Free The Death of Perry Many Paws by Deborah Benjamin

for me to match the man I’d known with any youthful indiscretion that would have resulted in murder seventy years later. From what Claudia and Sybil had said, he’d seemed like a normal kid with a good imagination, a joy of the outdoors and a keen sense of adventure that he shared with his friends. What had happened?
    I dug back into my purse and pulled out the photo of the five children and laid it on the desk.
    “Is this the same picture you found when we were cleaning out the cottage on Saturday?” Syra asked as she picked it up and casually looked at it. I watched her face for a sign of recognition but she setit down without registering any emotion at all. “It’s funny to think of kids running around in those outfits, isn’t it? They seem so well dressed for playing outside compared to what kids wear now. They’re like miniature adults.”
    “Maybe today’s kids would be better behaved if they dressed like little adults,” I suggested. “I took the photo to Claudia and she was able to identify everyone in it. She actually remembered the day it was taken.”
    “No kidding? That’s great. Who are the little people? Is one Franklin?” Syra handed the picture to me and leaned closer, munching on a cookie from the supply Bing had given her for our outing.
    I pointed to the handsome boy with the big smile. “Believe it or not, this is Franklin. Claudia said he would’ve been around fifteen when this was taken. The two little girls are Claudia and her friend Sybil …”
    “You’ve got to be kidding! That sweet little thing is Claudia? She looks so innocent and precious, even lovable. And Sybil is adorable. Who are the other two older kids?”
    “The boy is named Edmund Close and he was a good friend of Franklin’s.” I pointed at the seated girl and watched Syra’s face. “This is Hetty Foster, also a friend of Franklin.”
    Syra set her cookie down and slowly took the picture out of my hands bringing it up close to her face. She stared at it for a full minute. Her expression didn’t change at all. Then she handed the picture back to me. She continued munching on her cookie.
    “That little girl looks like a handful, doesn’t she? So different than the prissiness of Claudia and Sybil. I wonder what became of her.”
    What became of her? I wanted to yell,
she’s your mother
, that’s what became of her. Did she really not know that was her mother? If she did know it was her mother, why not say something? The more I watched her, the more I was convinced that she had no idea that the tomboyish girl in the picture was her mother. Should I tell her?
    She began to talk about her latest doctor appointment and the new series of exercises she had started since last time we spoke. She was totally normal and comfortably talking while I was fidgeting all over the place. If she weren’t so wrapped up in her new exercise plans she would have noticed that I was inattentive and agitated. But she didn’t notice and the longer she talked about her physical limitations and how she was planning to overcome them, the less courageous I became until the thought of confronting her about her mother seemed totally out of the question. I let the perfect moment pass.

ince Cam and Grace were both working all day, it only seemed right that I make dinner. I wasn’t enthusiastic about doing it but was driven by guilt and a sense of fairness. I make an excellent beef stew and it’s a good comfort meal that is perfect on a chilly fall evening. I really should have started the stew in the morning and let it simmer all day but it was one of those dishes you could hurry along by parboiling the slow cooking vegetables and cutting the potatoes into smaller chunks. I could have it ready by six o’clock and bake up a batch of baking powder biscuits, too. We could have leftover chocolate cake and ice cream from last night for dessert. A person never tired of chocolate cake and ice cream. I didn’t have any salad ingredients so I