We’d taken Mark’s plastic key from his wallet before we climbed into Manfred’s car. Tolliver was sitting in the backseat. He’d explained to the patrol car officers that his brother had just confessed to murdering his stepsister, and he was sure his dad would want to stay to be with his son, and then we were out the door. We got into the storage compound by using the key, and when the gate rolled away, we drove in, leaving it open behind us. There was a police car on its way, but we weren’t going to wait any longer.

“I knew it was him, after I touched the backpack,” Manfred said, trying to suppress the pride in his voice. “So I followed him.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing the past couple of days.”

“He came here twice in that time,” Manfred said.

I found that amazing. Did Mark feel so guilty that he had to keep revisiting Cameron’s body? Or was he like a squirrel storing something choice for the winter, so afraid someone would steal it that he had to keep checking?

I had never known Mark at all. And if I felt that way, how must his brother feel? I looked back at Tolliver, but I couldn’t read his face.

Manfred stopped in front of the garage-style unit numbered 26 and used the key again.

The room wasn’t half full. There were things I vaguely recognized as being from the trailer, and I wondered why anyone would save such things. Evidently, Mark had thought Matthew would want them someday. I looked at the clutter, closed my eyes, and began searching.

The buzzing came from a large blanket chest at the back of the unit. There was a box of magazines on top of it, and some pots and pans. I knocked all of them off. I put my hands on the lid. I couldn’t open it. I reached inside with my lightning sense and . . .

I found my sister.

Twenty-one

Twenty-one

THE legal mess surrounding Gracie—the girl I’d always thought was my sister Gracie—may take some time to unravel. With both her natural parents dead, it’s not like her custody was in doubt. After all, Iona and Hank had legally adopted both girls. To them, it was irrelevant that one of the girls wasn’t exactly who they’d thought she was. Iona and Hank, after a few minutes of shocked surprise, made up their minds they’d keep Gracie, no matter what. After all, Iona told me, when God had told her to take on the raising of those girls, he hadn’t specified what their parentage was. If Gracie had really been the daughter of Rich Joyce, the complications would have been tremendous, and it was really just as well for Gracie that she wasn’t. At least, that’s what I thought.