Diane could hear her speaking with her mother and she heard Lillian’s clear voice say she wanted to go see her.
“I guess you heard that,” said Vanessa.
“Yes, I did,” said Diane.
She was about to say that it wouldn’t be a good idea today; then she thought that perhaps it might. Lillian Chapman was a contemporary of Maybelle. There was a chance Lillian could get through to her whereas they might not. Diane had no idea what condition Maybelle Gauthier was in. Like Lillian, she was getting close to a hundred.
“Let me make a call,” said Diane.
At four o’clock they were in Vanessa’s limousine—Diane, Vanessa, Lillian, Detective Hanks, and Mrs. Hartefeld, who, Vanessa said, “insisted on coming to look after Mother.” Diane knew better. Like the rest of them, Mrs. Hartefeld was overcome with curiosity.
She and Hanks sat on one seat, facing to the rear, Vanessa and the others facing forward. It reminded Diane of a stagecoach, only the ride was smoother. Vanessa served them orange juice from a small refrigerator. Diane had expected Hanks to say no when she called, but he too thought they might get more information if Lillian were there. Hanks seemed surprised that Lillian Chapman wasn’t frail. Diane thought he expected her to be in a wheelchair. She was slim, had strength in her arms and legs, and had a sharp mind and a clear voice. She did not look like a woman in her mid-nineties.
Vanessa and her mother wore pantsuits. Vanessa’s was a navy raw silk suit with a blue shirt. Her mother wore a turquoise linen suit with a peach blouse. Both had platinum white hair. Vanessa’s was pulled back in a twist. Her mother’s was short with a slight wave that reminded Diane of the twenties, but with a little more lift. Harte had on a black skirt and a pink sweater set with pearls. They looked like very unlikely sleuths.
Lillian was telling Diane and Hanks about one of the letters. Diane was particularly thrilled to hear what they had discovered among one stack of letters tied with a pink ribbon. It contained a piece of information she needed to go along with other evidence to present to a judge for a warrant.
“I knew Ernestina Hillard from childhood,” said Lillian. “Poor soul died young. She wasn’t yet eighty.”
Hanks suppressed a smile.
“She wrote me while we were in Europe. My husband, Vanessa’s father, was in the diplomatic corps and we traveled a lot in those days. Vanessa was schooled in Switzerland. I don’t know whether that was a good idea or not.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Mother,” she said.
“Be that as it may, there we were, and the only news we got from home was bits in foreign newspapers and letters from friends. Dear Ernestina was the most reliable. She wrote me about the scandals, in particular. I’m ashamed to say, I rather enjoyed them.”
“Was there a scandal concerning the Gauthiers?” asked Hanks.
Diane thought Detective Hanks would be impatient to get to the point, but he seemed to be somewhat in awe. She got the sense that he enjoyed meeting Vanessa and riding in her limousine.
They passed through an area of road construction where the pavement was uneven and their orange juice almost sloshed out.
“Oh dear,” said Lillian. “I didn’t get anything on me, did I?” She looked down at her blouse. “You know, the older you get, the less you can afford to have food stains on your clothes.”
Hanks laughed.
“You’re fine, Mrs. Chapman,” said Harte.
“Diane told you about the letters, didn’t she?” asked Lillian.
“Yes,” said Hanks. “People don’t write letters much anymore, do they?”
“No, they don’t, and that’s a shame. But I have to tell you, I rather enjoy my e-mail,” she said.
Hanks raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t expecting that.
“Vanessa and Harte found so many of my old letters. Apparently, I had just dumped bundles of them in a trunk. But the one thing they found was just a wonderful surprise,” she said.
“What was that?” asked Hanks. He knew, because Diane told him when they picked him up at the station. It was kind of him to let Lillian tell it.
“An unopened letter from 1957. I can’t imagine a greater treat. Judging from the date on it, it must have arrived about the time we were packing to come home from Europe. We flew home, of course, but our trunks and the furniture were sent by ship. I guess I just stuck the letter in one of the