The Gravedigger's Brawl by Abigail Roux Page A

said instead, making sure to drawl out the name in imitation of Reth’s nasal, condescending voice.
    They stopped in front of him, and Wyatt reached out to take Emelda’s elbow as she leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. She knew it ruffled Reth’s feathers when she showed such unabashed favoritism toward him, and Wyatt loved her for it.
    â€œDr. Case, what progress have you made in your plans to boost attendance?”
    Wyatt looked at him for a long moment as he tried to restrain himself from telling Reth the only progress he’d made was getting laid by a man with a tongue ring.
    â€œMr. Reth, I believe we’ve discussed, at length, the fact that Dr. Case is not solely responsible for this matter,” Emelda said with a stern glare. “If the board had taken his warnings more seriously when construction was being planned, we would not be here.”
    â€œMay we step into your office to discuss this?” Reth asked as he started toward Wyatt’s office door.
    â€œNo,” Wyatt said curtly. Reth turned to look at him as if he’d been slapped. Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “I’m busy.”
    Lincoln stepped forward, a whole head shorter than Wyatt, and put one bony finger on Wyatt’s chest. “What could you possibly have to do that’s more important than speaking with us?”
    Wyatt looked down at his finger, then up at him with a clenched jaw. “It’s more important to me to sweep the bathroom floors than it is to sit and listen to you recount your shortcomings.”
    Lincoln responded with a series of rapid blinks. Wyatt picked up his finger and pushed it away from his chest.
    Emelda stepped between them, holding her hands up in a graceful display of class and propriety. “Gentlemen.”
    â€œYou have some nerve, Case,” Reth said. “You’re only here because I haven’t moved to get rid of you yet.”
    Wyatt met his eyes, valiantly resisting the urge to stab them with the ink pen in his pocket.
    â€œMuseums across the country are closing down due to lack of funds. Do you want us to be next?”
    â€œIf we are, your name will be emblazoned across the annals of history with the failure,” Wyatt said. “If you cared anything for history, that would terrify you more than losing that hefty stipend you get every year.”
    Reth bristled, sputtering. “End of week!” he finally said through his teeth. “I’ll bring the matter of your termination to the board by end of week and be rid of you for good!”
    He stormed past Wyatt and Emelda, Lincoln on his heels like a trained puppy.
    â€œOh, Wyatt,” Emelda said with a sigh.
    â€œI’m sorry, Emelda, I just . . .”
    Emelda clapped her hands together. “I’ve been hoping you’d do that for weeks now!” Wyatt wouldn’t have called her matronly; she was far too elegant and proper for that. Perhaps it was that cool propriety—her impeccable dress, her perfectly coifed silver hair, her expensive jewels and perfume—that made her approval so rewarding.
    Wyatt grunted and huffed a laugh.
    â€œI won’t be able to save you now, Wyatt, not unless we come out with something brilliant in the next day or so.” She looked off down the hall at the retreating backs of her colleagues. “But you will be emblazoned across the annals as the man who finally told that prick where to stick it.”
    She patted his cheek and walked off. Wyatt watched her, mouth agape.
    When he was finally able to shake off the surprise, he realized his fingers were trembling. He’d basically just gotten himself fired, because he knew inspiration wasn’t suddenly going to strike him in the next day.
    He looked at his watch, indecisive now. It was barely nine o’clock in the morning. The odds of Ash being at Gravedigger’s at this time on a Monday were very small, and he should probably start packing up his