Page 45 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“What do you mean?” I came around the chairs to look at the women straight on. Both had bright magazines in hand and heavy shawls to stave off the library’s air conditioning.
Sarah adjusted her glasses and pressed her lips into a thin, stern line.
“Everybody who’s been in Keel Watch long enough knows it.” She shrugged. “They’re just all too afraid to admit it.”
“Sarah,” Gladys warned under her breath.
“People go missing, and they don’t come back. It’s cruel to pretend that they will.”
“The only cruel thing here is you, you old bat.” Mr. Lane pulled the magazine from Sarah’s hands, but she was already reaching for a new one from the stack that sat on the table between her and Gladys.
“Oh, I’m the old bat?” Sarah’s near-translucent eyebrows shot up over the rims of her glasses. “You’re older than I am, Lane!”
“Then respect your elders. I won’t have you talking about that poor boy like that in my library.”
“My tax dollars pay for this library, so I’ll talk how I like.”
“We all pay taxes!”
“Then what are you doing spending your own tax dollars on flyers for a dead boy?”
I jammed my hand into my pockets, fishing for change.
“How much?” I asked.
“What?” Mr. Lane blinked at me, and Sarah blew a frizzy white curl out of her face as she settled back into her armchair.
“For printing.” I found a few crumpled dollars in my back pocket. “This should cover it, right? I don’t mind.”
Mr. Lane reached forward to fold my hand back over the money.
“It costs nothing,” he insisted.
Sarah grunted from behind her magazine.
“You don’t know that he’s dead,” I snapped.
“Pardon?” Sarah glared at me over the magazine cover.
“Riley might not be dead,” I repeated. “He’s just missing, and even if you’re right, you don’t have to be such a hag about it.”
Gladys and Mr. Lane shot each other a look of surprise while Sarah slowly lowered her magazine.
“So,” she said coolly, “there’s a bit of Ethel in there after all. Good. I thought maybe there’d been a mix-up at the hospital.”
My cheeks burned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sarah laughed, and while the sound was genuine, it wasn’t quite kind either.
“It’s a compliment. Your grandmother is a good woman. You could stand to be more like her.”
“Maybe you could too,” I retorted. “I don’t think she’d like to hear you talking about Riley the way you have been.”
“Please!” Sarah guffawed. “She knows he’s dead, even if she won’t admit it.”
“She sent me to print these—”
