Abram's Bridge Read Online Free

Flea Market; it was her Saturday morning ritual, though now it was almost noon.
    He decided to ride his bike into town. The library might have some old newspapers. Maybe there was something on Sweet Kate’s disappearance. During her retelling of the story, she failed to mention the boy’s name. He could go ask her, but decided to leave her be. If she’d wanted to tell him, she would have. Besides, he could use some time alone.
    He grabbed a package of Pop-Tarts and a Pepsi—breakfast of Olympians—and headed out the door.
    Flying down Aikman Street, heading away from Abram’s Bridge and toward Main Street, the coolness of midday was refreshing. He leaned with the curve at the top of the hill and, letting go of the handlebars, spread his wings, soaring into town.
    He passed by a few antique shops, Del’s Bar, a True Value hardware store, Greg’s Italians, Jenner’s Grocery and a bunch of other little shops before reaching the library at the end of the world.
    The public library was an old, two-story brick building off the very end of Main Street and at the start of Hempel Road. Coasting his bike to the rusting and chipped forest-green bike rack, he rolled his front tire in the slot, two spaces over from the expensive-looking mountain bike on the end.
    The other bike belonged to Heath Barnes—rich kid, school genius and all-around asshole.
    Great, he thought. Hope he minds his own friggin’ business and leaves me the hell alone.
    Li’l Ron climbed the stone steps and pulled on the large red door. The smell of old books, and pound upon pound of dust and buried literature, made itself at home within his nose hairs. He sneezed, officially announcing his arrival to both the white-bearded librarian and, much to his chagrin, Heath Barnes.
    Dammit.
    A second sneeze followed (he was able to catch this one in the sleeve of his sweatshirt). He made his way to the desk and the large man behind it.
    “Bless you,” said the older gentleman behind the desk. The placard before him read Mr. Schultz . “What can I help you with, son?”
    “Ah, I’m not sure.”
    “Okay, I’m going to need a little more to go on,” he said, sitting back and folding his hands over his big belly. He thought the guy kind of looked like Colonel Sanders.
    “I’m doing some research on the town.”
    “Okay, that’s good, a little more,” Colonel Sanders said.
    “It’s on…” Li’l Ron dropped his eyes to the placard, “…on a girl who went missing.”
    This caught Mr. Fried Chicken’s attention. He sat up, his chair moaning at the shift in weight, and pushed his glasses up on his nose.
    “A missing girl, you say? Now, son, what is this for? A school paper?”
    “Yes,” Li’l Ron lied. A lie was always so much easier to pull off when they filled in the blanks for you.
    “Hmmm. You look familiar, son; haven’t seen you in here before, have I?”
    “Yeah, me and my dad just moved back into town.”
    “Your dad?” Mr. Schultz seemed to ponder this. “That wouldn’t happen to be Gregory Sawyer, now would it?”
    “Yeah, how’d ya know?”
    “Thought I saw him heading into Del’s a few weeks back. Wasn’t sure though, hadn’t seen him in ages. But looking at you, I can see him, and your mother. How is Jennifer these days?”
    “She left us,” Li’l Ron said. The last word hung in the air between them, mixing with the dust and the silence.
    After a moment, Mr. Schultz stood up, the chair sighing in relief.
    “Awful sorry to hear that. Your father used to be good friends with my boy, ah…”
    “Oh, Ron, but you can call me Li’l Ron. Everyone else does.”
    “Named after your grandpappy, huh? I used to bowl with Ronny back in our younger years, our livin’ years, I guess you could say.”
    Li’l Ron watched him come around the desk. His white pants and white button-up shirt bowing around his midsection made him want to laugh. The all-white getup only enhanced the Colonel comparison.
    “Now, we’ve had two big