Page 22 of A Sister's Secret

Chapter Nine

The computer screen's glow cast a pale light on Lisa Thompson's focused expression as she clicked through digitized archives, her eyes scanning the faded print of decade-old newspapers. The quiet hum of the laptop fan was a gentle accompaniment to the rhythmic tapping of her fingers on the keyboard, the only sounds in the room save for the occasional distant laughter of her children playing outside.

She leaned closer, her brown hair falling like a curtain around her face, isolating her from everything but the task at hand. A search term caught her eye, and she paused, heart pounding with hope and trepidation.

Lisa's breath hitched; this could be the breakthrough she needed. She printed the article, barely glancing at the paper as it slid out from the printer, her mind already racing ahead. She couldn’t sit idle, not when there were answers out there begging to be uncovered. She still lived at Maggie’s and had been there for three weeks now. She wasn’t ready to go back, even though Oliver showed no signs of drinking. Past mistakes with her abusive ex-husband had taught her to be careful not to get pulled back, at least not too soon. She was nervous to go back, worried it would all return to the same, and she couldn’t let that happen.

With a quickness born of urgency, she jotted down notes on a nearby pad, underlining names and dates with a determined stroke.

The article mentioned a quaint town just a few hours' drive away. The decision was made. Lisa stood up, and her movements were decisive. She grabbed her coat, slipped into its familiar warmth, and found Maggie in the living room.

“Could you look after them for a while?” she asked.

“No problem,” Maggie said with a wink. “Go do whatever you need to.”

Her car engine came to life with a comforting rumble, and Lisa navigated down the winding roads that led away from their small Alaskan town. The scenery was a blur as she drove, her thoughts instead on the woman she'd never met but felt a connection to all the same—Oliver's sister.

Lisa's pulse quickened as the town's welcome sign came into view, a flutter of excitement mingling with the persistent ache of fear. What if she was being led on a wild goose chase? Or worse, what if she found what she was looking for?

She parked on the main street, the quiet bustle of the small town enveloping her. This place held secrets, and Lisa was determined to coax them into the light.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" a passerby asked, noticing the out-of-towner looking lost in thought.

"Perhaps," Lisa said with a smile that belied her nerves. "I'm looking for anyone who might remember seeing a woman about ten years ago. She may have passed through here."

The local nodded, a flicker of recognition crossing their features. "You should talk to old Mrs. Hanson. She has a memory like a steel trap. Runs the bar just over on Elm Street."

"Thank you," Lisa said, her gratitude genuine. This was it, the next step. As she walked toward Elm Street, her strides were strong and purposeful. She was a woman on a mission, fueled by love and fortified by resolve. Oliver's sister's story was waiting to be told, and Lisa would be the one to tell it.

The bell above the door chimed softly as Lisa stepped into the dimly lit bar, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn air that had followed her in. The scent of aged wood and spilled beer was oddly comforting, grounding her as she scanned the room for someone who might hold a piece of the past.

"Evening," she greeted the bartender, a woman with streaks of gray in her hair and an easy smile that reached her eyes. Mrs. Hanson, she guessed. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

The bartender dried her hands on a towel and leaned closer, interest piqued. "What can I do for ya?"

"I'm looking for information about a woman who might have been here about ten years ago." Lisa slid a worn photo across the bar, the edges frayed from time and handling. "She looked like this."

It was a long shot, but she had to try. If Michelle had been here, then it would add another piece to the puzzle.

The bartender studied the picture, a slow nod shaping her response. "Yeah, I remember her. Came in here quite a bit. Always sat in that corner booth, by herself mostly." She gestured toward the back of the room, where a solitary booth seemed to absorb the shadows.

"Did she ever talk to anyone? Did she seem… troubled to you?" Lisa's voice was soft but insistent, her hazel eyes searching for any flicker of memory that might surface.

"Troubled, yeah, I'd say so," the bartender replied, her expression turning thoughtful. "Quiet, kept to herself. There were whispers, you know, that she had her share of demons. But she never caused any trouble here."

“When was the last time you saw her?” she asked. “Do you recall?”

She looked pensive. “As a matter of fact, I do. It was a couple of months ago, in August, I believe. She came in looking a little distressed. I asked her if she was all right, and she said she was, and to just give her the usual. But then, someone came in and sat with her. That’s why I remembered it. Yes, someone was here with her for the first time—a guy.”

With her heart throbbing in her throat, Lisa pulled out a picture taken from his Facebook profile—the same guy who had been in the Polaroid photos.

“Could it have been this guy?”

Mrs. Hanson looked at it and nodded. “Yup. That’s him. There's no doubt about it. I’d recognize that face anywhere.”

"Thank you," Lisa murmured, her heart pounding a rhythm of hope and trepidation. She moved toward the corner booth, feeling the weight of countless stories that lingered like ghosts among the stale air and scratched wood.

Sliding onto the worn seat, Lisa turned her attention to the patrons around her. The regulars continued their conversations, laughter erupting occasionally like the crackling of a fire against the silence. She recognized the type: hardy souls with weathered faces, each with a tale etched into the lines of their skin.

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