CHAPTER SEVEN
I SEARCHED THE WOMAN'S FACE FOR A TRACE OF shock, surprise,-anything. But she just placed down the photo and gazed at me. "I'm sorry, hunny," she said scornfully. "I cannot help you, but maybe I can send you to a mental rehab hospital to fix your memory."
"No!" I cried. I felt strong hands, presumably Mr. Beckly's, forcing me back from giving this not-so-helpful woman a piece of my mind. Then I got an idea. A wonderful, glorious idea!
