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   Chapter 33 No.33

My Sister's Keeper By Bill Benners Characters: 5900

Updated: 2018-05-28 11:04


I RODE TO MOM'S and I found Martha sitting in her wheelchair at the desk in the corner of her room. She was hunkered over a sheet of newspaper with all the parts to the cassette laid out on it.

"Hey, hey! How's it going?" I asked spreading myself across her doorframe.

She raised her hand. "Shhh. Mom's upstairs asleep."

"Oh, sorry."

"What are you so excited about?"

"I just had lunch with Sydney Deagan."

"A date?"

"Sort of." I browsed the bookcase in the hall, removed the oldest photo album, and carried it into Martha's room where I sat on her bed.

"Tell me everything, " she said without looking up.

I opened the dark leather cover on the album. It crinkled as it folded back. "Not much to tell. I picked up a couple of wraps and met her at the gazebo on the back of Greenfield Lake."

"Mmmm. Sounds romantic."

"It really was." Each page of the album contained one sepia-toned photograph inside a thick matte with arched tops and gold embellishments. The album looked expensive. "What do you know about Uncle Charles?"

She was leaning over the cassette with a magnifier in one hand and a brush in the other. "Didn't he die kind of young?"

"I think so."

"Nobody's ever talked much about him that I can remember. I just figured he died real young and that was that. Why?"

"Just wondering."

"No, you weren't just wondering. I know you better than that. What made you think about Uncle Charles?" Martha dipped a brush in a dish of white powder and flipped it back and forth across a piece of the cassette case while peering through a magnifier.

"It was just something Dad said this morning."

She twisted around and faced me. "What did he say?"

I turned another page. "I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone."

"T

e picture of Charles with his arm around Mom. "I wonder how he died."

"What are you saying? That maybe they were lovers?"

"Could have been." I slipped the photo of the two of them from the album and into my shirt pocket.

"Oh, my God!" Martha screamed. "Oh, my God!"

I leapt from the bed. "Wha-a-a-t?"

"Come here! Look at this!"

I left the album on the bed and leaned over her shoulder. She held the magnifier up to me and pointed at the sheet of paper. "Look! Look at this!" She bounced in the chair as I moved around her, held the lens over the print, and looked through it. I saw a partial fingerprint. She tapped a finger on another fingerprint lying next to it. "Compare it to this one."

The one on the sheet was not a complete print either, but what was there appeared to match the other one. "It's the same, isn't it?"

"Son of a bitch!" She wheeled the chair back from under the desk. Her chin quivered and her face turned red. "You know whose print that is?"

"Whose?"

Her eyes glossed over. "That print came from the windowsill at the warehouse. That bastard is still around and has something to do with that house you were in last night."

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