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what little she has& He stopped, his lips compressing. Why the hell am I telling you anything?
Lucky Grace, to be run out of your life before it was too late. Nothing she s ever done was bad
enough to deserve you!
He turned and stalked off to his car without another word.
GRACE LIKED HER COUSIN very much. She kept him company and stayed busy baking sweets for
him in the kitchen while his housekeeper enjoyed the holiday from the stove. Grace planted flowers
for him, read to him and spent lazy days enjoying the diversion from her troubles.
What she knew about the child murders dwelled on her mind. She hadn t been able to tell Garon what
she thought about the similarity of the victims. But she needed to tell somebody in law enforcement.
This was information that might save a life. So she phoned Marquez.
He showed up one evening in jeans and a sweatshirt, taut and somber, but pleasant just the same.
Let s sit on the porch and talk, she invited, after they d had sandwiches and coffee, and her cousin
had excused himself to go to bed.
They sat together in the old swing, listening to the sound of crickets and dogs barking in the distance.
It was a cool night, but comfortable, and the stars were out in a glorious display.
I love spring nights, she mused. It s so peaceful here.
I m sorry you can t enjoy it at home, he returned.
She glanced at him, feeling his indignation. Barbara told you.
Yes, he said. I wanted to deck him.
I felt the same, but it wouldn t accomplish anything, she said with resignation. He s one of those
people who doesn t need anybody. I should have realized it, and not gone gooey over him.
Don t beat yourself up, he said. He s not the person I thought he was, either.
She fingered the cold chain that supported the swing. I suppose it did look as if I were following him
around. I couldn t make him understand that those were normal activities for me.
It s water under the bridge. Why did you want me to come up? He grinned. Have you finally
discovered a raging passion for me, and you want to give me a diamond ring?
She gaped at him and then burst out laughing. You idiot!
It was worth a try. Come on, come on, I ve got a drug dealer on a back burner and I need to take him
off pretty soon. I can t stay long.
She smiled, remembering him as a sort of juvenile delinquent who was always in trouble at school.
Nothing serious, usually, but he couldn t manage to be placid.
She sobered then. It s about the child who was killed.
He was still. Yes?
I remembered something, she said. I meant to tell Garon, but he thought I went to his house
because he hadn t called me.
So I heard.
She drew in a breath of cool air. All the children had long blond hair, she said.
He frowned. Well& yes, they did!
And light eyes.
He nodded.
And red& ribbons.
He was suddenly very quiet.
She stared down at her hands in her lap. Rick, you were away when it happened, she said. But
someone, Barbara maybe, must have told you something about it.
Very little, he replied. Except that you were traumatized by a sexual predator. He hesitated. I
didn t feel comfortable asking you about it.
She looked up at him and smiled gently. Thanks.
He shrugged. I m a private person myself. I understand.
She curled her fingers around the swing chain. Only a few people ever knew the truth. There was a
cover-up, she said. My grandmother was beside herself. Mama had heard about it from Granny, and
that very night, she committed suicide.
Your mother? he exclaimed. But why?
Who knows? Granny said Mama felt responsible, because she d thrown me out of her life and left
me at the mercy of a bitter old woman who drank alcohol to excess almost every night.
I didn t realize that old Mrs. Collier ever had a sip of anything alcoholic, he admitted, surprised.
She sobered up when she had to come and see me in the hospital. I was& I was a mess, she bit off.
She shifted in the swing. If you saw the body of the latest murdered child, maybe you can imagine
what I looked like.
Dear God! he burst out.
I was lucky, she continued. It felt good to talk about it, after so many years of stoic silence. He
panicked. He couldn t quite figure out how to strangle me to death. He was clumsy with the red
ribbon, and then the police sirens started wailing. He stabbed me with just a pocketknife, over and
over again. I was in terrible pain, but even at the age of twelve, I knew that if I didn t play dead, I d be
dead. I held my breath and prayed and prayed. And he ran. Someone had tipped off the police when
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