44
Ellen sat beside her mother, Carla, on a large navy couch, her feet tucked up under her as she looked through an old photo album. Her mother was a carbon copy of Ellen—small, neat, tidy with a stylish haircut to shoulder length. Unlike Ellen, Carla’s hair—which was once dark—now shone platinum gray. Carla’s hands were wrapped around a fine china tea cup as Ellen traced her finger over the old black and white photos on the yellowing pages. Sheets of plastic held the photos in the albums.
“I always hoped you would take an interest in the family history, but why now?” Carla asked.
“It’s a case I’m working on,” Ellen said. She leaned over to pick up her teacup and sip from it. “A book launch at the h*******t Museum.”
“Ah yes, I read there had been some trouble. I’m guessing you can’t ta
