more question.
“What did you end up doing with this awesome lingerie collection?”
“The same thing you do with all precious treasure. We buried it.”
Grace and I both react to stress the same way—we eat. Cam had to be very flattered by the amount of lasagna we consumed as the three of us kept rehashing the scene in Ryan’s bedroom and all the possible meanings of the bloody shirt. Cam held strongly to the belief it was some kind of initiation. Although Grace andI were disturbed by the thought of an initiation that resulted in so much blood, we were reassured by thinking that it was the blood of an animal rather than a human—either Ryan’s own blood or Uncle Franklin’s.
“But if it was animal blood, why wouldn’t he just tell me?” Grace questioned.
“Because that would have brought a whole new set of questions and, when you’re fifteen, you hate answering questions,” Cam explained. “Where did all the lasagna go? Should I have made more?”
“No, it’s fine, dear. All he had to say was, ‘it’s animal blood’ …”
“But would you two have left it at that? It probably never occurred to him that you would think it was human blood, especially a murder victim’s. All he saw was two middle-aged women poking around in his private stuff. I don’t think he was angry about what you found as much as he felt violated by you both snooping in his room. Remember how closely Abbey guarded the sanctity of her bedroom? I really should’ve made two batches of lasagna but we used to feed all three of us and have enough for leftovers before …”
“Stop fussing about the lasagna, Cam. There’s plenty.”
“Ryan’s been out late at night. Maybe there
is
some kind of club or something. Hugh’s been arguing with him about being out late on school nights. He’s supposed to be in by nine but the last month or so he’s been coming in at ten or later …” Grace said.
“See, sounds like a group of fifteen-year-olds spreading their wings, breaking curfew and misbehaving in typical fifteen-year-old-guy ways,” Cam reassured her. “They may be doing stupid things that we don’t really understand but I sincerely doubt murder is one of them.”
“And what would be the motive?” I asked. “Ryan didn’t even know Franklin. He may not have even known there was anyone else living on our property. Nothing was stolen. Even if Ryan and his friends hadbeen snooping around and ran into Franklin there was no reason for them to feel threatened.”
“But maybe Franklin felt threatened by them,” Grace suggested. Cam shook his head.
“Even if he had, he had no means to seriously scare them into thinking they needed to defend themselves. At the most he would have cursed at them. Probably he would’ve just ignored them …”
“What if they started heckling him? Would he have fought back then?” I asked.
“Fought back with what? He didn’t have a weapon. The police didn’t find anything in the cottage disturbed or any signs that someone had broken in or seriously caused a threat to his well-being. There’s just no motive.”
“That’s the whole problem. There’s no reason for anyone to hurt Franklin. He was a harmless old man who had no contact with the outside world. It all seems so random …”
“That’s what’s so scary as far as Ryan is concerned,” Grace interrupted. “If there’s no motive and no reason for someone to murder Franklin, it just makes it seem more likely that it was a horrible accident, a prank or a dare gone tragically wrong. It’s easy to see a fifteen-year-old, especially one as hostile and unhappy as Ryan, being involved in something like that.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Cam said solemnly, “we have a two-victim crime.”
With that sad thought we cleared the dinner dishes and moved into the library for coffee and dessert. I find nothing more comforting than sitting by a fire in a room filled with books, a dog snoozing at my feet and a huge hunk of
“What did you end up doing with this awesome lingerie collection?”
“The same thing you do with all precious treasure. We buried it.”
Grace and I both react to stress the same way—we eat. Cam had to be very flattered by the amount of lasagna we consumed as the three of us kept rehashing the scene in Ryan’s bedroom and all the possible meanings of the bloody shirt. Cam held strongly to the belief it was some kind of initiation. Although Grace andI were disturbed by the thought of an initiation that resulted in so much blood, we were reassured by thinking that it was the blood of an animal rather than a human—either Ryan’s own blood or Uncle Franklin’s.
“But if it was animal blood, why wouldn’t he just tell me?” Grace questioned.
“Because that would have brought a whole new set of questions and, when you’re fifteen, you hate answering questions,” Cam explained. “Where did all the lasagna go? Should I have made more?”
“No, it’s fine, dear. All he had to say was, ‘it’s animal blood’ …”
“But would you two have left it at that? It probably never occurred to him that you would think it was human blood, especially a murder victim’s. All he saw was two middle-aged women poking around in his private stuff. I don’t think he was angry about what you found as much as he felt violated by you both snooping in his room. Remember how closely Abbey guarded the sanctity of her bedroom? I really should’ve made two batches of lasagna but we used to feed all three of us and have enough for leftovers before …”
“Stop fussing about the lasagna, Cam. There’s plenty.”
“Ryan’s been out late at night. Maybe there
is
some kind of club or something. Hugh’s been arguing with him about being out late on school nights. He’s supposed to be in by nine but the last month or so he’s been coming in at ten or later …” Grace said.
“See, sounds like a group of fifteen-year-olds spreading their wings, breaking curfew and misbehaving in typical fifteen-year-old-guy ways,” Cam reassured her. “They may be doing stupid things that we don’t really understand but I sincerely doubt murder is one of them.”
“And what would be the motive?” I asked. “Ryan didn’t even know Franklin. He may not have even known there was anyone else living on our property. Nothing was stolen. Even if Ryan and his friends hadbeen snooping around and ran into Franklin there was no reason for them to feel threatened.”
“But maybe Franklin felt threatened by them,” Grace suggested. Cam shook his head.
“Even if he had, he had no means to seriously scare them into thinking they needed to defend themselves. At the most he would have cursed at them. Probably he would’ve just ignored them …”
“What if they started heckling him? Would he have fought back then?” I asked.
“Fought back with what? He didn’t have a weapon. The police didn’t find anything in the cottage disturbed or any signs that someone had broken in or seriously caused a threat to his well-being. There’s just no motive.”
“That’s the whole problem. There’s no reason for anyone to hurt Franklin. He was a harmless old man who had no contact with the outside world. It all seems so random …”
“That’s what’s so scary as far as Ryan is concerned,” Grace interrupted. “If there’s no motive and no reason for someone to murder Franklin, it just makes it seem more likely that it was a horrible accident, a prank or a dare gone tragically wrong. It’s easy to see a fifteen-year-old, especially one as hostile and unhappy as Ryan, being involved in something like that.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Cam said solemnly, “we have a two-victim crime.”
With that sad thought we cleared the dinner dishes and moved into the library for coffee and dessert. I find nothing more comforting than sitting by a fire in a room filled with books, a dog snoozing at my feet and a huge hunk of
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