Chapter 25 #4
I grin, pouring some coffee into my mug, then I take a big sip of the hot liquid, savoring the bitterness on my tongue. Crossing the kitchen, I kiss my gran on the top of her head as I pass her. “You’re the best, Gran.”
“Don’t you forget it,” she calls after me, making me laugh.
I go back upstairs, creeping around like a mouse as I dig through my dresser for a change of clothes before I go into the bathroom.
I slip some jeans onto my legs, then put on a hoodie, sneak back into my room to grab my phone and bag, then say a silent goodbye to Juliet as I go back downstairs.
“Be back later, Gran!” I call out as I open the front door and step out into the bright morning.
I pull my bag off as I walk, unzipping it for my sunglasses, then I slide them over my face.
Hopefully, the library will have some old newspapers I can comb through to find the truth about this Blackmore Tragedy, then maybe I’ll be able to sleep without getting murdered by the Hallows Boys in my dreams.
After the five-minute walk, the library comes into view at the end of Main Street, sending renewed energy through me as I get excited to play FBI investigator today.
Should I be practicing my new cheer routines, or maybe just chilling out with my friend today? Yes. But here I am.
I pull open the heavy door to the library, accepting the insanity I’ve embarked on as I step inside.
The space is huge, lined with endless rows of bookshelves.
There’s a set of wide, wooden steps right at the opposite side of the room that lead up to another level that’s also lined with shelves and a few tables.
A huge window spans across the far wall, sunlight pouring in and creating beams over the entire library. I don’t see a librarian anywhere, but I can hear the voice of a woman talking on the phone, so I follow it up to the second level.
I inhale the perfume of all the old books around me, the feeling of contentment filling me. There’s nothing better than the smell of books, except maybe the smell of books mixed with coffee.
On the second floor, I spot an older woman sitting at a desk on the far edge of the room, talking on the phone as she stacks books. Behind her, along the wall, there’s a row of computers and what looks like an old information system. That’s where I need to be.
I smile at her as I walk past, and since she’s on the phone, she just smiles back. Dropping my backpack on the ground below the more modern computer, I sit down in front of the bulky, old-fashioned computer.
Thankfully, there’s a poster on the wall behind the desk that shows a step-by-step on how to use the program, otherwise I would be lost. The archives are run by keyword, and I don’t know anything about the girl from the story, so I decide to do a wide search for articles about the Blackmores to start.
I might as well look for information about my ancestors while I’m here, right?
I type in the words Blackmore and Family, which pulls up over a thousand articles. I sigh, clicking on the first one, which is dated 1890.
The article ends up being about a record-breaking snowfall, so I close out of it and click the next, which is a few years later.
MAYOR BLACKMORE RESIGNS AFTER ALLEGATIONS OF ALCOHOLISM
I snort at the title, then start reading the article.
“Ah, the famous Blackmore drunk.” A voice has me spinning around, finding the librarian standing behind me and reading over my shoulder. “Sorry, dear, didn’t mean to startle ya. Noticed you looking through the articles and wanted to offer my help. Not a lot of kids your age use this machine.”
I’m unsure if that’s a compliment or an insult, so I just smile at her. “Thanks. What’s the story on this guy?”
She chuckles, her southern twang reminding me of my grandmother when she speaks again. “Bartholomew Blackmore. He was a mean old drunk, hooked on gamblin’ and prostitutes, resigned before they could impeach him. One of the only Blackmores who wasn’t clean cut.”
Leaning forward, I scroll until I find a photo of him standing at a podium. I scan my eyes over my great, great, great—however many greats—grandfather. “Seems like all the Blackmores are strange.”
“You’re allowed to be a little strange when you got money and power, darlin’.”
I hum, clicking off of the article and scrolling to find another.
“Anything specific I can help ya find, dear?” she asks.
“I was actually looking for some information about the Blackmore Tragedy… Have you heard of it?”
Her lips pull down in a frown for a moment. “Such a sad name for a sad story, but we don’t keep records for stuff so recent here at the library, especially not criminal ones. You’d be better off checkin’ with the mayor’s office or sheriff’s department.”
“Wait”—my brow furrows—“recent? I thought it was, like, some old, scary story?”
She shrugs, looking over my head in thought. “When was that?” she asks herself. “Maybe twenty or so years ago now.”
My head spins a little, because that would’ve been right before my parents left Blackmore… Maybe my suspicions weren’t so far off after all.
“Do you know anything about the Blackmore family? I mean, more recently?” I ask her.
“As far as I know, there are no Blackmores left, dear.”
“But what happened to them?” I press.
“The family died off in the 90s or early 2000s, if I’m remembering correctly. Theodore Blackmore died around then, and his sons left town.” She purses her lips. “Don’t know why. One day, they were just gone.”
Theodore must be my grandfather, then. I spin around in my chair again, clearing the search bar on the computer and typing in his name, but the librarian speaks again, making my fingers freeze on the keyboard. “I told ya, dear, you won’t find anything recent in there.”
I hit the search button anyway, just in case, making her sigh. Nothing comes up, the screen reading that no results were found, and the librarian clicks her tongue before she stands up, as if to say I told you so.
“Let me know if you need anythin’ else while you’re here, darlin.”
I nod without looking at her. “Thanks.”
Groaning as I hit the exit button on the screen, I feel defeated that I came all the way over here for nothing. I guess if curiosity continues to simmer in my veins, I’ll have to explore the channels she suggested—the mayor or the sheriff.
I stand, picking up my backpack, then I wave goodbye to the librarian as I pass her on the way out, who’s on the phone again. She waves back, and I skip down the steps to the first level so I can leave.
Everything in this town feels so secretive, and it’s starting to drive me crazy.