713 Mortisal Street

Missing Persons

The old library doors swung to with a series of creaks and whines like a wounded bear crying out, finally drifting closed with a distorted rattle of their uneven brass handles.

Both detectives cringed at the sound, exchanging a glance before straightening and looking to the small man at the desk.

The man blinked at them through large rectangular glasses, almost shyly, shoulders hunched inwards and hands folded over his stomach, long fingers fiddling with the threads of his soft brown sweater vest.

When the detectives did not speak, he swallowed awkwardly. "May... may I help you find something?"

Both men started, the taller detective seeming to remember why they'd come and tugging his badge from his coat to show. "We're with the Trivet City Police Force. Are you Ethan Priéto?"

The small librarian furrowed his brows, tilting his head a bit. "Are you mistaken, perhaps? This area is not within Trivet City, I'm afraid."

The taller detective sighed. "The day Lounten County has the population to hire a detective will be a day for sure. We were called in on a special case. Now are you or are you not Ethan Priéto?"

The small man could, of course, say no without either one of them knowing the difference. Ethan Priéto was practically nonexistent on paper - no photos to be found, no home address, no phone, nothing but a birth record to prove he ever lived at all.

His name would never have been dragged up if they hadn't been looking for it, and even then it took some time to find. He was completely off the grid, even more so than the rest of the people in the rural county of Lounten.

One would think that, as the seemingly sole operator of an entire library (even an old, rickety small one), the man would have some kind of records, but no.

No taxes, no pay stubs, no voting, not so much as a sticky note in the twenty-one years since his birth certificate was filed.

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"Have you seen this girl?"

"Have I seen her? That's Scarlett Dawnson, she's my neighbor's niece! Comes to visit every summer - such a sweet girl. Although I don't know that I'd call her a girl, she is driving now."

"Yes, I am aware." Detective Peccum resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, knowing it was disheveled plenty already. "When did you last see Miss Dawnson?"

"Oh, let me see... I do believe her and her brother drove down around Christmas for a visit. Brought that cute little dog with them too. Pickles, I think he's named. A real troublemaker. But that was awhile ago, of course. I don't believe I've seen her since, I'm afraid."

Peccum made a few scratches on his notepad, biting his lip as he scanned over the minimal information they had gathered so far.

The elderly woman across the table rearranged the string of pearls around her neck. She smoothed out a crease in the pocket of her pastel purple cardigan. She folded and unfolded her hands a few times.

"Will that be all, officer?" She asked finally.

"It's detective." Peccum snipped, looking up from his notepad. "And I do have one more question, Mrs. Thompson."

"Please, ask all you like Detective."

Peccum wasn't sure what to make of her short white curls and dark lipstick, the shine in her youthful hazel eyes not deterred in the slightest, the pleasant smile on her lightly rouged cheeks foregin to him under such circumstances.