Eden's Dream by Marcia King-Gamble Page B

green sign. “You’re about to miss your exit.”
    Eden cut off the driver to her right and exited the highway. The Riviera trailed her. At a more sedate pace she made her way down Fourth Avenue. “That car’s on my tail the whole way here,” she commented. Noel turned to look out the rear window as the white car changed lanes, zooming by them. It had tinted windows. His face was impassive when he said, “Probably another tourist.” Gazing at budding trees framing buildings with unique architecture, he switched the conversation, “This is some city.”
    â€œBeautiful, isn’t it? Course I’m partial. I spent a lot of summers here. There’s something about lush greenery and water that makes me feel—Did you see Sleepless in Seattle ?” She darted him a look, blushing fiercely when he winked at her.
    â€œOf course I saw the movie. Didn’t every die-hard romantic?”
    His voice warmed her, sending a tingly feeling to the tip of her toes. He’d just admitted he was romantic.
    On the opposite side of the road an Infiniti pulled away from the curb. Eden quickly claimed the spot. It began to drizzle when they crossed the street. Eden breathed in the smells of spring as they picked their way through a crowded bus stop and the homeless who’d made the front of the library home.
    She led the way through a worn first floor and up the escalator. She decided the downtown library could definitely use a face-lift. On the second level, she edged her way toward the rear, Noel on her heels. Spotting the sign for magazines and newspapers, she headed for a clerk manning a white Formica desk.
    â€œCan I help you with something, miss?” a deep male voice asked. A middle-aged hippie stuck in an obvious time warp peered at her through granny glasses.
    Noel quickly inserted, “We’re interested in looking at some of your old papers. I assume you have them on microfilm.”
    The clerk scratched his ear with a much used pencil. “It’s the digital age, but microfilm is still cheaper, so yes. Depends what you’re looking for.”
    Eden’s spirits plummeted. Behind her back she crossed her fingers. “You must have old copies of the New York Times .”
    The clerk fingered a graying curl and then tucked the escaping lock behind one ear. “Most certainly. Our copies go as far back as 1851. Can I help you find something?”
    Eden’s shoulders sagged with relief. Noel took control of the conversation. “Show us where the microfilm’s kept.” He clasped cool fingers loosely around Eden’s elbow.
    The clerk’s nicotine-stained finger pointed toward an inner room.
    Two hours later, Noel decided enough was enough. He finished reading an article speculating about why the flight had been delayed and turned his machine off. The delay had not been a well-publicized fact. Initial reports had indicated air traffic, now he wasn’t so sure. He’d have to pursue this new angle. He looked over at Eden busily scribbling notes.
    â€œI’m famished,” he said, coming up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. “Let’s take a lunch break.”
    Eden rubbed weary eyes and leaned into him. Noel could tell she was wiped out and probably ravenous. Most likely she’d skipped breakfast for a gulped cup of coffee. A break was definitely overdue.
    â€œLunch sounds delightful, Noel. Did you have someplace in mind?” she asked.
    â€œThe man at the information desk says Pike Place Market is right up the street. So is the waterfront. Game?”
    â€œGame.”
    They returned the microfilm, then taking the hand Noel offered, Eden followed him out.

Chapter 7
    â€œ D id you uncover anything new ?” Eden asked, pushing her almost empty plate of fried oysters away.
    â€œI’m not sure.”
    Eden shot a quizzical glance Noel’s way and waited for him to go on.