After a lunch of quickly made grilled cheese sandwiches, we started working. Lifting the yellowed newspapers and dusty volumes from the old boxes, I felt the same sense of excitement as when I was about to begin a new craft as a child. I eagerly began reading through the oldest newspapers, devouring the articles looking for any information that might help. Sam was more methodical, searching the index of each book for mention of the woman, then arranging his share of the newspapers in chronological order.

After about twenty minutes of silent reading, I stole a glance at Sam. Head bent over his reading, his brow was furrowed in concentration. His hand carelessly mussed his hair as he rested his head on his arm, making him look at once serious and endearing. I followed the outline of his upper body with my eyes, taking in every curve and line. I let a small, content sound slip from my lips, and bent once again over my paper.

As I looked down the list of headlines, I said, "Oh, I think I found something." Sam's soft brown eyes looked up inquisitively as I began to read.

"Beatrice Lauder was brutally murder by her husband, Thomas Lauder, on March 13, 1947, after she told him that she had miscarried their second child. In his anger, he broke a chair over her head, then proceeded to take a gun and shoot her in her unconscious state.

Thomas, a sergeant in the Marines during the war, pleaded temporary insanity. 'I didn't know what I was doing. I thought I was back in the war.' The judge sentenced him to 15 years in prison for his wife's murder. The Lauders' first child, a three-year old girl named Helen, was sent to live with her grandparents."

Sam came over and read the article over my shoulder, his hand on my arm. "Does it say where she's buried?"

"Ummm," I stalled, scanning the next page. "It says she was buried in the Old Garden Cemetery. I think that's right by the old Methodist Church as you come into town."

"That's perfect," He said. "I need to tell Dean." He hugged me from behind, encircling me with his warmth, then began folding up the newspapers and shutting his computer. I folded the newspaper containing the article and put it carefully out of the way. I wanted to do by own research if I had the time, or at least see what else was going on in the town at the time. 

"What are you going to do?" I asked as I packed up the old cardboard box.  I folded the newspaper containing the article and put it carefully out of the way. I wanted to do by own research if I had the time, or at least see what else was going on in the town around the day of the murder.

"Just going to investigate some more – I need to see if she has any living relatives left, and then Dean and I will go visit her grave." He paused, looking at me questioning. "Are you okay with that? I'm sorry I can't stay."

"It's okay!" I said in what I hoped passed for a cheerful voice. "This'll give me time to get ready for tonight. If you still want to go on a proper date, that is."

"You know I do," Sam replied, coming over to me and kissing me gently on the forehead. I wrapped my arms around him in a goodbye hug as he continued. "Meet me here at 7:00?"

"I'll be waiting," I said. "And I've got an idea for where we should go. All you'll need to do is drive."

"I'll do whatever you need me to," Sam said as he straightened. "But Dean will start calling me again if I don't come back with something soon, and we've seen what happens when he calls unexpectedly." We both grinned sheepishly.

"See you tonight!" Sam ended the awkward pause. Then, with his jacket slung over one arm and his computer case in the other, he walked out the front door. I came and stood in the doorframe to watch him go, and stayed there long after he had driven away, thinking over our day and my hopes for tonight. At last, I sighed, turned, and shut the door. I had a lot to do before tonight.