“What?” Juniper looked up from paging absently through the Mom & Tot binder to find Barry standing right in front of her. He was so silent she hadn’t even heard his approach—or maybe she was too distracted to notice. But then his words clicked, and her eyes widened. “Ashley? She took a picture of me?”
“Not her. India. The one with the short hair and the purple eye makeup?”
Juniper didn’t specifically remember purple makeup, but India had been carefully put together. A pretty, early thirty-something with a cute bob and a hundred-watt smile. It was no wonder that Barry had cataloged the details. “Why would India take a picture of me?”
“She has a blog. Jericho Unscripted. It’s kind of a mix between a local gossip mag and a family photo album. She mostly posts stuff about her kids. But sometimes there’s…” He paused, searching. “Other stuff. Let’s just say it can be enlightening. If you believe what she writes, of course.”
“Jericho Unscripted?” Juniper was still catching up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I think it’s supposed to be tongue in cheek. You’ll probably be on it tonight. Just thought you’d like to know.” Barry started to walk away, his arms full of old ledgers for the Heritage Society meeting. The library was dead after the excitement and drama of the Mom & Tot Hour, and Juniper was grateful for the chance to lick her wounds in peace. But she wasn’t about to let Barry off the hook so easily.
“Wait a sec.” Juniper came around the high counter and grabbed a box that Barry had taken out of the storage area in the attic. She fell into step beside him. “Can she do that? Just post a picture of me without my permission?”
Barry shrugged, leading Juniper into the records room. It was a long, narrow room that was a leftover space after the interior transformation of the library. There was a rectangular table in the middle, an old microfiche at the farthest end, and the walls were lined with town histories, every Jericho High yearbook dating back to 1917, and thick dowels hung with newspapers like faded sheets on a clothesline. Barry set his stack of green ledgers in the middle of the table and then took the box from Juniper’s arms.
“I guess so,” he said. “She posts all sorts of stuff about life in Jericho, and I doubt she secures permission from everyone who pops up in her photos. You’ll get lots of attention, I’m sure. Jericho Unscripted enjoys a broader audience than the Chronicle.”
Juniper groaned. Clearly, she had discovered who Everett’s “overactive” local journalist was. Though it sounded like calling India’s blog posts “journalism” was more than generous.
“She’ll probably write something like ‘New Instructor for Mom and Tot Hour’ or ‘Welcome Home, Juniper.’？”
“She wouldn’t,” Juniper whispered, her mouth suddenly dry as toast.
“Oh, she would. She will. That’s why I told you. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thank you,” Juniper choked, and Barry gave her a sympathetic look.
“Want to help me with these records?” he asked, but it was obvious that he didn’t need her help. He was just trying to be nice.
“Looks like you’ve got everything under control. I should make a game plan for next week.” Juniper was about to excuse herself when she caught sight of a row of Bankers Boxes lined up neatly on the floor beneath the shelves. “What’s in those?”
Barry followed the line of her finger. “Old newspapers. They’re on microfiche, of course, but Cora is having a hard time letting go of the originals.”
“May I?” Juniper doubted Barry would oblige, but he nodded and swept his arm toward them magnanimously.
“Be my guest. We don’t need them today.”
Juniper crouched down and ran her fingertips over the striped boxes. They had been arranged chronologically, and she had to crawl on the floor to find the year she was looking for. Sliding the box out, she carried it to the circulation desk and lifted off the top.
There wasn’t much inside. The newspapers were filed in order and separated by tabs that marked each month. Four, sometimes five weekly newspapers per section, plus the Shopper, a small insert that featured local ads and coupons. More than half the box was empty, a sad testament to the anemic existence of Jericho, Iowa. Or maybe it was a good thing. No news was good news, right?
Juniper flipped to the month of June and lifted out the flat stack of newsprint. As she knew it would, her graduating class grinned beneath the simple headline: