"Don't you think they've already looked here for clues?" Henry asked, "Seems like the obvious first place to me..."
Clara rolled her eyes, shot him an exasperated look. "Would you quit whining and look?" she demanded.
"I'm just saying," he continued. "Seems like if the town sheriff's wife were missing, the town sheriff would look for his wife at the place where she volunteers..."
"Assuming he's not the one who caused her to go missing in the first place," Clara muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Henry to hear.
"You always did have a vivid imagination," he said.
"Come on, Henry, you met the guy that first day – you can't honestly tell me he didn't creep you the fuck out..."
"Perhaps," he admitted. "But it's a long reach from creepy to murderer."
"Henry," she whined petulantly, "Would you please just look!?"
Laughing at her childlike complaining, her kissed her forehead, then began digging through the drawers of the check-out desk. A fine layer of dust had settled over everything, so it seemed unlikely that anyone had been there in at least a week, but perhaps she'd left a hotel brochure or bus schedule or something in one of the drawers.
Clara was wandering between the shelves, fingers tracing along the spines of the books, the library bindings crunching underneath her touch. "Do you really think her husband could have murdered her?" she called over her shoulder to Henry. She had to admit it was a very real fear of hers – something just seemed off about the guy, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
Emily's words from the day Clara had tried on her wedding dress, still rang in her ears: "It's not like I've got any use for it. Maybe it will bring you better luck than it did me..."
At the time, she hadn't asked what she'd meant by that, not wanting to intrude, but now she was wishing she had. Maybe she could have prevented this. Maybe she could have saved her...
She opened her mouth to say something to Henry, but her attention caught on the glittering golden letters embossed on the red leather spine of one of the books. Carefully lifting the book from it's place crowded amongst others not nearly so ornate, a smile crossed her lips.
"Hey, check out this copy of Beauty and the Beast," she called to Henry. "It's gotta be really old – I've never seen a copy like it." She giggled softly. "Remember how much I loved the movie when we were growing up? I watched it basically every single day...until my foster sister got angry with me and broke the video."
Henry either didn't hear or didn't comment.
She opened the book then, flipping through the pages until she landed on an illustration that made her blood run cold. "Holy shit," she said under her breath. "Henry, you have to see this!"
"What?" he said, head popping around the shelf, startling her.
"Jesus, Henry," she muttered, "You scared the shit out of me..." She shook her head, passed him the book. "Look at this illustration..."
He studied it for a few moments. "Yeah?" he prompted. "So?"
"So, it doesn't look hauntingly familiar to you?" she pressed.
He shrugged. "Not really, no. Why?"
"Look harder!" she insisted. "Are you seriously telling me you've never seen these people before?"
Henry's brows knit as he turned his head to give her a curious look. "Clara, they're drawings...not people."
"No!" she said, perhaps too loudly. "I don't know how it's possible, but they're almost identical to Emily and that guy that lives on the edge of town..."
Henry's expression became concerned then. "This book is like a hundred years old, how could this possibly bear any resemblance to people alive today?"
Clara tossed her hands up in irritation. "You know what? Nevermind," she grumbled. "Sometimes, talking to you is like...argh!" She folded the book into her chest almost protectively. "Let's keep searching."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a hint of sarcasm before flashing her his signature bright smile.
Clara glowered momentarily at his irritating attitude before breaking down and blowing him a kiss because she genuinely couldn't stay mad at him.
"Hey, babe, do you think..." He trailed off, seeing his spouse sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a spread of open books. "Clara!"
"What?" she asked innocently, looking around, then to him as if trying to work out what was so objectionable about the situation.
"Well, when you said to keep searching, I assumed that referred to both of us, not just me doing all the work while you sit here reading..."
"Honey, I am working!" she insisted. "I'm just testing my theory..." It was clear from Henry's expression that he had serious doubts about her so-called theory, so she took a deep breath, preparing to launch into a long-winded explanation. "Okay, so, I was thinking that maybe someone else – other than Emily – resembled characters from fairytale books. Turns out, there are a lot of similarities. Like, when I say a lot, I mean like everyone in town..."
"Similarities?" he repeated skeptically.
"Yes, similarities," she echoed.
"Clara, I know we celebrated our wedding with cheap liquor, but it seems like it's having a bad effect on you," he tried to tease, but upon seeing the deadly serious look in his wife's eyes, he decided to humour her. "Alright, let's pretend everyone here is a fairytale character. Who does that make us? Cinderella and her Prince Charming?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, "That would be Will and that blonde he's got a major crush on."
"Right," he said, obviously full of disbelief.
"You don't believe me," she said. It wasn't a question.
"What you're asking me to believe..." he said slowly, placatingly. "Clara, it's a little crazy."
"So, I'm crazy now?" she challenged.
"No, of course not," he insisted. "I just think you're exhausted and concerned about Emily and probably still a little hungover and you're seeing similarities that just aren't there. But it's okay. We'll go back to the Inn, get a good night's rest and things will make more sense in the morning."
She pursed her lips, debating whether she wanted to press forward with her belief or to give in to his insistence that she was seeing things. Heaving a sigh, she relented, "Fine."
But internally, she knew what she'd seen and she wasn't about to give up on her hunch...