Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

It was a letter from Gavin and it was dated only last week. Someone had taken it from the mailbox before I had gotten to the mail and had ripped it open to read it and then dropped it in the garbage.

Outraged, I stormed into the house.

The twins were sitting on the floor in the parlor playing Scrabble. Aunt Bet was reading one of her society papers and Mrs. Stoddard was in the kitchen. Uncle Philip and Jefferson were already at the hotel.

"Who did this?" I asked and held up the letter. "Someone took my mail and threw it away."

Aunt Bet shifted her gaze casually from the paper and looked up at me. The twins paused, both nonplussed.

"Whatever are you talking about, Christie?" Aunt Bet asked.

"My mail, my mail," I raged, frustrated. "Some-one took it before I could get to it and read it and threw it away."

"I don't think anyone here would be interested in your mail, dear. It must have been thrown out by accident. Perhaps you did so yourself."

"I did not!"

"Christie, I must insist you stop this tantrum immediately. In our house we are not accustomed to such outbursts," she said.

"This isn't your house! It's my house. Which of you did this?" I asked, turning on the twins. Both cowered as I stepped toward them.

"Christie, leave them alone. They're playing so nicely," Aunt Bet warned.

"You did this, didn't you?" I accused Richard. "I did not. I couldn't care less about your stupid mail."

I shifted my eyes to Melanie and she looked down quickly.

"You did it then," I said. She shook her head.

"If they said they didn't do it, they didn't. Now are you going to stop this, or do I have to send for your uncle?" she threatened.

"Send for the President of the United States, for all I care," I told her. "If you ever touch a piece of my mail or any of my things," I threatened Melanie, "I'll tear out your hair strand by strand."

"Christie!"

With that I rushed from the parlor and hurried upstairs to read the letter I had never received. That night our usually depressed dinner conversation was even more so. Every once in a while I caught Uncle Philip staring at me. Whenever I did, his lips would quiver into a small smile. Afterward, when I retired to my room for the night, he came to my door.

"May I speak with you a moment?" he asked after he knocked softly.

"Yes."

"Betty Ann told me what happened today. I'm sorry someone took your mail, but you shouldn't accuse anyone unless you're sure. It's as bad as what happened to Jefferson," he added quickly.

"Melanie looked very guilty," I said in my defense.

"Maybe, but Jefferson looked very guilty too and had a record of committing pranks and being a nuisance. Oh, nothing as serious as vandalizing the piano, I suppose, but still . . ."

"Someone took my letter," I moaned. "It didn't walk its way into our garbage can."

"No, it didn't. But it might have happened by accident."

"It was opened; it couldn't have been an accident. And there are other letters missing, too," I said. He nodded, his face tightening, his eyes growing smaller.

"All right. I'll see what I can learn about it, but please, let's try to live in peace for a while. Okay?" he asked, smiling. "Everything's going fine with the rebuilding of the hotel. The insurance covered a lot more than I first expected. We're going to do all right and be an important family in Cutler's Cove once again."

I wanted to tell him none of that was important to me. I didn't care if I ever walked back into that hotel. The hotel had betrayed my parents, killed them. It was never a great love of mine, but now it was something evil. But I didn't say any of this. I knew he wouldn't understand or he would stay and try to convince me otherwise.

Instead, I did what he asked. I avoided controversies, practiced the piano and took long walks on the beach. In the evening I read, wrote my letters, spoke to some of my friends and watched some television. I had a calendar on my wall and marked off the days until Gavin's arrival. That and my music were the only reasons I got up in the morning.