good," she said and smiled shyly, "and what about you?"

"Well, I should be rid of the cane in a few months."

"Ah, that's good," she said, nodding. "Is it painful?"

"No, not really. Not like at first," he said. "The pain has gone, but the trauma remains. It's something that doesn't go away so easily."

"Are you back in school?" she asked.

"Yes, I hope to finish soon; don't know when, but soon. What about you? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, the usual. I have decided to throw my hopes to Broadway. Let's see how I cast the die!"

Jake studied her face. It was so open, no lines, no wrinkles to divert one along the way – just an open and honest face.

"What would you like to order?" he asked.

"Hmm, how about clams in garlic sauce?" she asked.

"Sounds good to me, but don't clams have mommies?" he asked and smiled back at her.

"They probably do, but they don't eat meat," she said, and when the waiter arrived, Jake ordered a double order of clams in garlic sauce. Then he smiled into the depths of Melissa's eyes.

***

"Would you like to order, sir?" the waiter interrupted my thoughts.

"Yes, certainly. Give me an order of clams in garlic sauce and garlic bread, the chef's salad and a glass of your house red and make it snappy!"

"Yes, sir," he replied and hopped to place the order.

By the time I reached my room, it was after eight, rather early to hit the sack, so I decided to compile my notes and send a report to my client. I wasn't sure if he'd be happy about Marion Davis having gotten married, but at least I had found a trace, and I would keep looking to see if I could locate her whereabouts in Cognito. Maybe my client knew this Mickey Clancy. But that would have to wait until tomorrow. If all went well, I might be able to wrap this up quickly, but if not, I'd use the weekend to take another stroll through the cemetery and maybe do some sightseeing around town. I still wanted to see Juan Iota's personal library, and since it was only open to the public on Mondays, it was probably best to take things slowly.

When I finished the report, I picked up my sleeping pill, Caesar's Gallic Wars, and trudged through Gaul with the rest of the soldiers. I wondered how the locals felt about the invading forces – fear and trepidation, I would imagine. The idea of world conquest seemed so wrong – no respect for boundaries, imaginary or otherwise. Did the good outweigh the bad? Did progress make it okay to take over other nations, no matter how disorganized or backward they might seem? I would have made a terrible general, I am certain of this, but how many ill-prepared commanders have there been since man began? How many more would there be?
Chapter X, Neon Lights

FRIDAY MORNING CAUGHT ME clutching my pillow. Caesar's Gallic Wars lay closed on the floor. I would have to look for lighter reading.

The day seemed bright and clear, but the windowpane was icy to the touch. The thought of a warm breakfast at the little diner down the street made my stomach growl with anticipation.

When I left the hotel, I headed north along 2nd Street. All the booths were taken, so I grabbed a seat at the counter and ordered my favorite: scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. The jukebox in the corner blinked at me, its neon bubbles calling me. While I waited for my order, I searched the list of songs. I dropped in the coin and hit B-2 and watched the arm swing and pick up the 45 and drop it. When the needle touched the wax, sheer joy filled my being and I was taken back...

Dancing in the Moonlight, 1970

Before Jake placed his finger on the doorbell, the door swung open and Melissa's smiling face greeted him.

"Jake! It's so good to see you! I thought you weren't coming!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him.

"I couldn't stay away," he said and hugged her back.

"Come in. Let me look at you. How have you been? How's that job?" she asked pulling him into the apartment.

"Good, good. Not bad. Hey, nice pad, cozy, nice view," he said.

"You're so sweet, Jake. It's tiny and small and crowded, and I know how many bricks it took to build that wall over there, but it's conveniently located, close to the Metro."

"Hey, at least you don't have to drive slowly for hours to go two blocks, right?"

"Yeah, right, I have to ride the Metro for half an hour, but that's okay. I get to read on the trip."

"How's Broadway?" he asked.

"Don't ask. Lots of one-liners, but mostly no-liners," she said and pointed to the sofa. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, I'm good."

"I know you're good, Burger Boy, but aren't you thirsty?"

"No, I had a root beer before I left."

"Jake, that's over three hours ago."

"Come on, let's go out. I want to take you out. Maybe we could go dancing."

"Oh, I thought I'd make you a cheeseburger."

"You can cook?" he asked. "I thought you only did salads."

"Yes, I can cook, and I'm pretty good, too. I even have some root beers in the fridge."

"Are you going to have a cheeseburger, too?"

"No, of course not."

"Okay then, we can eat in, but I really wanted to take you out."

"I know, but just having you here is more important than going out on the town, believe me. It's so good to see you."

"Yeah, same here," Jake said and grabbed Melissa's hand, pulling her closer to him.

"Hey, look, I should get to that burger," she said shyly, turning quickly and pulling her hand away.

"Yeah, sure," Jake said and headed toward the sofa. He grabbed a magazine off the coffee table, opened it and pretended to read.

***

"Here's your toast and eggs, sir. If there's anything else I can get you, just let me know," the waiter said.

"Thank you," I replied. "If I need anything else, I'll let you know."

The music on the jukebox continued, but its effect was minimal now that the dream had dissipated, and I realized that that's what Melissa had become for me – a dream – one of those goals that one struggles toward but never reaches. I realized that our paths had diverged, and though we still shared precious moments, our destinies were not to be aligned, at least not in this life.

Perhaps being in Cognito was my destiny, maybe I was meant to meet Rita who would give me that ground I so need, to be lost in an earthly paradise with someone who truly cares for me. How could I be sure? Only time would tell so I quickly finished my breakfast and headed toward the library.

The crisp air was sharp to my lungs, and my steps were brisk. When I reached the library, I took the seven steps at a leap and opened the right hand door. Rita was at her post, a smile on her lips as I signed in.

"How do you like the weather?" she whispered.

"I love it; it's so refreshing."

"Are you ready to work?"

"Yes, I'll be traveling through time beginning with 1939, a pivotal point in history."

"For all of us," Rita said. "My parents arrived in Cognito that year."

"I'll be on the lookout for their names," I said as I headed up the stairs.

"Shall we meet for lunch?" she asked out loud.

I stopped and turned on the stair, "It's a date. How does one o'clock sound?"

She raised her right thumb in acceptance and winked. My heart pounded as I continued up the stairs. I think I wouldn't mind getting lost here.

The tomes awaited me so I laid my gear on the closest workstation and headed for the stacks. 1939 was thick, reflective of the times. I laid the volume on the table and opened it to the first page. I was assaulted by foreign names from southern and eastern Europe, names difficult to pronounce, names that captivated the essence of families in search of refuge and a haven from tyranny; families in search of a new life. Rita's parents were there, as were so many others. I couldn't say how many had departed, but the departures weren't the issue today. I knew that man's inhumanity to man was at play here, and escape and safe harbor were the goals. The 1940s were no different except for the innumerable young men who arrived. I placed no blame. I understood their plight.

By twelve forty-five I had reached the mid 1950s, and I noted that Korea had managed to fill the volumes only slightly less than World War II – a lesser war perhaps, but a war nonetheless, destructive and disabling. I replaced the last tome and rushed down the stairs to meet Rita. When she saw me, she slung her purse on her shoulder and came around the desk to meet me.

"I thought you'd forgotten," she whispered.

"It's not one yet," I said. "I'm early!"

"Let's go then!" she said and grabbed my arm leading me out the door.

"Where shall we go?" I asked, not having planned anything much beyond asking her out.

"There's a tiny restaurant on North East Avenue and West 6th Street. They serve some mean hamburgers."

"Hamburgers it is then!"

It was difficult to contain my happiness. I think it overflowed onto my face. How did she know? I didn't remember telling her how much I loved burgers, but I wasn't going to delve into these matters. I felt a greater hand guiding me to a new destiny.

The Hamburger Heaven Restaurant was filled, but there was one empty booth near the window toward the back.

"This is one of my favorite places," Rita said. "The menu is simple and straightforward. You're not assaulted by a gigantic list of variations on a theme."

I glanced at the menu.

"Hmm, let me see, we have a choice of a regular hamburger, cheeseburger, or vegetarian burger; loaded, semi-loaded or unloaded. Fries are on the side. Loaded?" I asked.

"Loaded means with all the trimmings – lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pickles. Semi-loaded means you pick what you want to leave out, and unloaded is rather obvious."

When the waitress arrived, Rita ordered a loaded veggie burger and a glass of iced tea.

"Don't you want any fries?" I asked.

"If you order the fries, I promise you, there'll be more than enough for both of us," she said.

I looked up at the waitress, who smiled back at me, pencil poised on the order form.

"Okay, then, I'll have a loaded cheeseburger, an order of fries and a root beer."

"You won't regret it, sir," she said and winked.
Chapter XI, Lightning

WHEN WE LEFT THE burger place, I couldn't think of going back to the stacks. The waitress had pegged it right; I didn't regret my choice, but it was a heavy one, and all I wanted was a siesta.

"I think I'll go visit the cemetery again," I said as we approached the library. "I need to walk off this burger and all those fries."

"Understood," Rita said. "I wish I could accompany you, but alas, my work awaits me. Is there anyone special you're going to look up this time?"

"No, not really. I just want to read some tombstones."

"Now that sounds like some lively reading," she said and laughed.

"More peaceful than Caesar's Gallic Wars, I can assure you. After reading that, I'd rather traipse through the Cognito Cemetery any day than across Europe a couple of thousand years ago."

"That bad, eh?"

"No, not bad, just sad. So much violence in the name of conquest."

"Walk off the burger, you'll feel better," she said.

"Right, I'll stop by the library on my way back if it's not raining."

Rita glanced up at the sky.

"It won't rain; those clouds are transitory. Enjoy the walk."

"Will do; see you later then," I said and headed south along West 2nd Street.

By the time I reached the cemetery, the wind had picked up, and the air was brisk, but the sky had cleared considerably. Cemeteries have never frightened me. When I was a boy, I would ride my bike through the town cemetery, darting along the path through the graves as on an obstacle course, stopping every once in a while to rest and read names and dates. Each tombstone carried with it a secret, marked by the dash between the dates and known only to those who shared its history. I never felt alone there.

As I strolled through the iron gates, a sense of familiarity overcame me, and for some odd reason, I felt at home. From Juan Iota's bronze statue, I veered off to the left toward the setting sun. On the far side, near the west wall, I found a bench and sat facing east. The sunlight threw long shadows along the ground, bringing a sense of peace and tranquility. I mulled over my situation. Why was I here in Cognito? My original objective had obviously taken an unexpected turn. Not that I wasn't concerned about finding Marion Davis. In a way, I had found her, though not physically, at least she existed and might still be here. Nonetheless, I would keep looking for her while I was here, but how long would or should I stay? The weekend loomed ahead with a tentative promise of pleasant encounters with Rita. And then there was Monday, when Juan Iota's personal library would be open to the public. It was a no-brainer; I'd stay at least till Tuesday and see what lay on the horizon.

While I was meditating, a large, striped tabby strutted onto a nearby tomb and stretched out, gleaning what warmth it could from the afternoon sun. It had no collar so it was obviously a stray. What an odd place to call home, I thought. Where does it find its food? But cats are resourceful, independent animals, and this one looked healthy enough. No baggage, no clutter, just claws and fangs and instinct. In the silence of the graveyard, the Cognito Express blew its whistle, calling those who would be leaving on their own accord...

Open Shop 1976

Jake unpacked a tiny cardboard box with the few personal things he had brought to the office. He placed everything on the desk and stood near the window. He could see the terminal in the distance, a hub of humanity in motion.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Brown?" his secretary asked.

"Yes, Sherry, everything is fine."

"I see you've already unpacked," she said and smiled.

"I'm a minimalist, Sherry. I don't like clutter."

"That's what my grandmother says; she calls things with no useful purpose dusters."

"I couldn't agree with your grandmother more!" Jake said as he opened the single filing cabinet near the wall. "Hmm, empty. This is where we need some clutter, Sherry, we need to clutter it with clients."

"I'm sure it will get cluttered soon enough, Mr. Brown. You'll probably have to invest in some more cabinets before long."

"Keep thinking that way, Sherry."

From the outer office, there was a knock on the door.

"I'd better get that, it's probably our first clutter, I mean client," she said and rushed out of the office.

Jake heard Sherry open the door and welcome someone – a woman from the sound of her voice.

"Yes, Mr. Brown is in, please have a seat. I'll let him know you're here," Sherry said and peeked her head into the office. "Mr. Brown, a Mrs. Lasalle is here to see you."

"Send her in, Sherry," Jake said and remained standing as Sherry escorted an elderly lady into the room.

"Mr. Brown, this is Mrs. Leticia Lasalle."

"Good morning, Mrs. Lasalle, Jake Brown at your service. Please have a seat."

"Thank you, young man. It is very kind of you to receive me on such short notice and without an appointment, but I was walking by and saw your sign and decided to stop by."

"How can I help you, ma'am?"

"Well, your sign said 'Private Investigator' and that is what I need – a private investigation – a most private investigation," she said and locked clear blue eyes onto Jake's deep brown ones.

"Not to worry, Mrs. Lasalle. I am discreet and any and all information is for my client's eyes only," Jake said and returned her gaze.

"Good, then shall we begin?"

"Yes, ma'am, what exactly do you need to find out?"

"Well, it's my husband, you see..."

***

A flash of lightning streaked across the sky. It branched from one end of the cemetery to the other, then thunder rumbled over the tombs, and a raindrop splattered on the bench next to me.

No rain? Right, Rita, I won't hire you as my weathergirl, that's for sure. I thought as I pulled my collar up and raced back to the gates. It was 'Chicken Little Time' and I needed shelter fast. The sky fell just as I hopped up the terminal steps. I wondered if my tabby friend was safe and dry.

But the rain abated almost as quickly as it started and I began my trek back to town. The freshly washed streets glistened as the street lights blinked on automatically under the darkening sky. It was early yet, so I decided to pass by the library just in case Rita was still there. I headed straight up 2nd Street until I hit North B Avenue, and sure enough the lights were still on.

"You're dry," she said as I shut the door.

"Yes, but no thanks to your meteorological predictions," I said and removed my jacket.

"I'm right fifty percent of the time," she said and smiled.

"Answer me this, then. What will the weather be like tomorrow morning?"

"Heads or tails, call me at six tomorrow and I'll tell you," she said and laughed.

"Are you shutting this place down anytime soon?"

Rita glanced at the big clock on the wall.

"Right now," she said and handed me my gear.

"Can I invite you to an early dinner at the Cross Bow Hotel? The menu is pretty good."

"I'd love to," she said.

At that hour we were the only diners in the restaurant.

"Where would you like to sit, madam?" I asked.

"The table by the window is unoccupied. Shall we sit there?" she asked.

I pulled her chair and sat opposite her.

The waiter arrived with the menu.

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" he asked.

I glanced at Rita.

"I would like a cup of hot tea, chamomile if you have it," she said.

"I'll have the same," I said.

"Hmm, let's see what the chef has today," she said and opened the menu. "Something light after that big burger. Yes, here we go, I think I'll have a simple Caesar salad."

"That does sound pleasant," I said, "despite all his wars."

"Copy cat," she said.

"Hey, what's good for the goose is good for the gander," I said and laughed.

"Are you calling me a goose?" she said and wrinkled her forehead in mock anger.

"Yes, and I'm calling myself one too, though not quite the same kind of goose."

"So, tell me, how was the cemetery?"

"Dead, not a living soul there, except for me and one stray cat."

"Sounds so exciting!" she laughed.

"It was, especially once the lightning struck, and the thunder scared me half to death."

"Oh, I can see this research is getting to you," she said.

"Actually, it's been fun, and I'm looking forward to Monday."

"Monday?" she asked.

"Yes, that's when Juan Iota's personal library is open to the public, right?"

"Oh, yes, it slipped my mind."

The waiter arrived with our tea.

"Are you ready to order, sir?" he asked.

"Yes, we'll both have a simple Caesar salad," I said.

"Very well, sir. I'll be back in a bit."

"So, after the visit to Juan Iota's personal library, what's next?" she asked.

"Ah, that's what I was reflecting on at the cemetery. Decisions have never been my strength. I get buried in my research, and when I come up for air, everything and everyone seems to have moved on. But I suppose that's how life is. We spend our time trying to figure things out; and when we think we've discovered the answers, we find out they're only pieces to the puzzle, and someone has hidden the rest of the pieces."

"And the search goes on?" Rita asked intuitively.

"Yes, it must."

Our eyes met, and for an instant I saw into the depths of her soul, and I liked what I saw – an overwhelmingly gentle peace and goodness.

"Your Caesar salads, sir," the waiter said.

"Thank you," Rita said as he placed a large bowl of greens in front of her.

"You're welcome, ma'am."

"Now that's what I call a salad," I said and stared at my plate. "I wonder who invented this salad, and why did they name it after a conqueror?"

"Well, actually, the inventor was named Caesar, but that was his first name. His full name was Caesar Cardini, an Italian who immigrated to the US after World War I. He lived in San Diego, but he operated a restaurant in Tijuana, Mexico. And according to my Uncle Luigi, he tossed his famous salad in 1924."

"I suppose after Rome fell, the Italians had to find another way to conquer the world," I said. "And this I must say is a much healthier way."

"To our health," Rita said and raised her teacup.

"Our health," I replied.

After dinner, darkness caught us on the street heading back to Rita's apartment, an easy stroll to South C Avenue from the hotel. Though it was rather nippy, we didn't hurry along. There were so many things I wanted to ask her, sort of a personal type of research, like did she ever have a bike? What was her favorite color? Why hadn't she left Cognito, in the living sense, not feet first? What made her stay here? Had she ever been engaged? I knew that if I didn't ask her, I wouldn't get any answers, so I took a deep breath and began.

"Do you know how to ride a bike?"

"Yes, in fact, I love to ride, and I even have a bike, but the back tire has been flat for a few weeks and I haven't had time to repair it. Do you like to ride?"

"Gosh, that was my favorite mode of travel when I was a boy. It still is. It's the feel of power on wheels, like riding on the wind," I said.

"I know what you mean. I got my first bike when I was seven, and I haven't stopped riding since."

"Perhaps we could go for a ride tomorrow, if you're not busy, I mean, I could help you with the tire. We could take it to a shop, and maybe I could rent another bike and we could go for a ride?" I asked.

"That sounds like fun. Hopefully it won't rain," she said and glanced up into the night sky.

"It won't rain," I said.

"How do you know?"

"Let's see," I said and took out a quarter. "You call it."

"Heads it'll be clear; tails it'll rain; fifty-fifty."

I flipped the quarter into the air, caught it and slapped it on the back of my hand. Then I closed my right fist over the coin and slipped it into my pocket.

"I prefer surprises," I said. "See you tomorrow morning at nine. We can ride whether it rains or shines."
Chapter XII, Jonquils

SATURDAY MORNING BROUGHT PEACE and, to my relief, the end of the Gallic Wars. A golden orb dragged me out of my slumber on the fields surrounding Alesia, sword in hand, with dreams harried by the dead and wounded at my feet. I disentangled myself from the twisted covers and stood by the bed. A promise of fair weather shone through the window and brightened my day.

After I showered and dressed, it was already eight, so I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a doughnut from the hotel lobby and headed toward Rita's apartment.

I only had to knock once.

"Good morning, what a surprise!" she said and pointed to the sky.

"A good day to ride," I said, "now where's that bike of yours?"

"Don't you want some coffee?"

"I already had a cup at the hotel. Let's not waste this beautiful morning inside," I said.

"Okay, follow me, sir. Right this way," she said and led me down the narrow hall straight to a tiny back porch where the bike with the deflated back tire leaned precariously on its kickstand.

"I don't suppose you have an air-pump," I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do, though I think this is more serious than a lack of air."

"The bike will be easier to roll to a service station with a bit of air in it."

"Smart man," she said. "I'll get the pump."

It took the station attendant only a few minutes to fix the tire, and luckily there was a bike rental place nearby. We headed north and then turned west on a side road and sped toward the distant mountains. The sky was a pallet of blues with dabs of white. The rising sun followed behind our shrinking shadows.

Rita had packed a supply of power bars and a couple of bottles of water each, and by the time we stopped to rest, the sun was directly overhead, and the water was a welcome relief.

"Those mountains don't seem real," I said as I parked my bike.

"They aren't. Someone painted them on a backdrop for a movie set a few years ago and forgot to take the set down."

"Very funny. Is that Cognito humor?"

"No, just feeling cynical, I guess. If you think about it, those mountains are probably an optical illusion. It makes you wonder how many pioneers lost hope because of them as they moved across this frontier."

"Judging from the library archives, maybe a great many never started out at all," I said.

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do. Maybe at the beginning they were filled with enthusiasm, but once they reached Cognito, they realized they could start a new life right there with few questions asked."

"A new beginning?" she asked.

"That's right, a new beginning, a second chance, or maybe a third or a fourth or who knows how many times they may have started over, but at least here, they could give it a try, and if they decided to leave on their own accord, the mountains held a promise for the future – the unknown."

"I think the sun is getting to you. Here's a power bar. You'll need it for the ride back."

"What? We're not going to shoot for them thar hills?" I asked, shading my eyes, pointing west.

"I'm not delusional. Those mountains are on the other side of the desert, and I didn't bring enough water to make the trip," she said and smiled.

"So, shall we head back?" I asked.

"Let's let the sun find a big cloud first, okay? We can sit on that flat rock just over there."

"Good idea, at least the sun will be at our backs," I said and squinted eastward.

"That's the idea of riding west in the morning and east in the afternoon," she said.

"You're a walking compass rose, Rita."

"It comes with the territory, growing up in a place like Cognito."

"Do you normally ride alone and this far from town?" I asked.

"No, actually, I belong to a riding club. We meet one Saturday a month and take to the road, but I haven't been for the last couple of months because of my flat tire."

"When is the next trip out?"

"It was last Saturday. I missed it, but I'll make the next one, that's for sure, and if you're still here, you can come along if you'd like."

"I might just do that."

We sat quietly for a few minutes, the silence broken only by the occasional insect.

"There's something about flat, empty land that gives one a sense of perspective," I said finally.

"I agree with the flat part, but I would hardly call this place empty," she said.

"You know what I mean – the expanse – it seems to go on forever, until you reach the foot of the mountains, and then you can climb to the top and get the same feeling."

"Yes, things may look different depending on your point of view," she said.

"Right," I said and cleared my throat. "Take Cognito, for instance. If you look at it on a map, it's a simple dot along the highway. But once you're in Cognito, you experience a nearly perfect grid, save for the river."

"Hm, yes, I remember when I was little, I used to dream of sailing a boat out of town on that river, just to see where it led," she said.

"Did you ever?" I asked.

"No, though I did take the train a few times."

"But you always came back," I said.

"Of course, it's where I wanted to be."

"No wanderlust?" I asked.

"I'm happy here, but that doesn't mean that I couldn't be happy somewhere else. It's that there is no other place that beckons me."

"What if you met someone, and he asked you to leave. Would you go?" I held my breath.

Rita turned to me and held my gaze.

"That would depend on who asked me," she said. "Would you?"

"I don't know. No one has ever asked me."

"But I bet they wished you would have done the asking," she said.

"Maybe, maybe not. There's no long line at my door, that's for sure. What about you?" There, I'd said it; I'd jumped off the cliff and was free-falling until she spoke.

"I had a boyfriend once, back when I was in college."

"Only one? That's hard to believe."

"Yes, only one. I never learned how to handle more than one at a time," she said and shrugged.

"What happened? I mean, uh, I don't mean to pry."

"Oh, it's okay. Our Uncle Sam had other plans. We were pretty serious, talked about getting married and all, but it wasn't meant to be. We decided to wait until he got back, and he never did. According to the report, he was on patrol and someone stepped on a mine. It took me a long time to put it all behind me, but it is. Oh, I still think about him, but I don't dwell on what might have been."

I wanted to speak, to say something consoling, but all I could do was hold her hand. She smiled, her eyes an inviting warmth.

"Maybe we should be going. That big cloud is not so large as to hide the sun for too long."

An enormous cumulous curled upward, its underbelly a heavy gray.

"I think the sun is going to wait out the storm. Looks like rain," I said, "lead on, ma'am."

The afternoon ride back to town seemed easier than the morning. No hurry, no rush. When we reached Rita's apartment, it was nearly three o'clock. We pulled up along the sidewalk. Rita hopped off her bike and stood holding the handlebars, I stood near mine, unsure of where to go from here.

"I don't know about you, but I'm famished," she said. "What do you say if I cook an early dinner tonight, say about five or six? Would you come?"

"I'd love that, I'll bring the bread," I said, "and whatever else you need."

"I really don't need anything – it'll be simple, so don't worry."

"Let me help you with that bike."

"No, it's okay. I do it all the time. You have to turn in yours and then get ready and get back here," she said and smiled that wonderfully engaging smile.

When I got to the Cross Bow, I raced through the lobby only to be called back by the desk clerk.

"Excuse me, sir, but there's someone here to see you," he said pointing to the chair near the window.

I whirled around. My heart beat loudly in my chest, deafening. A petite woman with slightly disheveled short-cropped hair turned to face me. She stood as I approached.

"Mr. Brown?" she asked.

"Ah, yes, Jake Brown. You wanted to see me?" I said. My eyes followed hers down to my sneakers. She glanced back up quickly. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, yes, of course, I'm Marion Davis. I understand you've been looking for me."

"Marion Davis?" I swallowed hard and again I followed her eyes down to my sneakers. "I've been out biking."

She didn't laugh.

"Mr. Brown, I'd like to know why. It's not like I'm a missing person or anything."

"No, no, it's not that. Please, call me Jake. Eh, come let's sit down here," I said directing her to the sofa. "How did you find me?"

"You first. Why are you looking for me? Who sent you?" She asked, her face as straight as the streets in Cognito.

"My client gave me a photograph of you a few weeks back. He said she hadn't seen you in a very long time and wanted to find out where you were and if you were okay. My investigation led me here."

"Who is your client?" she asked.

"I can't give you his name without breaching our agreement, but he asked me to give you his phone number to call him if I did locate you, that it was very important."

"Did you ever consider that perhaps I didn't want to be found?" she said cynically.

"Yes, that is always what I think when I look for people. But I'm a missing persons investigator. It's what I do. I'll get you the number my client gave me and you can decide whether you want to contact him or not."

"What information have you given your client so far?" she asked stiffly.

"I told him that I have found your name in the Book of Arrivals in the Cognito Research Library and also in the Book of Marriages. That is all. Now it's your turn. How did you find me?"

"Cognito is a very small place, and I'm sure you've heard its motto."

"Right, no one gets lost in Cognito," I said and smiled weakly.

"Rita Martini is a good friend of mine," she said.

"Ah!" was all I could manage over the pounding of my heart. I felt betrayed and foolish. "Why didn't she tell me straight out?"

"Perhaps she wanted you to stay a while in Cognito, and if she told you, you would have been on the first train out of here on Tuesday morning, right?" she said.

I felt my face grow hot; it glowed perhaps. "I guess you're right. If you give me a minute, I'll go to my room and get that phone number for you."

"I'll wait right here," she said.

"Promise?"

"I promise," she said and picked up a magazine off of the coffee table.

I dashed up to my room and scrambled through my files. I picked up the old photograph to double check the face. The woman downstairs was Marion Davis all right, a bit older perhaps, or else she was a good double. My hand trembled as I scribbled my client's phone number on a piece of paper and raced back down to the lobby fearful Marion Davis wouldn't be there.

"Here it is," I said and handed her the number.

She folded the paper without looking at it and put it in her purse. Then she stood.

"May I tell my client that I met you and that you're okay?"

"I'd rather tell him myself," she said and headed for the door.

"Wait, one more thing," I called out desperately.

She turned and looked at me inquisitively.

"What is Rita's favorite color?" I asked sheepishly.

"Do your research, Mr. Brown!" she said and laughed.

On my way to Rita's apartment, I stopped by the bakery and bought a loaf of Aquilano bread, and then I picked out a bouquet of jonquils at the flower shop next door. I stood outside her door for a few moments. My heart pounded as I hit the doorbell.

"Come in, dinner is almost ready," Rita said. She smiled mischievously.

"Great, I'm starved," I said and handed her the flowers.

"Jonquils! Oh, I love jonquils!" she said and whisked them off to the kitchen.

"So do I," I mumbled.

Rita came back in the room and placed a blue vase filled with the jonquils on the mantle.

"They will add a touch of elegance to a simple dinner," she said.

I cleared my throat, unsure of how to ask her about the events of the afternoon.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked.

"Sure, you can pour us each a glass of wine. I'll get the salad."

I watched her go back and forth arranging the dishes on the table.

"Shall we sit?" she asked.

I pulled her chair out for her.

"Thank you, Jake."

Across from her at the table, I raised my glass.

"Here's to a good friend," I said and looked her straight in the eye.

She closed her eyes and then opened them and held my gaze.

"I had to do it," she admitted. "I had to keep you here, at least for a little while. I'm not sorry I did either."

"Nor am I," I said. "I'm glad you did."
Epilogue

I HAVE NEVER REGRETTED my decision to remain in Cognito, a pleasant little town just north of the border, away from the humdrum and fanfare of life. It welcomed me without judgment, and its well laid-out grid led me straight to where I needed to be.

If you should decide to visit the Cognito Research Library, you can find our names in the Legal Section in the record of Marriages, Tome 1982, Page 65:

Jake Brown, detective + Rita Martini, librarian, M: March 13, 1982

The End or The Beginning

\- depending on your point of view.
The Author

Pat Alvarado is a native of Abbeville, Louisiana, where swamps and bayous reign; but it is in Panama, the tropical paradise, where she lives with her husband.
Other Works by Pat Alvarado

The Writer

Convicted at Six

Recess Revolution

Albert the Harpy Eagle

Babble On

Ben's Big Flight

Candy the Generous Cockroach

Early Birder

Epic Flight

First and Fast!

Freddy Swims Like a Fish

Ho Choy Finds a Treasure

It's My House!

Matt, the Migratory Mallard

Pablo Parakeet and His Friends

Petal and the Pot

Plagon the Dragon

Pot Luck

Proud to be a Toad

Sam Sees the Light

Sam the Unspotted Saw-whet Owl

The Iron Necklace

The Little Rainbow Princess

The Shadeless Kingdom

The Ship that Opened the Panama Canal

The Tragedy of Little Plastic Cup

Theobroma Cacao, the Chocolate Princess

Timothy Trashcan

The Adventures of William Worm, Series

William Worm and the Great Flood

William Worm goes fishing

William Worm and the War of a Thousand Leaves

William Worm - Earthnaut

William Worm falls in love

William Worm meets the virus

William Worm meets the crow

William Worm takes a day off

William Worm goes to the beach

William Worm meets the cricket

William Worm saves the Canal

William Worm - Unplugged!

William Worm Hits Pay Dirt

The Adventures of William Worm Comic
Thank You

Thank you so much for buying this book. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you can, please visit wherever you bought the book and leave a review. And by all means, drop me a note saying what you thought.

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