Fake ID by Hazel Edwards Page A

descendant of this person, you may stand to gain. Do you know this person?
    The job of State Trustees is to find who might inherit. Maybe you can help.’
    A zoom to a woman’s face.
    â€˜Good definition,’ Luke always liked to be seen as the techie expert..
    â€˜Known as “Freda”, this woman died recently leaving an estate of over a million dollars. We are looking for her descendants. Documentary evidence like a birth certificate and photos will be needed. DNA testing may be required to check if they are of the same family. A sample from Freda will be DNA tested against any claimants.’
    The camera zoomed on a passport photo. That made me think of Gran’s ID card and why she didn’t have a passport showing when she entered Australia. Perhaps she came in legally, but didn’t renew it; 1956 was years ago. Gran was becoming a shady lady. Would anyone remember the real her ?
    â€˜If she’s already dead, how can you take DNA samples to compare with other family?’ I said.
    â€˜Maybe they dig up the person?’ suggested Luke. ‘And then take a bit off the body. Like a slice. In science we had to dissect a frog and then Mr Noel…
    â€˜Luke…!’ called his mother warningly. ‘Remember where Zoe has been today.’
    She was trying to be kind, but Motormouth Luke always says what he thinks and that’s sort of comforting, when you’re feeling low. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about Gran. I did. Lots. But this business didn’t seem to have much to do with Gran and me. Still, I dropped my voice so Luke’s mum wouldn’t think we didn’t care.
    I whispered, ‘But what if they were cremated? There’d be nothing to match against? You can’t use ashes can you?’ I remembered those rows of urns at the funeral place.
    â€˜Maybe that’s why some people are cremated, so officials can’t check?’ Luke looked thoughtful. ‘Who decided your gran was to be cremated? ‘
    â€˜She did, I guess. Was it written down? Wouldn’t she have to tell someone what she wanted?’
    â€˜Not if she died quickly. And no one’s found a will yet.’ Behind us, TV-Bruce was talking to himself, sort of. ‘That’s why wills are called that,’ Luke said. ‘Will you do this…? Sort of… Like organ donors… To take care of things in case they’re out of it at the end…’ Then Luke went red. ‘Sorry. She was OK, your gran.’
    â€˜I know. You said that at the funeral.’
    Missing Millions
finished with a list of contact websites and phone numbers rolling over Bruce’s face. The volume increased as the White Ladies’ Funeral ad started suggesting people pre-arranged their own funerals, paying in advance and saying what they want to happen.
    Luke pointed. ‘Bet that’s where she got the idea and booked them, too.’
    I nodded, still thinking about tests Gran might have taken earlier. Wouldn’t the Blood Bank keep records of donors? Yes. I remember having a free milkshake at the Blood Bank, waiting for her because you can’t donate until you’re sixteen.
    â€˜Can they DNA match blood?’ I asked.
    â€˜Yeah. Or scrape inside your cheek with a cotton bud to get DNA. I saw that on TV Or tell stuff from just one hair from your head. They can check if your dad is your dad.’ Luke laughed. ‘Mine says he’d like to trade me in if he could, but unfortunately we look so like each other.’
    Luke’s dad had daggy reading glasses too. Bad eyesight genes in the Warne family. So lucky.
    â€˜I’m the same height as my gran was. And we have…had the same colour eyes.’ That didn’t really prove anything. I didn’t mention my nose was starting to stick out as much as Gran’s.
    Mum usually rang me once a week, but in between she e-mailed. Because it cost a lot to ring from Down South, we usually