and the eulogy, but this time he spoke about someone he had barely known. The eulogy, rather than evoking memories of Abigail, was little more than a recounting of the accomplishments of the Sturgess family. As Carolyn listened, she quickly became acutely aware that the woman the minister described bore no relationship to the woman Carolyn herself had known.
This time, as she stood at the door next to her husband and her stepdaughter, everyone lingered, offering her condolences on the loss of the mother-in-law they all knew perfectly well had hated her. Carolyn forced herself to play the expected role, her eyes cast down as she murmured the proper words.
In the late afternoon there had been the burial at the mausoleum. Abigail’s place, next to her husband, was outside the ring of columns, and she was not, as her husband had been, presented to Samuel Pruett Sturgess. That, Carolyn privately reflected, was apparently an honor reserved only for blood relatives.
After the interment they had all returned to the house, and repeated the reception that had been held for Conrad only a few months earlier. And as with Conrad, the only mentions of the deceased were a few automatic phrases whispered in hushed tones of mourning, after which the men clustered together to catch up on business, and the women finalized plans for various committee meetings and social gatherings, none of which included Carolyn.
And then, at last, it was all over, and Carolyn and Phillip were alone in the library.
Both girls had gone quietly to their rooms as soon as they’d returned from the burial service. Upstairs, there was only silence. For that, Carolyn was grateful. She sat wearily in one of the big wing chairs and sipped the drink Phillip had poured for her, reflecting, with a shudder she could barely conceal, on the way everyone had stared at Beth at the funeral services, as if they were all wondering, still, what had really happened to Alan, though no one had dared speak the question aloud.
At Hilltop, too, the air had been heavy with silence and the weight of unspoken questions for the last three days. Even Tracy had been nothing but demure and polite, the perfect child, appropriately sad at the passing of her beloved grandmother.
Carolyn had observed her cautiously but had so far said nothing. Since the moment she’d brought Beth back from the hospital the morning after Alan died, Tracy seemed to have changed. When she and Beth had come in, Tracy had been waiting for them. She’d told Beth how sorry she was that her father had died, then gone out to the car to bring in Carolyn’s overnight case and Beth’s suitcase. And when they’d gone upstairs, she’d even offered to help Beth unpack.
And so it had gone. Tracy, as far as Carolyn had been able to see, was finally doing her best to accept both of them.
Except that Carolyn had noticed almost immediately the fact that all the crystal in the library was gone, and that both the door and the floor were severely scarred. Though Phillip had said nothing about it, and she had so far refrained from asking him, she was certain that Tracy had been responsible for the damage. Now, she decided to face the issue.
“I have noticed,” she said carefully, “how well Tracy has been behaving. And I’ve also noticed that something obviously happened in here. Do you want to tell me about it?”
Phillip hesitated, but knew he couldn’t conceal the truth from his wife. As briefly as possible, he told Carolyn exactly what had happened the night Abigail had died. When he was finally done, Carolyn sat silent for a long time. Then she stood up and went to the window, gazing out into the fading light of the summer evening. And despite the warmth of the air outside the open French doors, she found herself shivering.
“You think I did the wrong thing, don’t you?” Phillip asked when Carolyn’s silence had gone on longer than he could bear.
“I hope not,” Carolyn replied so softly he could hardly hear her. “But I’m afraid she must hate us now more than she ever did before.” Then she turned to face her husband. “I’m afraid, Phillip. I’m so very afraid.”
Tracy had the door of her room closed and locked, and now she sat at her desk going through the contents of her grandmother’s jewelry box. The best things, she knew, were kept in the vault at the bank, and her grandmother had