needle in a haystack
Emery stretched as she stood. Her limbs protested the movement, reminding her that she had spent a good part of her day hunched over an old book, her hand scribbling notes on paper as she read. It was how she spent the last few days and how she would spend the next few as well.
The life of a researcher.
She knew that she was paying her dues. No one got to step in front of students right away. At least not until they had combed over archives, dug through old journals and newspapers. Published things that put their name out there. She had done some of those things and she was working on the last one. She hadn’t really had any preference as to where she did it --- well, that was until her father had gotten sick.
In the back of her mind, Emery knew that it was now or never. Everything she had talked about with her father loomed over her head and she wanted to make sure that she was able to get it done in time (she didn’t want to dwell on what that imaginary deadline meant). So with that in mind, she had come to Port Charles where she was determined to split her time between research for the University’s historical department and research for herself.
The Ward Family History.
It was rich and full, with roots partially in this town. She had come here in hopes of finally getting those roots under control but so much of it had gone by the wayside. Including the most important piece.
It was frustration and that looming deadline that had her seeking him out. She knew nothing of Curtis Ashford, just that his name (along with Sam McCall’s) was the first that came up when you searched private investigator in Port Charles. She had no idea if he would be even interested in something like this but it didn’t hurt to try.
With that in mind, she left the confines of the PCU library and headed to the address that her search had given her. Once there, she rapped lightly on the door. “Mr. Ashford? Ms. McCall?”
