7 Never Haunt a Historian by Edie Claire

regular meeting is over, they’re going to stay and come up with a plan to help find Archie. All the men adore him, you know. He’s such a sweet soul. No one can understand why—” her voice caught. Her eyes began to tear, but before any drops could fall she plastered on a smile instead. “Oopsie!” she cooed to the baby. “Somebody’s got the stinkies! Excuse me, Leigh honey, I’ll just be a minute—”
    “I’ll let myself out,” Leigh offered, and with a grateful wave, Emma disappeared through the door to the stairwell.
    “Pssst!”
    Leigh heard the sound just as she touched the front door knob. Turning back around, she was surprised to see Harvey’s hand beckoning to her from his doorway. She stepped closer.
    “Please don’t leave just yet, Mrs. Harm—I mean, Leigh,” he said pleasantly, albeit with a new urgency to his tone. “There’s something I’d like to ask you. Would you come in a minute?”
    He swung his door open fully and stepped back. Leigh entered.
    She had never seen Harvey’s private digs before, and she had to admit a sense of curiosity. Adith had informed her that Harvey was quite spry for his years and would be perfectly capable of living by himself if his late wife of forty-plus years hadn’t, as Adith put it, “buttered the man’s bread till he forgot how to use a knife.” Leigh looked around and smiled. It was just as she would have imagined. Wall to wall bookshelves. An immense wooden desk piled high with more books, folders, reams of loose papers covered with longhand, and a half-dozen coffee cups. The desk and a large leather wing chair with matching ottoman dominated the room; a narrow bed covered with rumpled blankets was stuffed into the far corner like an afterthought. Spreading liberally over the chair’s seat cushion was a plus-shaped mass of orange fur only vaguely recognizable as a cat. The tabby—which had to weigh well over twenty pounds—responded to Leigh’s arrival with the slightest opening of one eye, which, after a second’s reflection, it shut again.
    “Now, now, Gimli,” Harvey cooed with affection, “don’t go stressing yourself. Mrs. Harmon is perfectly friendly, I assure you.”
    The cat remained motionless.
    “He’s very protective,” Harvey said wryly.
    “Clearly,” Leigh agreed.
    Harvey drew a breath, then tented his fingers again. “I feel a bit awkward asking this,” he began, seeming rather more excited than awkward, “but I would very much like to take a look at this map you speak of. I do have some experience with cartography; I might be able to help you decipher it.”
    “I—” Leigh’s response stuck in her throat. She had no reason to doubt Harvey’s motives, or his offer of help. The idea that such an intelligent, mannered man could be personally involved in any foul play concerning Archie’s disappearance was unimaginable. Then again, history had taught her she didn’t always have the best imagination.
    “I have to work through the detectives,” she finished, fudging the truth a bit. “But if they tell me it’s okay, I’ll bring it over. We could definitely use the help. Thank you.”
    To her relief, Harvey smiled broadly, revealing no sign of angst. “I will eagerly await your return.”
    ***
    Leigh finished her last bite of leftover meatloaf, which came immediately after her first bite. Despite her protestations to her mother, she had in fact forgotten to make a grocery run this morning, leaving both her husband and herself to forage for lunch on either two-day-old meatloaf or day-old pizza—and Warren had beaten her to the fridge. If Lydie hadn’t fed the kids at the History center, Leigh wouldn’t even have the meatloaf—she would be reduced to stale pretzels and whatever jelly she could scrape off the sides of the jar sitting on top of the recycling bin.
    Lucky for her, she had married well. Warren had been on his way out to the grocery store when she arrived. “I think you should stick around a while