Page 52 of Savored Sins
Will: She’s there now. Working. Like you should be doing.
Benji: Ffs you guys
“Interesting…” Lydia narrows her eyes at me from behind her desk. Barely even glancing at the black-and-white photo I slapped down on the desk, she continues herwork of scanning books and placing them on the cart next to her. “You want me to look in the archives for you to see if I can find anything out about some girl you found in a photo?”
“Yep,” I say, flashing her my most winning smile. “But I told you, it’s not just some girl. It’s the ghost that’s been haunting Autumn’s house and scaring the fucking shit out of her.”
“Zeke, there are children around,” Lydia says with a raise of her eyebrow. She casts a worried glance toward the kids’ section, then back to me.
“Oh, sorry. Freaking crap. She’s been scaring the freaking crap out of her.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “And what makes you think there’ll be something in the archives?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Her name’s on the back of this photo Autumn found in her attic—and it’s definitely the ghost—but good old Google told me the date of her death is unknown.”
“Can’t you just ask her?”
“Aw, come on, Lydia. You know I need Benji for that shit. Oh—crap. Sorry. But it’s for the pilot, and I want it to just beme. Benji always gets the credit. And besides, looking through the archives will be good for the narrative if you’ll let me record.”
She sighs, stands. “Fine. But Nancy went to lunch, so I’m only giving you ten minutes. Someone’s got to man the desk.”
“Sure,” I say, pressing my palms together in thanks. “Whatever we find in ten minutes, that’ll be more than great.”
I follow Lydia down the hall and to a separate room next to the office. Aside from the grand opening after Will’s renovation of the library this spring, the last time I was here I was sitting with my brothers on the floor, trying to summon a ghost. Ah. Memories.
“Okay, let’s see here,” Lydia murmurs, more to herself than to me. She’s pulling out drawers, flipping through binders. I whip out my phone and hit record. Lydia looks up at me, and Ican tell she’s gone full librarian mode now. “Do you knowanyyear this girl was alive? Like, did the photo have a date?”
“Nah, but Google told me a birthdate. At least, I’m pretty sure it was her. Someone had added a bunch of people to their family tree, and she showed up as a relative. March 1, 1919.”
“Okay, good. That gives me something to go off. So let’s say she looked—I don’t know—seventeen? In that photo? You tell me. You’re the one who’s seen her up close.”
I grin, tempted to tell Lydia I’ve done more than just see this chick up close. But I don’t want to piss her off. Lydia can have a temper, and I’m relying on her good graces at the moment.
“Yeah, seventeen. Eighteen. Something around there,” I say with a shrug.
“So I’ll start in, oh, 1936 and skim through the headlines for anything interesting.” Lydia rifles through a drawer, pulling papers out here and there and glancing at them with a frown before shoving them back into the file. “Nothing about any Lena Reeves in 1936 that I can see. Unless she’s not named? That might make this difficult.”
“Yeah, I think we keep looking for a name,” I agree. As curious as I am about who this Lena was and what happened to her, I don’t have the patience to sit here all day. And when push comes to shove, Icouldjust ask Lena and hope she answers through the spirit board. But, even though I’m sure the viewers would love to see Autumn get the crap scared out of her again by cheeky ol’ Lena, I think they’ll appreciate this library stuff. Change of pace for sure.
“Okay, on to 1937 we go,” Lydia announces.
She moves to another drawer, rifles through even more files. As she searches, a sweet little wrinkle in her furrowed brow, I’m trying to tune out the whispers swirling around me, the flashes of silvery figures coming in and out of view like static. Thislibrary has alotof ghosts. This whole town does. It’s kind of unnerving.
“Wait!” Lydia shrieks. I glance up, my attention ripped from any ghosts in the building. Lydia’s flushed pink, and she tears a file from the drawer. “There’s a headline here. June 18, 1937. Reeves Girl Declared Missing: Police Ask for Public’s Help. And then the one after it: ‘Reeves Girl Still Missing. Search Continues Into Eighth Day.’”
“Holy shit! Is there a picture?” I can already feel my heart speed up. This is exactly what I needed.
“Mmhm. Come look.” Lydia ushers me forward, laying the pages side by side on the polished conference table. We survey them together, eyes flashing over the text.
“It’s her,” I say, triumphant. “It’sdefinitelyher.”
Lydia’s dark eyes skim the text. She gestures for me to hand her the black-and-white photo again. “This article says Lena Reeves was a member of the household staff at the Calvin Carroway family home—which makes sense, right? This looks like a family photo, with Lena here on the end and whoever that guy is. A butler, I guess. The article doesn’t mention him.”
“So what? She just… up and disappeared?”
Lydia shrugs, her brow still furrowed. “Sounds like it. According to this, local officials organized a search party that scoured the area for almost two weeks. Nothing turned up, and the case went cold.”
“Except Lena isverymuch hanging around her former place of residence—which means the trail is hot again. Almost a hundred fucking years later—don’t give me that look, there’s no kids in here, Lyds—this trail ishot. I’m on it.” I swipe the photograph off the table and shove it in my bag. “Can you make me a copy of these articles?”
