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The Yellow Hibiscus Chapter 8

by Annelise Lords 2 months ago in Mystery
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"No matter which direction I split this pea, she couldn't have been your mother!"

Image by Annelise Lords

"I don't understand. If the Office of Special Investigation is privy to all of this, why didn't they do something?

"Ma'am, in our 'civilized society,' our Government can't arrest our citizens without evidence. Even if they are suspects, we still need proof."

"Doesn't that seem 'uncivilized' to you that our 'civilized' Government declassified all this information after the suspects were dead? I assume that my parents were suspected of being Nazis?"

"Only your father, and declassification takes time," he clarified.

"You don't think this is 'uncivilized'?"

"There is a process that classified information has to go through before it's declassified."

"How did you find me?" I asked, suddenly remembering that he had asked me to confirm my address.

"One of your parents' neighbors gave me your telephone number and address."

"That's impossible! My parents kept to themselves!" I exclaimed defiantly.

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that no one in that neighborhood knew me or my address!" I proclaimed, fighting to subdue my rage.

"Well, as the saying goes, 'it's not who you know, but who knows you,'" he remarked with a winning smile.

Still flaring in anger, I questioned, "Two people are dead! Don't you care?"

"You want me to mourn for two people who may have helped to commit genocide?" was his callous retort.

"No, I want a little compassion, understanding, and more respect for the dead!" I yelled, feeling angry enough to pluck his eyes from their sockets.

"Wrong place; there is a church a few blocks from here," he informed, his head buried in a file he had picked up from the desk.

I allowed my anger time to simmer, then I asked, "Which neighbor gave you my phone number and address?"

"He said his name was Mr. Solomon, and he lived across the street," he answered while still reading.

"My parents kept to themselves!" I repeated defiantly.

"Somebody lied," he said, looking up at me. "I did find you, didn't I?"

"You didn't ask him for ID?"

He beheld me strangely, then said, "No, I . . . wait a . . . ," he stopped. "I am the one asking the questions here."

"It's my parents who may have been murdered. I have every damn right to know everything!"

He glared at me in anger. I fired back, and he slowly simmered down, then said, "I had no reason to ask him for IDs."

"So, he could have lied about his name and address. Heck, he could be the one who started the fire that killed my parents?"

He notified again, "The fire is still under investigation!"

"But you said . . ."

"It's my theory!" he quickly clarified, his index finger banging the air.

"Are you sure nothing was saved? How is it possible for a house as big as my parents' to be destroyed so quickly?"

"If my theory is right, the murderer has something to hide. Did your parents own a safety deposit box?" He asked, holding two sheets of paper in his right hand.

"I don't know; there are so many things I don't know."

"They left you a wealthy woman. Now that's strange! Your father worked in a factory earning twelve dollars an hour, yet he owned a $550,000.00 home, with the mortgage paid. They also managed to leave you 1.5M in trust. How about that for being strange?" he smirked, giving me the papers.

They were from the Brazilian Imperial Development Bank.

"They probably won the Lotto?" I suppose, desperately trying to conceal my surprise after reading the bottom line of their bank statements.

"Nah, we checked."

"I can't believe money means more to you than the death of two innocent people," I snarled, handing them back to him.

"Excuse me for not respecting the deceased, but innocence does not apply here!"

"Are you finished crucifying my parents' reputation?

"Is your stomach full? If it is, I would like to leave! I am very distraught and exhausted. I need time to absorb all this tragedy and the attendant pain."

"Okay, one more question," he said apologetically.

He took another set of papers from the file before him and continued reading with a stunning look, raising his brows a couple of times, still seeming astounded. Then asked, peering up at me, "You were born . . .. .no!" he uttered. Surprise and doubt lined his forehead. Eyes aimed at me, he stated, "According to the Justice Department's information, and that which they furnished to the Immigration & Naturalization Service.

"Supposedly they were twins who were…" eyes glaring at me, "Today that would make them. . ." pausing, furling and unfurling his brows, nodding in uncertainty. Still reading the document in front of him, then he continued, "but the Coroner states that they were about . . . . . ..!" He paused again, still wrapped up in disbelief, then released, "No matter which direction I split this pea, she couldn't have been your mother!"

Thank you for reading this piece. I hope you enjoy it. Please check out my latest book Beautiful Quotes & Anecdotes, available on Amazon.


About the author

Annelise Lords

Annelise Lords writes short inspiring, motivating, thought provoking stories that target and heal the heart. She has added fashion designer to her name. Check out for my designs.

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