Dust to Dust

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 steamer trunks with my other letters. I always kept my letters together with a pretty ribbon tied around them so they wouldn’t get lost. In all the rush and confusion of packing and unpacking, I must have forgotten it was there. Travel in those days was quite a bit more involved than it is today, you know, particularly with a retinue as large as ours, and if you had an unmarried teenage girl under your arm. You would not believe those European men, their audacity.” Lillian waved her hand as if to dismiss the thought. “But in any event, that which was lost is found again. And what a surprise when we found it. Vanessa, Harte, and I had a wonderful time reading it.”

She took it out of her purse and handed the translucent blue pages to Hanks. He and Diane had to strain to read the spidery handwriting.

Dear Lillian,

Do you remember the Gauthier-Farragut divorce? Certainly you do, beautiful Edith Farragut in that big Parisian hat coming out of the courthouse dressed just like she did when she was a young girl. Here in North Georgia! She was a sight. Remember us laughing. We were awful.

Well, I have more news. You remember my telling you that three years ago her daughter, Maybelle Gauthier, just dropped off the face of the earth? Neither Edith nor Jonathan would talk about her. You wouldn’t believe the rumors that were flying. Her father married her off to a prince. No one believed that one. For having such a beautiful mother, Maybelle was quite a gawky girl. The Barbers down the street said she committed suicide. She was over forty and never married, Mr. Barber said, so what else could she do? He always was a harsh judge of character. Some of the kinder folk said she went to Paris to study art. I think I believed that. She was such a wonderful artist. You remember the portraits she did-and the landscape your mother bought that time. It was beautiful. But I digress.

Here’s the juicy bit of news I promised. Maybelle’s father, Jonathan, took Everett (you remember Everett-Jonathan Gauthier’s son by that new young wife he married seventeen years ago. Everett is about Vanessa’s age, I think, maybe a bit younger) and his wife, and moved to Atlanta-and changed their name to Walters! Can you believe that? He changed his name! He didn’t tell anyone. Virgil found out quite by accident when he was getting some legal work done. (They share the same lawyer. Virgil had no idea.) We still don’t know what happened to Maybelle. Her mother lives in Marietta. As far as I know, she is still keeping with her maiden name, Farragut. Sarah tried to ask her one time about Maybelle, but Edith ignored her. I wonder what happened to that girl. And why do you think Jonathan changed his name? Strange, isn’t it?

I’ll be happy to see you safe at home. I just can’t imagine living in strange countries all these years. Has Vanessa forgotten her native tongue? You’re lucky she didn’t marry a foreigner while you were there. I’ll bet you’ll be glad to get back to civilization.

Safe journey,

Ernestina

They arrived at the retirement home. The chauffeur pulled into a parking place near the door and stopped.

Chapter 52

“Oh my. This is a dreary place,” said Lillian Chapman as she stepped out of the car and put a hand on Detective Hanks’ arm.

“I would hate to live here,” muttered Vanessa. “It looks so sad.”

Diane retrieved a box and a file folder from the car, then turned and looked at the building. It was a one-story sprawling structure of concrete blocks painted a pale yellow. The grass in the surrounding yard had turned brown and dry with the coming of fall. The few scraggly trees had already lost their leaves.

“I appreciate your allowing us to come, Detective,” said Lillian. “This is going to be interesting.”

“I’m hoping she will respond to someone who once knew her,” he said.

They entered the building and went into an office just to the right of the front door. A young woman with multicolored hair got up from her desk and came to the counter. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt that said I’LL TRY TO BE NICER IF YOU TRY TO BE SMARTER.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a bright smile. She quickly scanned the five of them and gathered up several forms. “You’ll have to fill these out,” she said before Hanks could give her an answer. The woman smiled at Lillian. “This is a real nice place.”

“I’m sure,” said Lillian. “Very nice hair extensions you have, my dear. I particularly like the purple and green together.”

The young woman patted her hair. “Oh, thanks.”

Hanks showed her his badge. Diane noticed he had taken off his arm sling and left it in the car. His movements were a little stiff, but he wasn’t wincing in pain.

“We have an appointment to see Miss Gauthier,” he said.

“The police to see Miss Agnes? Well, I hope she hasn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t a bank job or anything, was it?” The young woman giggled at her joke.

“Please send them in here, Miss Jolley.”

Jolley, thought Diane. Her name is Jolley. They went into the office of Ms. Christina Wanamaker, according to the name on the door.

“Please, sit down,” she said. She was a woman in her early forties. She had dyed black hair pulled back in a severe French twist. Thick eyebrows and turned-down lips. She looked around for a moment, seeing that there were more people than chairs.

“Miss Jolley,” she called, “could you bring two more chairs?”

The screeching sound of chairs being pulled across the tile floor split the air. Harte was nearest the door. She ran out to help carry them in. They sat down and Hanks made introductions as Ms. Wanamaker pulled a file out of her drawer and opened it on her desk.

“I’m hoping you know of family for Miss Gauthier,” said Ms. Wanamaker. “We, of course, have a mandate to take care of the indigent, but the economy being what it is, we would welcome it if relatives could help with the expense of her care.”