Chapter Forty

I wasn't going to tell Mitch, but it sort of slipped out about the diary I stole from Angel's bedroom. This, of course, was after I told him everything that led up to, and played a part in my decision to become a thief. I didn't mention the fact that in my hurry to leave Angel's bedroom, I forgot to close the closet door that had been shut when I entered the room. Then again, I didn't say anything about the box I saw that resembled those used to store wigs in, either. There was also a slip of memory about what a meticulous person Angel is and would surely know I was inside her bedroom when she saw the closet door standing open.

According to Mitch, there was a simple explanation for Angel's appearance at Thomas's funeral. The man was her uncle, after all. So why wouldn't she attend his funeral.

"So how come if she's the grieving niece, she didn't think Joe should forgive Thomas? Angel couldn't. But why?"

Then again, maybe she attended the service and was the one who actually did spit on Thomas, that inner voice suggested before Mitch answered verbally.

"She resented Thomas because he kept her mother from marryin' Joe." I said as I chewed tasteless lettuce. "I mean, you're the one who said Angel had a drunkin' bum for a stepdad. If it wouldn't a been for Thomas's interference, she'd a had a dear, sweet old Joe all those years she was growin' up. And why didn't Marie ever tell Joe he was Angel's father?" I left him stew on that while I took another big bite of leafy vegetables.

"Maybe she figured Joe wouldn't believe her after she'd been with Thomas. Or maybe she didn't know which brother really was the kid's father."

"Now that sounds closer to the truth," I said. Then another thought popped into my head. "What if Thomas was Angel's father? I mean, think about it."

Mitch did for about one second.

"Sounds like you may have somethin' there."

I thought so, too. Until I remembered the diary. Joe had said he read in there that he was Angel's father. This information was shared with Mitch. Then I wolfed down the remainder of my salad so I could hurry home and read the little book without any interruptions.

Mitch didn't ask if it would be okay, or if I planned to be home. He just said he'd stop by the house later. Then we went our separate ways. I'm not sure where he was going. But this old gal was going straight home to read.