I decided to make my first calls to the El Cajon, Mission Viejo and Lake Arrowhead libraries, the ones Briana has spoken to on her longer calls. I tried Mission Viejo first, since it was the closest to Las Piernas. I thumbed through my notes while waiting for the call to go through, and found the name of the children’s librarian.

“Sophia Longworth, please,” I said, and was transferred to her desk.

At the risk of being immediately identified as someone as cheerfully annoying as a gnat in a nostril, I told her my name and reminded her of my previous call.

“Oh, yes,” she said, but nothing more.

“I have more information now. Do you know anything about a storyteller named Cosmo?”

“Yes, yes, of course! He was here about three weeks ago.”

“Ms. Longworth, did a woman call to talk to you about him at about that same time?”

There was a brief pause. “Oh! So this is what you were asking about. Well, I’m not sure I should go into this with you. It was a personal call.”

If it was a personal call, I decided, Cosmo and Travis were likely one and the same. “The woman who called said she was Cosmo’s mother, right? Trying to leave a message for him at your library.”

There was a little more hesitation, then, “As I said-”

“I’m his cousin. It was my aunt who called. She probably just asked him to call her”-I thought of the phrase my mother might have used- “on an urgent family matter.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, that was the call. His mother. But I’m sure she can tell you why she was calling. I think that would be best, so-”

“Wait,” I said, sensing that she was about to hang up. “Ms. Longworth, I can’t ask my aunt. She-she passed away recently.”

“Oh!”

“Yes. Now you know why I want to reach my cousin.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Oh, I’m so sorry. I wonder if-your aunt seemed quite distraught, but she didn’t mention that she was ill…”

I didn’t say anything to dispel that notion. “I guess she had a hard time reaching him,” I said.

“Yes. Cosmo-your cousin-travels constantly.”

“Did he receive the message my aunt left for him?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Did he call her back?”

“Immediately? No, but he was about to give a performance. I’m sure he must have called her later.”

“Exactly what is it he does?”

“Oh, he’s wonderful!” she said. “I’m surprised your aunt didn’t brag on him to you.”

I didn’t answer.

“He tells stories,” she went on, a little less enthusiastically. “The kids love him. He doesn’t just entertain them, he encourages them to read. And as you know, he’s bilingual-he can tell stories in Spanish and English.”

I didn’t know any such thing, but I said, “Any idea where he is now?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Do you have an address for him?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not sure he has a permanent address-”

“Would someone in your accounting office have one for him?”

“Accounting? Why?”

“Surely someone will be mailing a check to him?”

“Didn’t your aunt tell you? He donates his time. It’s so good of him. In libraries that are facing severe budget cutbacks-and most California libraries are-children’s programs often suffer. He helps us to keep the kids interested in reading without sacrificing book budgets. We’re very grateful to him.”

While trying to absorb that piece of information, I pressed on. “Ms. Longworth, as you’ve probably figured out, my cousin and I haven’t been in touch lately.” I paused. Lately. The past quarter century or so. I shook that off. “I just want to let him know what has happened to his mother. How did the library get in touch with him?”

“Well, I was going to suggest this a moment ago. Are you on-line?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then you could send him e-mail.”

“He’s on the Internet?”

“Yes. That’s how we put in our request and verified all the arrangements. Let me look it up.” I heard her tapping on a keyboard. “Here it is.” She spelled it out for me. “Cosmo, with a capital c, o-s-m-o, at g-e-o-k-e-r-b-y dot com.”

I wrote it as she spoke. Cosmo@geokerby.com.

I had thought of Cosmo as a magician’s name, or something sort of New Age, until I saw it coupled with that Internet domain name. “George Kerby?” I asked. “As in George and Marion Kerby?”

“Yes, the ghosts in the film Topper. Remember it? Cary Grant played George Kerby. Lord, he was handsome. I love that film, don’t you?”

“Yes…” But I was distracted, thinking not of Cary Grant, but of Roland Young’s role as Cosmo Topper, a meek businessman beleaguered by the Kerbys’ ghosts.

She went on to say that she had learned of him through the recommendations of other librarians on a children’s librarians’ Internet list, and would post a message to that list to ask if Cosmo was booked to appear at other libraries anytime soon.

I thanked her and gave her my phone number and e-mail address at the Express.

So my cousin managed to travel all over the state and donate his time to libraries while my aunt lived a spartan existence in San Pedro. He had taken on the name of a character in a movie, a rather bumbling businessman pestered by two mischievous phantoms who couldn’t quite get used to the idea of being dead.

Who had Travis become?

I left the house a little earlier than planned, stopped by the paper to send an e-mail message to him. As I passed the security desk, Geoff, the guard, motioned to me to wait as he finished a call. Nobody at the Express has ever been able to tell me Geoff’s age, and he only smiles and shakes his head if he’s asked directly. He’s probably well over seventy years old, and while I wouldn’t expect him to wrestle anyone to the ground, he’s got plenty of good sense-which means he does just fine at his job.

“Something happened while you were out,” he said, “and you’ve got to know about it, but I hope to heaven you won’t blame it on me.”

I waited.

“I took my lunch break,” he said, “and someone from the mailroom watched the desk while I was gone. Supposedly watched, I should say. Well, you know how careless those boys can be.”

Since Geoff was liable to refer to any other male as a boy, I did not assume that some youngster had been left to guard the foyer of the Express. “I suppose you checked the tape?”

I wasn’t sticking my neck out there. Geoff was famous for reviewing security tapes made during his breaks. He was seldom satisfied with the work done by those sent to relieve him.

“Yes, I sure did,” he said. “And I saw something that made me ask that boy a few questions. Look here.”

He pointed to one of his video screens, one that was dark. He pressed a button, and the screen lit up as a tape played. A grainy black-and-white image of the lobby appeared, with the security desk near the bottom of the frame. I smiled to notice that the “boy” from the mailroom staff was in his forties. Today’s date appeared in small white letters in the lower left corner; the time marker showed that this segment had been taped at just after one o’clock.

“What’s he reading?” I asked Geoff.

“He claimed it was something called a manga” Geoff said, with an expression of disdain. “But it was really some Japanese comic book. Now watch here-see that?”

On the screen, a tall, well-built man wearing jeans and a windbreaker entered. His dark baseball cap was pulled down low, but he also kept his head down and turned slightly to one side. I could see why Geoff found this worth noting.

“Doesn’t want his face to be seen by the camera,” I said.

“Sure doesn’t. Look where he stands.”

At the security desk, the man turned his back to the camera, standing slightly to the side of the desk, not approaching it at the front as most would do. He did not slouch or lean against it; the man’s posture was- although not rigid-somehow reminiscent of those who were more used to giving than receiving orders.