my money at home.
“Um...uh...just a second,” he says, “be right back.” Swiftly, he exits the library and swiftly he returns. He hands the Troll a rumpled twenty dollar bill.
“You didn’t,” I mutter under my breath.
He colors, but says nothing.
“Turn in your books on time, and this won’t happen,” she says to Destin, like she’s teaching him a lesson. The old lady takes book fines a little too seriously if you ask me. All I want to do is get into the reference section and dig out some answers. It’s a shame Ms. Bea isn’t working the front desk – she’d have never even mentioned the fine. Well, she’d maybe mention it, as a reminder, but the old lady wouldn’t treat Destin like a felon, that’s for sure.
Once we’re finally given freedom to pass the front desk, we make our way to the elevator. The place is dead silent. That’s the only thing I dislike about libraries – the oppressive quiet. Well, that, and how musty the books smell. And the mean librarians. And how hard it is to find what you want most of the time.
Alright, so I’m not the world’s biggest fan of libraries. But they have their use. You can find the craziest stuff on the shelves sometimes. That’s the one big difference between going to the library and doing an internet search. Yes, the library is a lot slower, but you have a much greater chance of stumbling across stuff you’d never have thought of otherwise. Plus it’s kind of cool how seriously
“You shouldn’t have done that, dude,” I say. “That tattoo lady is bad voodoo.”
“Voodoo?” Destin frowns. “Did you want to get into the library today or not? It’s not a big deal, it’s just checking out a book.”
“What book, exactly? And you know that if she steals it, you’re going to be the one owing the library. Again. So, vicious cycle.”
“She asked for the Grimm on the third floor,” he replies, confused. “So Grimm’s Fairy Tales, I guess. Do they even keep kids’ books on the third floor?”
“Kids’ stuff is all on first,” I confirm, frowning. “Third is all the stuff nobody touches, and librarian offices.”
“Stuff nobody touches?”
“Rare books and public records,” I say, punching the button for the elevator. “Which is where we were going anyway. So how’s that for more coincidences?”
“Take a look at this,” I say, showing him an old register of land deeds and titles. “Most of the property in the area before 1920 belonged to the Etheridges.”
“Never heard of them,” Destin says, not looking up.
“Yeah, it’s weird, right? But there’s this whole list at the turn of the century, and it’s Etheridge, Etheridge, Etheridge, oh hey Graham, that must be Jul’s house, Etheridge, Etheridge...but then...” I reach over and open a second ledger and lay it on top of his. He looks up, annoyed at being interrupted.
“Twenty years later, no more Etheridges,” I point out, running a finger down the list. “All gone. Oh hey, MacAlister,” I say, spotting my name. “And...another MacAlister. And...”
Destin’s annoyance fades as he read the list.
“Mac,” he says, in that voice that means I’ve found something enormous.
I can’t believe it. The 1920 list is peppered with my name. It looked like all the Etheridge properties had been replaced with MacAlister.
“Mac,” Destin says. “Who were you named after?”
“My...my mom’s maiden name is MacAlister,” I say carefully.
Suddenly he snatches a book out of the stack he’d been looking over. “I didn’t think...it didn’t seem like anything, but...” He flips through pages ‘til he makes a sound of recognition and stabs his finger onto the page.
“MacAlister,” he says. “Five years ago, a property off of Stonewall Road was turned over to the city in someone’s will. The original owner was an...” his eyes meet mine. “Etheridge MacAlister.”
“Seriously?” I exclaim, then clap my hand over my mouth when I receive several dirty looks from the other people around us.
“Seriously?” I repeat in a shocked whisper.
“Dude, I’d bet my comic money that’s the exact same property the school was built on.”
I grin. “Let’s see what else this guy’s got.”
“Here it is,” Destin says, turning his computer screen towards mine.
We’ve relocated to the library’s computer lab, since our research has taken a different turn. One thing the internet really excels at - you know, besides cats - is genealogies.
“The Etheridge family tree officially dies out in 1918,” Destin says. “No more Etheridges. Or so it seems. Really what happened is that 1918 is when the last male heir died, leaving everything to a daughter, Marianne, who had married a dude named Thomas MacAlister.” He sits back, looking pleased with himself. “All the property fell to her, and then her son, Etheridge MacAlister. That’s when the names on the deeds changed. And since then, it’s been divvied up amongst their numerous progeny.”
“Then how come I don’t know about any of this? I ought to know if I’m the heir to some huge fortune, dude.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Destin points out. “There are a lot of MacAlisters. Look.” He gestures at the large branching swath of MacAlisters leading into current times. “And people don’t adhere to the ‘everything to the firstborn son’ mentality anymore, it’s not like you’re in line for a crown. This is just a bunch of land. Or it used to be. A lot of it’s been sold by now. It’s been divided and re-divided among families. And if you think about it, you probably do have some sort of inheritance from all of this.”
“How do you mean?”
He looks uncomfortable. “How much do you think your dad really makes?”
I shrug. “A lot.”
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way...but my dad is higher in the company than yours. I’m pretty sure he’s making more money. So how come your mom goes shopping every weekend?”
“Magic,” I say. “And by magic, I mean credit cards.”
“I’d bet my original Venture Bros. line art that your mom is a trust fund baby,” Destin says.
“You’re really in a betting mood today,” I say.
He grins sheepishly.
But when I think about what he said, it sounds logical. If Mr. Heron isn’t making a whole lot, and my dad is lower in the company, he can’t be making much more. But Destin is right, my mom still takes Hayley to fancy salons, gets her top-of-the-line SUV detailed weekly, and comes home with a bag of shoes more nights than not.
“You could ask her about it,” Destin says.
“Ask my mom about money?” I recoil. “If you won’t talk to your dad about...you know...there’s no way in hell I’m talking to my mom about money. Last time I asked for a pair of movie tickets she told me how she fought off a mountain lion with a can opener.”
“That sounds like an exaggeration,” Destin says.
“For twenty bucks there never is happiness.”
“That reminds me...I need to find that book before the tattoo lady comes in and yells at me or something,” Destin says.
I notice Ms. Bea coming out of her office and stand up. “She’ll know where it is for sure,” I say, crossing over to her.
“Mac!” he hisses after me. “I don’t think this is - ”
But I’m already standing in front of her, saying “Hey Ms. Bea!”
“Mac,” she smiles at me. “What can I do for you?”
I know she’s our best bet for finding this thing quickly. Grey hair or not, Ms. Bea’s memory is insane. “So, I know this is kind of a weird question, but bear with me because Destin stupidly made a deal with someone...do
