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My Sister's Keeper By Bill Benners Characters: 6220

Updated: 2018-05-28 11:26

IN THE CARDIAC CARE UNIT, I found Martha and Mom sitting in the room with Dad. He didn't look good at all—none of them did. When Martha saw me, she rolled out with her head hanging low. I bent and gave her a hug. "How's he doing?"

"Not too well. How are you? Things are better for you now—after the fire. Right?"

"I hope."

"That license plate number we got from the beach house belongs to a man named Dane Bonner from Charleston. Not much on him on the Internet, but I've got a lead I'm working on."

"There was a man at that house named Bonner."

"Then we might be onto something with that. Oh, by the way, I just talked to a nurse and learned that you can extract semen from a man by massaging his prostate gland. All you need is a rubber glove, some petroleum jelly, and a finger. She says the fertility nurses do it all the time."

"Sounds painful."

"And one more thing…" She reached into her coat pocket and removed a couple of folded sheets of paper and spread them flat. "Do you remember that case a few years ago where Scott McGillikin was sued by a client?"

I glanced over the pages. "Scott?"

"It was Ashleigh Matthews and her brother that sued him."

"For what?"

"He had represented the two of them against an insurance company following the death of their parents where they won a $1.4 million dollar settlement."

"They sued over that?"

"They sued Scott because he kept most of the money for himself. The publicity hurt his business, but he was eventually exonerated."

I handed the sheets back to her. "So? How does this help?"

"It shows how badly she needed the money."

"For what?"

"The brother had been burned, right?"

"Yes, burned badly as I understand it. Mostly his upper body."

"Then that's what they needed the money for."

"The money Scott kept?"

"And the money she stole from that guy tha

ult. He'd give you his last dollar if you needed it." She sat again. "He was smart, too, and could do anything he set his mind to."

"How did he die, Mama?"

"Son, what's got you so interested in your Uncle Charles all of a sudden?"

"Just something Dad told me the other morning."

She pulled a new tissue from her dress pocket and dragged it over her face. "Your dad's been talking a little out of his head lately."

"But, how did Uncle Charles die?" Martha asked.

Mom waited a beat, then spoke matter-of-factly. "Uncle Charles died when the brakes on his car failed and he was struck broadside by a farmer hauling a load of fuel back to his farm. He was killed instantly and that's all I've got to say about Charlie Baimbridge."

I sat back and exhaled. Kind, gentle, soft-spoken, and smart? I pictured him riding around in his car with that cigarette hanging out his mouth and wondered what he'd think of the world today. How different our lives might have been if he'd lived. "I used to think I'd grow up to be President, too." I mumbled.

Mom rolled her head to the side and looked at me. "Richard Baimbridge, what's going on in that head of yours?"

I patted her hand. "Nothing, Mom. Nothing at all. Just curious."

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