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whatever clues might be locked in my mind. Erase, once and for all, any trace of what happened to Meagan Stokes. Christ . . ."
Melanie grew silent, grew haggard. She whispered, "It's a war, isn't it? Someone is trying to expose a secret no one else wants exposed. And I'm just the person in the middle, the adopted child who might hold the key to the truth behind a little girl's twenty-five-year-old murder. Oh, Jesus Christ louis vuitton clearance, at this point womens high heel jordans, whatever is in my head, I don't want to know!"
"I don't think you'll have a choice."
"I always have a choice christian louboutin cork pump," she said firmly. She got up from the table, wiped it, washed her hands, paced, then sat down.
"I probably am the child of Russell Lee Holmes," she murmured. "The memories of the shack. The notes . . ."
"We could look at having Holmes's body exhumed
and do a DNA test. That would resolve it once and for all."
She nodded absently. "There are just so many inconsistencies. Why would my parents knowingly adopt Russell Lee's child-"
"Maybe they don't know. Maybe Jamie O'Donnell arranged it."
"How, by dumping me at a hospital and assuming Patricia and Harper Stokes would magically adopt me?"
"Whose idea was it to adopt you, Melanie? Did they ever tell you who suggested it first?"
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Isaac Asimov - Foundation's Edgeeph