Old books and fresh lemon oil, Newport Public Library smelt exactly as it should. Inhaling deep, Susan was suddenly a little girl in Philadelphia remembering reading science books every spare moment. Libraries were cathedrals to the younger Susan. Today, she wasn’t looking for sanctuary of a too bright girl, Susan was looking for answers.

She was looking for photos of Benjamin Burton, her dear late friend’s husband. She wasn’t sure what she would find if anything. Her investigation into Benjamin’s death was going nowhere.

Murder or suicide, Black Newport was split down the middle. Many were reluctant to really open up to an outsider. The Burton daughters were beloved and no one wanted to think two of their own could be a part of something so heinous. Susan learned that local art photographer Sarah Eddy was chronicling the colored residents of Newport. Maybe photos of the Burton family will spark my brain, Susan thought.

Along the damask wallpaper of the Wharton Reading Room, the photos awaited. In shades of silver, a series of portraits looked back at Susan. The doctor learned in with her monocle lost in the faces. Photography was a once in a lifetime opportunity for many poor families. Pride and wonderment smiled out from each frame.

“Outrageous,” a loud whisper sounded behind her. “Who let the likes of her in here?”

Ignoring the clearly ignorant patron, Susan continued down the row of images. Blacks and White folks mingled in public spaces here unlike many places in the North. But there were always exceptions. There they were, Benjamin and Marie holding hands seated, Emily with her arms around her big sister Marie. Susan could see the love even in their stiff formal poses.

“Margaret, fetch the librarian I will not stand here while this negress pollutes this library!”

There was a rustling of crinoline and a clicking of heeled shoes. With a backhanded wave, Susan shushed the loud woman. Benjamin and Marie were besotted with one another even after so many years of martimony. She wondered if there was quite enough love left over for the girls. Or if Emmie and Maria only had one another.

“What are you going to do about this disagreeable creature, Miss?”

Shaken from her thoughts, Susan turned towards the disturbance. Pointing an accusing finger, there was a sour-faced elderly White woman and by her side a younger White lady with spectacles and book in her hand.

“I’d tell this disagreeable creature to get out immediately, marm. Get out!” The librarian said in an Islander accent that could shatter diamonds.

“Well I never.”

“With a puss like that it’s a wonder your own mother loves you. Begone. Begging your pardon, Dr. McKinney, I’m Maeve Galvin and I’m investigating Benjamin Burton’s murder. I think you could help me.”