AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are you sure?” I ask. “The whole name of it isn’t visible. How do youknow?”
“I know the names of every one of the newspapers that have been in Cherry Hill for the last two centuries,” she explains. “It sounds a lot more impressive than it is, there have only been six. That is not one of them. There hasn’t been a single newspaper in this area with a name that ends in ‘gle.’”
“Do you happen to know of any that do?” I ask.
She gives me a withering look. “Honey. Do you know how many newspapers there are in this country? In this state alone? I might know my stuff, but not that much. I haven’t memorized the name of every newspaper inexistence.”
“Alright. Thank you.” I start to turn away, then turn back to her. “And just to throw something crazy out there, you wouldn’t have copies of any newspaper that ends in ‘gle,’ wouldyou?”
“No,” she says, a touch more angrily than I was expecting. “And as a matter of fact, we don’t have copies of much of anything rightnow.”
I blink, taken aback. “What do youmean?”
“Someone stole copies of several newspapers along with microfilm and copies of a couple of property records,” she tellsme.
“Property records?” Ifrown.
“For historic properties around the area,” she explains. “They are public record, so we maintain a collection of some of the most notable to be used for research. But that is all they’re intended to be used for. Research. They aren’t supposed to leave the reference room. When I went to pull a record for someone earlier, though, I noticed that quite a few things aremissing.”
“Do you keep notes of who has come into the library and asked to see newspapers or reference books?” Iask.
“Sometimes. But there have been a few volunteers in the last few days that aren’t as keen on following the procedures and the rules. It makes quite the mess when they get their hands on the stacks. I’m tempted to just stage a coup and tell everyone who does not have a degree in library sciences to leave the premises. No more reading foranybody.”
She’s kidding, but I can tell she’s genuinely distressed about the situation. I can’t blame her. This woman has devoted her life to taking care of the library and everything contained within it, and now someone has tampered with the collection. The records they stole are extremely difficult to replace if they are replaceable at all. That’s why these collections exist. They are where these types of materials are preserved and protected for future use.
And, allowing myself a moment of frustration and selfishness, not having those materials is going to make my job a hell of a lot harder if she’s missing what I have a strong feeling she’s missing. To be sure we’re on the same page and she understands the gravity of why I’m asking her so many questions, I take out my badge. Sam follows my lead.
“My name is Agent Griffin. I’m with the FBI. This is Sheriff Johnson,” I say, gesturing to Sam.
The color drains from her face and I see her eyes flash from side to side as if she’s looking to make sure no one else is around.
“You’re investigating the camp,” she says in a near-whisper.“Maude told me aboutyou.”
I nod. “Yes. And I know you’ll understand why we can’t give many details, but that we need as much information as we can get our handson.”
“Of course,” she nods. “Come with me and I’ll help you in any way Ican.”
“Thank you.” Sam and I put our identification away and out of the corner of my eye I notice Xavier putting something back in his wallet. “What wasthat?”
“My library card,” he says. “I just wanted to feel like I’m a part ofit.”
Everything that has anything to do with the massacre in 1964 and Mary Ellen’s disappearance isgone.
In some instances, the articles were torn out of the papers. In others, the entire papers themselves are missing. The microfilm, the actual issues, local newsletters, everything. It’s all beentaken.
I take a breath, holding it for a few seconds the way my cousin Dean does. It’s one of the things we share. He does it far more than I do, frequently enough that Xavier is able to gauge exactly what he’s feeling and how long he’ll be able to tolerate the situation he’s in by how long those breaths are held. I barely recognized that I did it too until I got to know Dean. We didn’t have the chance to grow up together. We didn’t meet until we were adults, just a few years ago, and even then we didn’t know our family connection. Finding out that one detail changedeverything.
When I was younger, I often wondered what it was like for people who had large extended families. I grew up an only child knowing just my grandparents as my relatives beyond my grandparents. My mother came from Russia. Her parents were still there when she left and gone by the time I was born. From the time I could remember, I believed my father was an only child as well. It was something that bonded us. It was the three of us, a complete family that understood each other. I had them and I had my father’s parents.
I loved our family. I don’t remember ever feeling like I was missing out on anything or even wanting there to be more in my family. I didn’t want siblings. I didn’t wish I had cousins. It wasn’t that I felt like there was a part of my life I was being denied or that I wasn’t going to get to have the same quality of life experience as everyone else.It was more simple curiosity. There was the awareness that our experiences weren’t the same. Neither one better nor worse. Neither one the “other.” It was just different, and I wondered what things were like for them. I wondered what it was like to look into someone else’s face and see the features of other family members. To share characteristics and memories and those genetic intricacies that can be so difficult to explain.
I’m a strong believer in genetic memory. I don’t believe we are born blank slates, waiting for the world to tell us everything we will know and mold us into what we will be. That doesn’t take into account exceptional talent or give any explanation to families that all share the same interests, inclinations, tastes, or fears. There’s more to being a human than that. What our ancestors did before us influences who we are today, and what we do today will influence every generation that comes after.
I wondered what it was like to share those things with more people than just the generations before me.
Then I met Dean. Just by knowing him, by finding out that we are cousins, I learned things about myself I never knew and likely never would have known if it wasn’t for finding that out. I can see features and characteristics in him that I never noticed in myself until I met him. Sometimes hearing him laugh or watching him walk or the way he does something will bring back strong, visceral memories of my grandparents. People he never knew, but he so resembles.
It makes thinking about the young victims of the killing spree even harder. Death is tragic. Some are far more tragic than others. When young people are murdered, they aren’t the only victims. It isn’t just their deaths that deserve to be mourned. I see the end of their lives, but also the rippling effect for the families on into the future. I hear the questions parents and siblings won’t know how toanswer.
