“Ben said. “Positive.” I hadn’t had the picture of Duffy for long, but I had studied it and studied it, trying to see his face in it. The face in that old photograph had branded itself into my brain, and I was certain I was looking at it again. The young man in this yearbook was the same young man in the small photo Aisha had given me. In the yearbook picture he was standing beside an exceptionally pretty young woman. She had eyes that held the camera, that demanded you focus on her. There was n...o caption under the photograph. In fact, there were no captions under any of the photos on the page. “So close, and yet so far,” Ben said. “If she was at the prom, then she was a student here,” I said. “We can find out her name, even if we can’t find his.” I flipped back through the yearbook until I came to individual pictures of that year’s St. Mildred’s students. “There she is,” I said, pointing triumphantly. “Frances Pfeiffer.” “That’s great!” Ben said with far less enthusiasm.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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