“Oh Sara, why do we have to be here so early in the morning? I mean its six o’clock and school won’t even start for another two and a half hours!” said Tessie as she swirled around her chair. With her eyes droopy and everything a blur, she pretty much looked like she was pulled out of a local bar and was forced to come to school.

“Tess, I told you that you didn’t have to come and that I was coming here if you wanted to know. Besides if I remember right, you were the one staggering up the sidewalk in you ‘piglet pajamas’ yelling, ‘Saraleen, wait for me!’ Then I beg you not to go, but you insisted so here you are, and here I am!” Sara responded. Sara’s real name was Saraleen, named after her grandmother, well her mom’s foster mom. Her grandmother died eight days before Sara’s birth and as her mom had told her, she was a very beautiful, spiritual, and smart woman. Everything that Sara thought her mom was.

“Okay, I’ll admit I did come of my own choosing, but why are you here? Its not like anyone reads our newspaper anyway. Its a waste of time!” Tessie disputed.

Sara’s face turned an unpleasant rubicund color. She knew Tess knew what she said was bitter, but it was true. No one ever cared anymore for the creative mind of a genuine artist. Only people who had nothing else to do or still had the endearment to read, look at the columns of written and expounded hearts on the gray page.

“Well, I don’t know about you but I’m looking for the older newspaper clippings of the 1900’s!” exclaimed Sara.

“Oh yay, sounds so exciting,” Tess said in a simulated enthusiastic voice.

Sara gave her a malevolent glance and looking at one folder at a time, started to fiddle through the file cabinets. It took about one hour and twenty minutes until she finally came across the clippings. Tess, the whole time, was claiming she was searching the famous world wide web, which was actually Facebook.

“Hah, I found them!” she shouted in glee as she grabbed the folder. She looked liked she won a million dollars. It was quite old and many layers of dust were carpeting it.

“Awesome, hey Sara, Anna is on here,” said Tess. Anna was another good friend of Sara and Tess. She didn’t like the whole journalism idea or waking at five in the morning just to get a lead.

“Cool,” Sara did not bother to look up nor care for what she was saying. The only thing she was interested in was looking through these clippings. She opened the file and saw the many black and white strips and many sepia. Many dates were on them: 1908, 1913, 1924, 1926, 1932, 1934, 1937, 1942, 1950, on and on they went, from new Presidents to the Great Depression, from births to deaths. It was amazing. From that moment until 8:25 she read many articles. At the time she had to end, the bell rang at the five minute warning and school was a bout to start.


Calculus was her first hour class, which she wanted to skip it and go to her sixth hour study hall. The day went slowly, from one class to another Sara was literally on her toes every minute so that she could hurry up and get something done when she needed to.

Finally sixth hour came and she rushed to her paper room. She ran to the desk when she had put the file earlier and grabbed it. She rushed to the desk chair and started to search more through the pages. One by one, she looked and read though them all, savoring all the information she read. Soon she came across an old obituary from 1972. This lady had been murder by an unknown killer, who had used different weapons. Her name was Stacey Fitsharrow and it read:

“Stacey Fitsharrow, born on December 3, 1942, was married twice, divorced once. Her death startled the whole county, starting with six suspects, ended with three. The chief suspect was John Kimber, new husband and father of her child, Nancy Stace Kimber. Since many thought her father was the killer, they sent her to a foster home. She will be there until her father is proven not guilty, but with all clues pointing to him, he was sent to jail. The case has been closed even though there is no exactly right answer of what happen and with whom. We all mourn for our beloved Stacey and miss her much. This is what is written on her tombstone, ‘Stacey Lee Fitsharrow Kimber, beloved daughter, mother, friend, and wife,’.”



After reading this, Sara couldn’t believe it. This lady could be.... could be her Mom’s real mom! Her Mom’s name was Nancy Stace, of corse she wouldn’t know her real last name because her foster parents must have of change it when they adopted her. This was wonderful yet frightening. This could mean her grandfather was a killer. This made Sara shake all over. Forever she had wondered about her past genetics and family history. I wonder if this man is still alive?, she thought. Soon she thought of an idea and slid to one of the computers. On the computers, she looked at the local jails and information. Mailing a few letters to some sources, she was able to find out where he was boarded. Sending her information to the courthouse, she was also able to have an appointment with him after school. She knew she would have to keep this away from her mother because she wanted to figure everything out before worrying her mother and she also knew her mother would never agree with her doing this.

Soon the school bell rang and she raced to her next class. Almost forgetting the school policy of no running or trotting, she slowed down before she came across any teacher or hall monitor. She swirled around everyone; she was going to be late because she took awhile after the bell rang to call the courthouse. Suddenly by accident, she forcefully bumped into someone, scattering all her papers and books. Blackening out, she fell to the floor hard.


A few minutes later she awoke, conscious. The hallways were bare except for a teacher and a student. With her arms shaking and her vision blurred, Sara looked at them for a second sand for a moment, she couldn’t tell who they were.

“Miss Kane, are you alright?” It sounded like Mrs. Hemster’s voice.

Sara thought for a moment, feeling around, to make sure she was not hurt. She felt around her head and suddenly, when she came to the back, she felt a warm liquid. The blood oozed out of her head slowly but it was not that bad. Soon, Mrs. Hemster notice what was wrong and said, “Mr. Stow gave you a hard bump, didn’t he? I’ll be back. I’m going to get the nurse.” Then she left.

Mr. Stow was actually Ryan, which was boy in her class. He had brown, messy hair and green eyes. He looked softly at her while bending down saying, “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t do well in traffic.” He laughed and looked at her, “ I guess Mr. Conners won’t be happy with us both being late will he?”

Trying to find some words, any words, she stuttered for a minute. He was so gorgeous and very attractive the way he looked and talked.

“Don’t worry you two. I beeped the office to tell him you two were going to be late,” said Mrs. Hemster with the school nurse, Ms. Lansey, beside her.

“Let me have a look at you, Sara,” said Nurse Lansey, while bending down to Sara and lifting her head. She examined it for a moment then grabbed some soft tissues, soaking the blood and soon her head was cleaned and she was back on her feet. The nurse gave her two pain killers and a glass of water. She turned down the water but gladly swallowed the two pills.


“Why Miss Kane, how can you stand those without water to drain them down?” Mrs. Hemster asked with a repulsive look on her face.

Sara shrugged. She guessed she just was used to swallowing a small, stupid pill. “I guess I’m just used to it,” she said to the Teacher.

“Well, I think you’re gonna be alright, Sara. You two can head up to class,” said Nurse Lansey to the students.

“Thanks Nurse Lansey!” Sara told her. She looked at Ryan and the two of them headed to class together.

“You gonna live?” he asked her jokingly.

“I think I will,” she told him, “what about you? Did I give you any injuries or bruises back there?”

“Not that I know of, but now we get to go and hear Mr. Conner lecture the whole class about ‘hallway rules and reminders.’” he said mockingly. They both laugh then suddenly stopped when they came to the door. Like a gentlemen, he open the door for her and they both slipped inside. No one noticed the two except their teacher, of course. He just gave them a disdainful look and continued teaching the class. They smiled at each other and took their seats. When she sat down, she looked around to make sure no one was looking, and she exhaled a big breath.


Soon, school was over and it was time to head to the jailhouse. She did not tell her friends where she was going but that she would not be back until at least six. She told her mother that she was staying late after school to finish her work. Her Mom did not mind because she would not get home until five and that her Dad wasn’t done until seven-thirty. Her Mom always loved to be home by herself to relax since her work was so stressful.

She hopped into her 1965 Mustang convertible with brand new leather seats. It was painted with a lime green chrome that popped it out from every other car. It was going to take a half hour to get to the jail but she knew it was going to be worth it.


Sara was pulling into the parking lot when her Mother called her. Well, she thought, At least I’m being called now before I go in. She answered the call in time, before it was going to voicemail.

“Yes, Mom?” She asked.

“Hey Honey, could you pick up some milk on the way home. I’m getting those headaches again and you know how much I need my milk at these times. We’re almost out so can you get some?” she asked Sara.

“Sure, Mom I have to go, I’ll call you on the way home.” By the time Sara said that, police cars, with their sirens on, came pulling in.

“Sara, whats that?” Her mom asked her worriedly.

“Its this dumb computer. I have to go mom,” she acted, “talk to you later, I love you!” then she hung up on her.

She was about five minutes late by the time she got in and did all the paper work. It was about 5:00 by the time she was allowed in to talk with the man that could be her grandfather. The room she entered in was dim and musty. There was a glass wall between herself and where the man was going to be. She sat down into the closest chair and waited.

About a minute later a man in a orange jumpsuit was entering the guest room. He was a skinnier man with a strong face. His eyes were deep and his hair was cut very short. His eyes had the same deep blue that she and her mother had. This has to be him, she thought. Has too!

Two other men came into the room with him, one standing guard by the door and the other one sitting him down. Soon the one left and they both were to talk.

All he did was stare at her, studying her up and down, looking deep into her eyes and face. She was nervous at first and thought he was unwilling to talk but she gave it ago.

“Hello, Mr. Kimber. Am I right?” she asked to start the conversation trying to sound professional and calm.

He shook his head and with a deep but strong voice said, “Yes.”

“Hi, I’m Saraleen Kane. The Folkstown School Journalist. Im here because I found an old article about Mrs. Kimber’s death. Am I right with the name?” She notice how the name startled him and saw the confusion in his eyes.

“Yes, that her name,” he told her straight in the eye without worry, “but I know that is not the whole reason your here. Tell me Miss Kane, what else are you here for? I can tell you if you don’t think you know what I’m talking about.” His smart attitude surprised her way too much. But sadly, she could tell she was his granddaughter since she was well-known for her quick intelligence of the human movements and thoughts.

“Then tell me, Mr. Kimber, why am I here?” she said giving the same attitude back to him.

“Wow, you look exactly like your grandmother. Tell me, how is your mother?” He asked as if he had not seen her in a long time.

“Whoa Mister, I asked the questions first.” She may had sounded very rude that time and loud enough that the guard overheard and gave a small smirk.

“Yes, of course, ladies first,” he smiled and a small gesture to go on.

“Did you kill her?” She asked, just wanting to know his expression. His face was grave and covered with sadness. She could tell he was thinking about what to say. But not as protection, it was more in the to many words not enough time way.

“I loved her very much, and still do. I did not kill her but apparently the evidence doesn’t agree, I know. Believe me!” An that was where the investigation really started.