The Dead Letter by Finley Martin Page A

dazed. Anne ran to the kitchen for water and brought it to her. She sipped slowly once, twice, three times and handed the glass to Anne without a word. Then she read the letter again. Her hand trembled. Her eyes were moist. Anne sat beside her on the small couch.
    â€œMy name is Billy Darby,” said Anne. “Your sister was writing to my uncle, William A. Darby, who died last year never knowing about your sister’s plight. I took over his detective agency a year ago. May I ask how your sister died?”
    â€œAn automobile accident. Her car went off the road one night after work. She was coming home…here. She was going to relieve me. I was looking after our mother at the time. She had Alzheimer’s. I remember being angry because Carolyn was so late, and I needed to get up early for work the next day. I was a nurse. Then the police called and told me what had happened.”
    â€œIt must have been devastating.”
    Edna’s eyes glared for a flickering second, then softened.
    â€œYou have no idea,” said Edna. “She was the only family I had besides Mother. My only friend, really.” Edna looked up at Anne to see if she understood, but realized that she hadn’t. “You see, we’re not just sisters. We’re twins. Identical twins.”
    â€œI was the only child in my family. So I can’t begin to appreciate what you…and your mother went through.”
    â€œNo, you can’t,” she said. “When Carolyn lived…she was…like my own breath. It was like we shared the same soul.” Edna’s eyes glazed, sought out a corner of the room, and embraced a distant memory. “After she died, I felt lost…adrift from everything. Sometimes I felt as though I were suffocating…and dying, too.”
    Anne took her hand in hers and held it. They sat there side by side for a long time in silence. Edna’s thoughts drifted again to memories of her sister, memories of herself.
    Anne was the first to speak. “Edna, can I get you some more water? Or some tea?”
    â€œNo. Thank you,” she said, her voice stronger now. She withdrew her hand from Anne’s, got up, and walked to the window that faced the street.
    â€œCarolyn mentioned a murder in her letter. Do you know what she was referring to?”
    â€œYes. It would have to have been the murder of a young woman who worked in the same building as Carolyn. It was a robbery or mugging or something. I don’t recall the details. They caught someone, though, and he went to jail for it. It was big news at the time.”
    â€œDid Carolyn ever mention it?”
    â€œWhy are you so interested ?” asked Edna. She sounded cold again.
    â€œIt may sound strange, but…the injustice of it all…the unfairness…it bothers me. A letter goes missing, and a tragedy occurs. I’m sure my uncle could have helped her if he had known. For my part, I think that I’m just trying to come to grips with what happened…to understand it, if that’s even possible. But to believe that a simple coincidence can so terribly alter the course of our lives seems almost unthinkable.”
    â€œSo, Ms. Billy Darby, you have a philosophical bent. Are you a philosopher…as well as a detective?”
    â€œI’m just confused.”
    â€œAll philosophers are confused. They masquerade at being know-it-alls. What interests me, though, is whether or not you’re a confused detective, as well.”
    â€œI’ve got both feet on the ground when it comes to business.” Anne’s voice had grown a sharp edge in the face of Edna’s bluntness. “Why?”
    â€œBecause I wish to hire you. I have trouble accepting coincidences, too.”
    â€œWhat is it you have in mind?”
    â€œTo carry out my sister Carolyn’s wishes, of course. She wanted Darby Investigations to help her with a problem, and…now…so do I. Find out if justice was