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“Joseph, I can't explain it, but Beatrix told me last night. I know it sounds crazy, but she talked to me just like you're talking to me now. She told me that Martin had killed her.”
Joseph sighs, “I mean, it makes sense.” My jaw drops. That's the last thing I ever expected him to say.
“What?” I blurt.
Joseph sits down in the seat across from me. “If I had to pick a reason to curse someone, 'they covered up my murder and ditched my body in the ocean' is a pretty solid reason. I'm not saying I agree with it, but it makes sense.”
“Thank you,” I say. The tension in my shoulders dissolves. “Now, we just need proof.”
“Speaking of proof, have you found the diary?”
“Nope. We’re doing another sweep of the book returns today, but I doubt we’ll find anything besides old receipts. Last week, I found a gym sock.”
“That’s disgusting and defies the laws of physics.”
“I know!”
“How late are you working?”
“Until 5:30, why?”
“Well,Draculais playing at the movie theater at eight tonight. I was wondering if you would want to go with me. My mother’s got a complex system for dealing with trick-or-treaters, and she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want my help. Plus, I was thinking about what you said last week about dates, and, well, I’d love to take you on a date. We should celebrate the twins and all, you know?” Joseph is picking at his cuticles. I realize he’s nervous.
I stand up, looping my arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely.
“I’d love to. A movie sounds great. But wait, why are you doing this? I thought you hated Halloween.”
“I do, but you love it. I want to make sure you have a good time,” Joseph says softly.
“Thank you.” I kiss him again. “But I have to get going. I can’t be late for work!”
“The letters won’t archive themselves. Have a good day.”
“You too! Make lots of …” I still don’t quite know what Joseph’s job does, other than make him boatloads of money, “… tech!” I say.
I lock the door behind me. The air is crisp and clear. I decided it was nice enough to walk to work. I take my time enjoying the sight of the ornate jack-o-lanterns that decorate everyone’s porches. Weatherby Island is idyllic, even though it’s the size of a thumbtack. There’s something undeniably charming about it.
When I walk into the library, Evan’s wearing a velvet cape.
“No one told me we could dress up!” I exclaim.
“I forgot to send an email,” Evan says, his voice distorted by the plastic fangs he’s shoved in his mouth.
By the time our lunch break hits, Martin’s letter is the talk of the library.
“Men are shit, am I right?” Cora asks, peering over my desk to read it again.
“I mean, true, but also, given the social norms at this time, Martin was right. This would have ruined them both,” Evan says diplomatically as he thumbs a corner.
He returns to the circulation desk.
“But it ruined them anyway, and Beatrix got her heart broken. Call me an idealist, but I just think that a lot of this could have been avoided if Martin was just honest with Adelaide instead of trying to pawn Beatrix off on a nunnery,” I say.
We continue debating as we go to the break room, where Evan’s supplied us with apple cider donuts for the day. I grab a donut and take a bite.
“It just feels icky to me that he tried to pay her off but still tried to stick her in a convent. Like, he sounded like he was giving her enough hush money to let her do whatever.”
“Maybe he thought she had to repent. The founding population, including Martin, were mostly devout protestants. It would make sense if he thought she needed to atone or something,” Evan says.
