8
When Mom got home, Kelly greeted her at the door in her pajamas. “Mom, why have you been so busy lately? Is there a big case or something?” Kelly asked casually, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “There is,” Mom replied, pausing to touch Kelly’s face gently. “Why aren’t you in bed? You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Nestling into my mom, Kelly said, “Mom, I can’t sleep when you’re not home. Plus…” She looked concerned. “It’s been a long time since Yasmin came home. I’m worried about her.”
At the mention of my name, Mom’s face froze, and she collapsed onto the sofa. Looking vacantly at the ceiling, she murmured, “Yasmin might not be coming back.”
Kelly’s eyes shifted away when she heard this. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, but it wasn’t sorrow.
A moment later, Kelly tried to reassure her, “Don’t worry, Mom. They’ll solve the case of the disfigured woman soon.”
Mom seemed too exhausted to respond. Suddenly, she frowned and asked, “How do you know about the disfigured woman?”
Kelly’s face froze for a few seconds, then she recovered and replied, “Oh, I saw it on a news report.”
Mom turned to her skeptically. “It’s a major case, and we’ve kept it from the media. How did you know?”
Kelly stopped as she was walking to her room.
With a shaky voice, she explained, “I saw something about it on social media. It must have been a rumor.”
Mom didn’t press further.
Glancing at the calendar on the wall, Mom’s mood darkened.
She murmured to herself, “It’s almost the anniversary of Mom’s death.”
I thought, “Yeah, and every year on this day, the weather turns sour. I
was always kept home and not allowed to attend Grandma Whitney’s
10:46
1/2
memorial.
But this year, I might get to see her.
What does it feel like for two souls to embrace, anyway?”
“Time flies,” Kelly said, lost in thought. Sighing, she added, “I miss Grandma Whitney so much. And all because of Yasmin…”
She was cut off by Mom’s phone ringing. Mom answered and froze. “What? You found the primary crime scene?”
On the other end, Charlie spoke rapidly, his voice filled with excitement. “The first crime scene is in an abandoned parking lot. A nearby camera captured someone entering that day. We’ve identified a suspect.
The suspect’s name is Kelly Butler.”
My face mirrored my mother’s–both filled with shock and disbelief. “Could
my death really be connected to Kelly?” I pondered.
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