““He thinks you could track down this Dr. Judson McKibben.” “Me?” “He called me geekless. But you’re a whiz at that stuff.” “Geekless.” She smiled. “So will you—” “Wait a minute,” she said. “The girl, his daughter, Ursula, she died four years ago, you said?” “That’s right.” “She was twelve?” I nodded. “So,” said Julie, “if Ursula had lived, she would’ve been the same age as Dana Wetherbee was when she died.” I looked at her. “Sometimes you amaze me.” “I hardly ever amaze myself,” said Julie. “Th...at does seem significant, though, doesn’t it?” “It surely does,” I said. “See what you can find out about Dr. McKibben, okay? Maybe that will help us understand its significance.” I went into my office and fooled around with some paperwork, and about an hour later Julie thumped on my door, then pushed it open with her hip. She was holding a mug of coffee in each hand. A manila folder was wedged into her armpit. She sat in my client chair across from me, slid one mug across the desk to me, and kept the other one for herself.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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