“This way,” Paul said, and led Ben to a grave site shaded by a tall maple. It was modest, marked with three rose-colored granite headstones. In the center, a companion stone bore the names: Royston Jackson Tullock and Constance “Connie” Tullock. A smaller separate stone was to the immediate right with the name Neal Jackson Tullock and a similar stone to the left with the name Linda Constance Tullock. Each stone had a cross and roses on the front. Each showed the Tullocks’ birth dates and each bore the same date of death. Fresh flowers were at the base of each stone.

Ben held up his camera, as a way of asking permission to photograph the site. The Tullocks nodded.

“We wanted to talk here, Ben,” Paul said, “so you’d have an understanding of the toll taken on our family.”

“I remember the day we buried them like it was yesterday,” Lynn said. “Four caskets, two of them small. I never got over the fact that the children had witnessed their parents’ murders. In some ways it gave me peace of mind that they didn’t have to live with it for the rest of their lives.”

“My brother was a good man. Everyone in town loved and respected Roy. He worked hard to build his enterprise and it was taking off.” Paul shook his head.

“Torrie had been getting better,” Lynn said, “and was looking forward to being with her family again when this happened. It changed everything. They stole everything from her. It changed her into a sad, solitary person.”

Taking notes, Ben pushed aside his own emotions. Standing there in a cemetery, he suddenly felt the anguish of the guilt he carried for his wife’s death. There are things in this world that are impossible to forgive.

If only I’d taken care of Brooke’s tires like she’d asked me to do.

He glanced around at the lake of headstones, thinking how there was no stone for his wife in California. Brooke never wanted that.

I’ll be with you wherever you are.

That’s what Brooke had said whenever they had talked about death, never once believing it would happen until they’d each lived to 100. But now, standing here working again, touched by the gentle breeze, Ben felt Brooke’s presence, felt her guiding him.

Keep going. Keep working on your book. Finish what you’ve started.

“The girls who did this,” Ben said, “were fourteen at the time. It’s been some twenty years. Have you forgiven them?”

Paul pursed his lips, blinking fast and looked away.

“Those girls,” Lynn said, “were evil masquerading as human teens. They were released to start over, given new lives.” Lynn pointed to the stones. “Our family didn’t get a second chance. So our answer is no. We can never forgive them.”

Ben took notes. “I understand that the mothers of the girls died and are buried here, as well,” he said.