U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

1. It was bedtime and I didn’t want to spend the next six hours stewing about the past. Once I climbed on my emotional carousel, especially in the dark of night, I’d circle for hours, up and down, around and around, often at speeds that threatened to make me sick.

2. Once I knew the content of the letters, I’d be stuck. In my current state of innocence, anything was possible. I could cling to my long-held beliefs about Grand’s indifference without the pesky contradiction of the truth. What if the letters were filled with hearts and flowers and gushing sentiment? Then what? At this point, I wasn’t prepared to lay down my sword or my shield. My defensive stance felt like power. Surrender would be foolish until I understood the nature and strength of the enemy.

I went to bed and slept like a baby.

In the morning, I went through my normal routine—the run, the shower, clothes, a cup of coffee with a bowl of cereal. I picked up my shoulder bag and the packet of letters and drove to the office, where I made yet another pot of coffee and settled at my desk. This was an environment where I felt safe, the arena in which I experienced my competence. What better setting in which to risk personal peace?

Before launching myself into uncharted territory, I made one more quick evasive move. I called Deborah, asking if Rain would be willing to meet with me. She put Rain on the line and after a brief discussion, we agreed to get together Saturday morning at a coffee shop on Cabana Boulevard, in walking distance of my studio. The place was a favorite of hers and she’d been looking forward to having breakfast there while she was in town.

I made a note on my calendar. That done, I got down to business. I divided the letters into two piles. In the first I placed those addressed to Virginia Kinsey; in the second, those addressed to me. I began with Aunt Gin’s. The earliest was postmarked June 2, 1955, three days after the accident in which my parents died. A quick examination suggested that this was the only letter she’d opened before sealing it up again and sending it back.

Dearest Virginia,

We write you with heavy spirits, our hearts burdened with sorrow as we know yours must be. The loss of Rita Cynthia is more than any of us should have to bear, but I know we must push forward for little Kinsey’s sake. We were heartened by news that the doctors had examined her and found her unharmed. I spoke to the pediatrician, Dr. Grill, and he suggests that given the trauma she’s suffered, we’ll want to have her reevaluated in a month or so, pending her response in the aftermath of the accident. Children mend so much more quickly than adults do under the same circumstances. Dr. Grill cautioned that her physical recovery and her psychological well-being might be at odds. While the child might give every appearance of having adjusted, an underlying depression could well manifest itself as she begins to realize the finality of her parents’ passing. He urged us all to be alert to the possibility.

We were disappointed that we weren’t allowed to see her during her overnight stay in the hospital here. Of course, she was under observation and I’m sure the doctors were busy seeing to her care. We would not have disturbed her for the world and I thought I’d made that clear. Our only desire was to peep into the room so that we could see with our own eyes that her condition was stable. We had hoped she might spend time with us, but we perfectly understand your desire to take her straight home to all that is known and familiar. At the same time, Burton and I are praying to visit the child as soon as possible so we can personally offer the comfort and support she so desperately needs. If there’s anything we can do for you, in terms of emotional or financial relief, please let us know. We stand ready with our arms open to you both.

On another note, we would love to sit down together and discuss Kinsey’s future. We believe it would be in the child’s best interests to be settled here with us. Burton and I are putting together a proposal that should satisfactorily address both your needs and ours. We look forward to an account of Kinsey’s progress.

Your loving mother, Grand

I closed my eyes, marveling at the sentiments expressed. Did Cornelia Straith LaGrand know nothing about her two oldest daughters? I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected my mother would have reacted badly if she’d received such a letter. Virginia, younger by a year, was doubtless incensed. The Aunt Gin I’d known growing up, was volatile, opinionated, and fearless in the face of authority. She’d have been livid at Grand’s barely disguised attempts to gain the upper hand. The pointed omission of my father’s name must have infuriated Virginia further. Grand’s reference to “a proposal” would have been especially offensive, as though my future were subject to a carefully constructed business plan that Aunt Gin would warm to as soon as she understood its many virtues and advantages.