"Right. Right. You can track it down," Mel says, suddenly liking this prospect. " And it'll turn out to be some stupid nobody, because it can't be who it says it's from. I'll jsut show you right now."
She pulls up her e-mail and shows it to him. It's from some nondescript address from a nondescript e-mail service.
Dear Melanie,
It's a lovely name. I wonder if you have her eyes.
Is that a prelude or what? Are we being written by a twelve-year-old with a flair for the dramatic?
Sincerely,
Deda.
Mel sits with her arms crossed, looking at her shoes. "Deda means grandfather."
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