She placed the lid on the box and opened another one. Many of the letters were short, some just one or two sentences. She pulled out a short one, and tears flooded her eyes as she realized it was written the day of her grandmother’s funeral: I said goodbye for the last time today. I looked upon your beautiful face, kissed your sweet lips. You’re not there anymore, I know that. But you’re still with me, my love, I know you are. We buried you in the cemetery beside your parents. I know you’re in heaven with them now. I’m glad you’re together but I’m so very lonely, my darling.
Wiping the tears from her face, she opened another letter. This one was more upbeat, filled with news of the town and people they had known. Settling herself into an old rocker beside the window, she drew a box close to her and immersed herself once again in her grandfather’s thoughts from so many years ago. She unfolded another letter and, as she checked the date, felt a chill sweep up her body. It was dated the day after her parents’ deaths.
My dearest Camille, something dreadful has happened. Our son is gone and so is our dear, sweet Maggie. They say it was a murder-suicide. That Beckett killed Maggie in a fit of rage and then, out of guilt, took his own life. How is that possible? How could our beautiful son have committed such an atrocious act? Yes, he had issues with his temper when he was younger. And there was that sadness that often seemed to sweep over him, but that hadn’t happened in years. Not since he met Maggie.
I was gone, out of town, visiting Austin and his family in Mobile. I was told there was a terrible argument at the country club. Opal, our cleaning lady, found Maggie’s body and then the police chief found Beckett hanging from the old oak out back. My heart is bleeding … how could this have happened? And what about their sweet, precious children? What am I to do? I wish you were here with me. You would be my solace in this madness.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Savannah refolded the letter. Part of her wanted to stop reading now; reliving those days was still too painful. But her grandfather had rarely talked about that time, understandably. Seeing his thoughts and feelings gave her not only a different perspective but also an odd sense of closure.
She opened up another letter, this one dated four days after her parents’ funeral.
Cammie, I have come to the conclusion that it is all a lie. There is something devious and wrong in this town. I don’t believe Beckett committed these awful deeds. After talking with several people at the country club, I believe this was a lie perpetrated by the real murderer. Someone killed Maggie and then killed Beckett, framing him for Maggie’s death. I have no proof. I’ve gone to Chief Mosby with my suspicious and he laughed them off. When I told him I would never believe our son was capable of murder or suicide, I swear he threatened me. Not in so many words, but his eyes took on a gleam. He mentioned the girls, Savannah, Samantha, and Sabrina. Told me I should concentrate on taking care of them. That they should be my concern. He told me their welfare was in my hands. Which, of course, it is, but I don’t believe that’s what he meant.
I don’t know what to do. The children are my life and my responsibility. If I pursue this, will something happen to them? Or am I just using them as an excuse because I’m a coward? I wish you were here to tell me what to do. How can I continue on, knowing that my beloved son and daughter-in-law were murdered? Yet how can I put their children at risk? Please, Cammie, tell me what I should do.
Barely aware of her surroundings, Savannah never noticed that the letter fell from her hand to the floor. Waves of shock and denial pounded through her. Never in all these years had she heard it suggested that her father hadn’t committed the murder. There had never been any doubt that she’d ever heard of. Was this just something her grandfather had come up with to help him deal with his pain? What proof had he had? Other than what he referred to as the vague threats