I froze, unable to believe what TW just told me. “Margaret Rumsfeld? Do you mean Marge? Or is there another woman around here who happens to have the same name as her?”
“It’s the same Marge who healed your wounds,” said TW. “As far as I can tell, there is no other.”
“Jack?” said Kyle, who sounded worried. “You went awfully quiet all of a sudden, like you’ve just seen a ghost or something.”
I shook my head and looked at Kyle. “I’m fine, Kyle. It’s just that, uh, my friend scanned the fabric and found out who it belongs to.”
“And who is it?” said Kyle.
I looked around again, just to make sure that no one was eavesdropping on us, before I leaned in and whispered, “Margaret Rumsfeld. The old lady who healed me, remember?”
Kyle’s eyes widened. “What? But you said she’s an old bedridden wo
