“Seriously?” I exclaim, then clap my hand over my mouth when I receive several dirty looks from the other people around us.
“Seriously?” I repeat in a shocked whisper.
“Dude, I’d bet my comic money that’s the exact same property the school was built on.”
I grin. “Let’s see what else this guy’s got.”
“Here it is,” Destin says, turning his computer screen towards mine.
We’ve relocated to the library’s computer lab, since our research has taken a different turn. One thing the internet really excels at - you know, besides cats - is genealogies.
“The Etheridge family tree officially dies out in 1918,” Destin says. “No more Etheridges. Or so it seems. Really what happened is that 1918 is when the last male heir died, leaving everything to a daughter, Marianne, who had married a dude named Thomas MacAlister.” He sits back, looking pleased with himself. “All the property fell to her, and then her son, Etheridge MacAlister. That’s when the names on the deeds changed. And since then, it’s been divvied up amongst their numerous progeny.”
“Then how come I don’t know about any of this? I ought to know if I’m the heir to some huge fortune, dude.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Destin points out. “There are a lot of MacAlisters. Look.” He gestures at the large branching swath of MacAlisters leading into current times. “And people don’t adhere to the ‘everything to the firstborn son’ mentality anymore, it’s not like you’re in line for a crown. This is just a bunch of land. Or it used to be. A lot of it’s been sold by now. It’s been divided and re-divided among families. And if you think about it, you probably do have some sort of inheritance from all of this.”
“How do you mean?”
He looks uncomfortable. “How much do you think your dad really makes?”
I shrug. “A lot.”
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way...but my dad is higher in the company than yours. I’m pretty sure he’s making more money. So how come your mom goes shopping every weekend?”
“Magic,” I say. “And by magic, I mean credit cards.”
“I’d bet my original Venture Bros. line art that your mom is a trust fund baby,” Destin says.
“You’re really in a betting mood today,” I say.
He grins sheepishly.
But when I think about what he said, it sounds logical. If Mr. Heron isn’t making a whole lot, and my dad is lower in the company, he can’t be making much more. But Destin is right, my mom still takes Hayley to fancy salons, gets her top-of-the-line SUV detailed weekly, and comes home with a bag of shoes more nights than not.
“You could ask her about it,” Destin says.
“Ask my mom about money?” I recoil. “If you won’t talk to your dad about...you know...there’s no way in hell I’m talking to my mom about money. Last time I asked for a pair of movie tickets she told me how she fought off a mountain lion with a can opener.”
“That sounds like an exaggeration,” Destin says.
“For twenty bucks there never is happiness.”
“That reminds me...I need to find that book before the tattoo lady comes in and yells at me or something,” Destin says.
I notice Ms. Bea coming out of her office and stand up. “She’ll know where it is for sure,” I say, crossing over to her.
“Mac!” he hisses after me. “I don’t think this is - ”
But I’m already standing in front of her, saying “Hey Ms. Bea!”
“Mac,” she smiles at me. “What can I do for you?”
I know she’s our best bet for finding this thing quickly. Grey hair or not, Ms. Bea’s memory is insane. “So, I know this is kind of a weird question, but bear with me because Destin stupidly made a deal with someone...do you guys have a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales up here?”
Confusion bends her eyebrows. “We have two or three downstairs.”
“No, up here, on this floor.”
“She was very specific,” Destin says.
“She?”
I want to smack him. “A woman outside told us there was a special copy of it on this floor. We were just wondering if it was true,” I say quickly. No sense in getting Dez in trouble if the book doesn’t even exist.
Suddenly, Ms. Bea’s gaze sharpens. “What woman? What did she look like?”
I’m taken aback by her intensity. “Really messy, all in leather, tattoos – ”
Then the old lady swears, and Destin and I rock back. I didn’t think little old ladies did that. “You didn’t take anything from her, did you?”
“No, why would we steal from a random creepy lady?”
Destin swallows. “She gave me a twenty.”
Bea grabs him by the shoulder and gives him a little shake. “Did you bring it in the building?”
“I – I – I paid my book fines with it,” he stammers.
She speeds away and down the stairs with the pace of someone much younger. We blink at each other for a beat, and then rush after her. What the hell is going on?
By the time we get to the front desk, Bea is breaking into the cash register with a manager’s key. As she opens it, one of the bills on top starts to sizzle. She swears again, snatching it out of the drawer and stomping it out on the ground. Cinders waft around her shoe and die.
“Beatrix?” Edna the Troll gasps.
Ms. Bea lifts her shoe with apprehension. Nothing remains but a small amount of ash on the tile. She lets out a big sigh, seeming to collapse back into herself. “It’s fine. For now, it’s fine. I got her mark before it spread. I don’t think she’s serious, yet.”
Destin and I trade a look. Something is totally going on around here, and it’s starting to feel like all the adults are in on it.
Ms. Bea picks up the telephone on the desk and dials. “Hello Abbey? Bea Graham. Did you leave the boys at the library? I’d like you to come back and pick them up. No, they haven’t done anything,” she says into the phone to my mother, but her expression facing us says the opposite. “There’s just been a small security incident here and I’d feel better if they were elsewhere for the time being. Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you.” She hangs up the phone and glares at us directly. She points at the chairs behind the front desk. “Sit. There,” she says, “Until your mother comes to get you.”
“What did we do wrong?” I ask. “I don’t understand.”
“You listen to me boys,” she says gravely. “For God’s sake, don’t ever talk to that woman again. Don’t take anything from her, and don’t let her touch anything of yours. Mothers tell their children not to talk to strangers for a reason,” she states. With an order to the Troll to not let us move until claimed, she begins her slow, arthritic climb back up the stairs, an old lady once more.
Maybe if they told us why, it would stick, I think.
Chapter 9
Jul
earlier that day
“I’m working at the library this afternoon, so dinner may be a bit late,” Bea said.
It was Saturday, and I was curled up on the couch with my history book, earmarking passages for the paper due Monday. I didn’t like the Civil War era. Or any of the war eras, really. I wanted to get to the parts of history where people were inventing things and improving lives, not mowing them down.
Bea shrugged into a light jacket. It was finally getting cool enough for that, and I was glad. November had no business being flip-flop weather, as it had been last week. “If you need anything, call the library,” she said.