Ripper Read Free Page B

reporter; she works in the leisure department. They’ll be there to meet me on Prospective Parents Day.”
    Carver let loose a loud whistle. “The
New York Times
? That’s almost as good as the
Herald,
isn’t it? Good for you, Delia, really.”
    She smiled wryly. “There have been a few women reporters, but they say the best I should hope for is to work for something boring like
Ladies’ Home Journal.
”
    “They’d be crazy not to give you
some
kind of chance. That’d be grand, wouldn’t it? Covering murders, exposing crime.”
    “Something like that,” she said. She gave him a mischievous look. “Matter of fact, I’ve been practicing on you. Did you find anything in the attic today?”
    She took another bite of her apple.

5
    “WHAT?” Carver said. “How… ?”
    “It’s not complicated. I was delivering fresh linen and heard all that creaking. I thought you were a rat until I stepped in and saw you working at that lock. You were so intent, I could’ve been an elephant and you wouldn’t have noticed. You have to admit you have a funny sense of law and order, turning in Finn, bending the rules for yourself.”
    Carver stiffened. “At least you know where your mother is; you even see her once a month. She just can’t afford to take care of you. I was dropped at the doorstep in a basket like in a fairy tale. I love mystery stories, but I’m the biggest mystery I know. What’s wrong with trying to find out about my parents?”
    Her expression softened. “Nothing, but I really don’t think Miss Petty would hide anything.”
    Without thinking, he answered, “Well, she did.”
    “Oh? So what did you find?” she said. Seeing his hesitation, she punched his shoulder. “I won’t tell,Carver. We’ve known each other our whole lives.” She paused, then added, “Well… not if you show me whatever it is.”
    Carver was dying to share it with someone. Why not Delia? “Fine, but not here.”
    Taking her elbow, he walked her up to an empty second-floor classroom. It was evening now, the only light from an electric streetlamp. As usual, the darkness comforted him. It was cooler here, too. Carver briefly worried Delia would be cold in her thin dress, but when a cool breeze from a cracked windowpane hit her sweaty face, she smiled with pleasure.
    He had started thinking how pretty she’d grown when she looked at him sharply. “Well?”
    With an exaggerated sigh, he withdrew the letter. She stared at it, aghast. “From your parents? Are they alive? Why would Miss Petty keep it from you?”
    He waved her closer. “Read it and you’ll know everything I do.”
    Together the pair solemnly studied the paper. Having memorized the words, Carver tried to see past them, to feel his father’s presence, the man who’d held the pen, thought the thoughts. The effort made him nervous, and he couldn’t say why.
    He pointed out a word. “He misspells
color.
”
    “That’s how they spell it in London,” Delia said. Her brow furrowed deeper and deeper as she read, until it looked like river waves. “It… seems like it was written by a crazy person.”
    Carver felt strangely defensive. “Or maybe it doesn’t make exact sense on purpose, like a clue. It talks about a mark, right? It means my birthmark.”
    She scanned his face and arms. “Where?”
    Eager to prove his point, he pulled his shirt half-off and turned his bare back to her.
    “Not quite so scrawny anymore, are you? You’re getting some muscle.”
    He tried not to blush. “See it? On my right shoulder?”
    She leaned closer. “When was the last time you took a bath? I can’t see anything except dirt.”
    He felt her fingers against his skin. The sensation was pleasant until she rubbed hard.
    “It doesn’t come off! It’s a birthmark!”
    “Sorry. It does look like an ear. Carver… that really
is
a letter from your father, isn’t it?”
    He pulled his shirt back on. “So what do I do about it? I can’t tell Miss Petty.”
    Delia shrugged.