Race for Justice by Pamela Beason

Author:Pamela Beason
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ultramarathon, extreme races, endurance racing, murder mystery, suspense, young adult mystery thriller, big pharma, female protagonist
Publisher: WildWing Press
Published: 2018-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

My arms drop to my sides, and I step back. “I don’t know any Amelia.”

What kind of new torture is this? She has probably had plastic surgery. Maybe they created this woman who looks like Mom to get information out of me. Information I don’t have.

“I’m Tanzania Grey,” I growl. “Who the hell are you?”

The woman shoots a quick glance at Pratt and Lyman and Bash, takes a shaky breath, wipes her hands on her shirt, and then tries to compose herself as her gaze returns to my face. “I’m Penelope Anne Patterson.”

I so expected her to tell me that she was Amy Robinson that it takes a few seconds for this name to register.

Penelope? Isn’t that a made-up name just for characters in books? Nobody is really named Penelope, are they? Penelope Anne Patterson?

“P.A. Patterson?” I grab hold of her sleeve. “You’re P.A. Patterson?”

She nods. Her eyes—Mom’s eyes—look into mine. “Didn’t Piper, I mean your mum, tell you she had a twin sister?”

Piper? What the hell? “If you mean my mom, Amy Robinson, the answer is no.” Twin sister?

My head is reeling. I can’t tear my eyes away from her face. Please, Mom. I want you so badly to be Mom.

A tear slides down her cheek, and she wipes it away with the back of her hand. My face is wet, too, and she raises a hand toward me, but then leaves it hovering in mid-air. “Oh, Amelia...”

“Shhh,” I hiss automatically, glancing over my shoulder at Bash and the squirrels. All six eyes are still on us, but I don’t think they can hear what we’re saying.

Mom was a twin? So no wonder, on the vid... A lightning bolt of disappointment flashes through me, leaving my ears ringing and my heart aching. I so wanted to find my mom alive.

Apparently Penelope was hoping for the same outcome, because her voice cracks as she murmurs, “My sister is really dead?”

It’s my turn to nod. We are a pair of tragic bobblehead dolls.

She tilts her head slightly, presses her lips together for a second before asking, “And Alex?”

“Dad, too. Four years ago.”

She squeegees tears from her cheek with the heel of her hand this time. “I so hoped...”

And then she breaks down into sobs again. And so do I, because she looks so much like Mom but she’s not Mom, and that means my foolish hope that my parents might be still alive is just that: foolish. Futile. Epochally stupid.

She puts a gentle hand on my non-bandaged shoulder. My emotions ricochet around the interior of my skull.

I want her to hold me.

I don’t want her to touch me.

My brain has been teleported to a different dimension. Suddenly, it’s just too much, seeing Mom in front of me who is not really Mom. The woman in front of me is replaced by that horrible vision I saw four and a half years ago, the bodies of my mother and father swimming in pools of blood on our living room floor, and

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