Free Christina's Ghost by Betty Ren Wright Page A

worked a grubby fingernail under the envelope’s flap. Two strips of stamps slipped out on the table. There were four silver-gray ones with a picture of George Washington. The other strip was made up of five stamps printed in reddish-brown.
    â€œWho’s that?” Chris asked.
    Uncle Ralph stared at the stamps in awe. “That’s Benjamin Franklin,” he said. He touched the strips with a cautious finger. “I don’t know much about stamps,” he said slowly, “but I’ve seen pictures of both of these. And I’ve read about them. They’re part of the veryfirst stamp-issue printed by the United States Government.”
    â€œThe very first?” And she’d carried them around in a comic book! “They don’t have those little holes to help you tear them apart,” she pointed out. “Maybe they’re fakes.”
    Uncle Ralph shook his head. “In 1847, when these were printed, the government didn’t use perforations. That came later. The fact that these are in such perfect condition and haven’t been cut apart makes them especially valuable, I’m sure.”
    Chris was thrilled. She thought of the millions of stamps on millions of letters on their way to people all over the country. Finding these first ones was like . . . like uncovering a national treasure.
    The waitress brought Uncle Ralph coffee and the cinnamon-apple pie he’d ordered. Chris had a chocolate milkshake and a cheese sandwich. She discovered she was starving, and Uncle Ralph seemed just as hungry. They ate without talking, but Chris realized that this silence was nothing like the gloomy silence of their first meals together.
    A couple of times, Uncle Ralph patted the pocket where he’d put the stamps for safekeeping. When the pie was gone and his cup had been filled for the second time, he leaned back with a sigh.
    â€œNow let’s take another look,” he said. He laid thestamps on the table again. “Do you realize how close we came to missing these?” he said. “If you weren’t a comic-book fan, for example. . . . ”
    â€œAnd if I hadn’t left the right book in the dining room,” Chris said. She was remembering an afternoon when she’d taken a couple of the comics out to the end of the pier. One of them had blown into the water while she sunbathed.
    â€œAnd if it weren’t for Russell Charles,” Uncle Ralph added. “Poor little kid—caught up in a mystery he didn’t want any part of.”
    â€œI wonder what he’ll do now,” Chris said. “And what’s going to happen to that awful Dixon? Do you think he’s going to go thumping and raging around the house forever and ever?”
    Uncle Ralph slid the stamps back into their envelope. “All I’m sure of,” he said, “is that we’re not going back tonight to find out.” Then he leaned across the table and raised an eyebrow at Chris. “Unless, of course, you insist on it, Christina. I’ll go if you want to. We aim to please.”

16.
Two of a Kind
    They checked and found that the only motel on Clearwater’s main street was filled with tourists.
    â€œWe could go back to that motel we passed on the highway,” Uncle Ralph said. “Or we can sleep in the car. What do you think?”
    â€œThe car,” Chris said at once. She didn’t want to leave the lights of town.
    Uncle Ralph looked relieved. “The car it is,” he said. “This is going to be a short night, anyway.”
    He parked just off the main street, and after making sure Chris was comfortable in back, he settled down in the driver’s seat. His shock of grey hair, silvered by the street light, was the last thing Chris saw before sheslept.
Good old Uncle Ralph
, she thought. He understood how she felt about staying in Clearwater tonight. He felt the same way.
    They woke early when a little boy tapped