The moment I noticed the glum expressions on my fellow colleagues’ faces, I had an unpleasant feeling something was seriously wrong. I couldn’t hear anything due to my hereditary disability. But at least I had Kelly – one of my female colleagues – as my guide. I could also read and interpret her sign language gestures.
“I take it you all heard what happened to Tracy,” Nigel, one of my male colleagues said as someone was stacking the bookshelves. Nigel was facing my direction so that I could also lip-read what he was saying.
“They just found her body in the river,” Anna, one of my other female colleagues said sorrowfully. “The police reckon she might have drowned. Horrible.”
The name Tracy immediately rang a bell. I had attended university with her before we both started working at the same bookstore, not long before her disappearance. Now she was dead at the young age of only twenty-nine, apparently killed by her own hands.
“I already knew she was depressed and troubled,” Anna said. “But I never thought she would do the unthinkable.”
“Tragic end, if you ask me,” Nigel said in a wistful tone.
“Did she have a family?” another young woman asked.
“If you mean ‘family’ as in a husband and children then I highly doubt it,” Anna said. “Probably not.”
“That is extremely sad, the poor girl,” the other young woman said. “What made her do it anyway?”
“That is what they’re trying to find out.”