“I don’t know yet. If you return the letters, I won’t have much choice. The minute Grand sees the seals are broken, she’ll know the secret’s out, whatever it may be.”

“And if I don’t return them?”

“Let’s put it this way, she’s never going to ask. She might not even realize they were sitting in the files. Actually, there’s something else that may prove more important.”

I stared, unable to imagine what could trump the ace she’d laid on the table the moment before.

She took the envelope from my hand and pulled out a thin sheaf of letterhead stationery. She offered me the pages, which I read through rapidly. They were invoices submitted to Grand by a private investigator named Hale Brandenberg, with an office address in Lompoc. The information was sketchy—no reports attached—but a cursory look at his charges suggested he’d been in her employ for more than a year. He’d billed her four thousand bucks and change, not a trivial amount given his rates, which were low by today’s standards.

Tasha said, “Grandfather Kinsey was still living when this was done, so she either browbeat him into paying for it or she did this behind his back. In any case, the work was done.”

“I don’t see any reference to what he was hired to do.”

“It’s possible the invoices became separated from his reports or maybe the reports were destroyed. Grand hates to lose and she hates being thwarted, so nothing of this was leaked to the rest of us. I believed Mom when she said Grand tried to make contact, but I was startled to see the proof. I have trouble believing she’d go so far as to hire an investigator, but there it is. I’m guessing when all those letters came flying back, Hale Brandenberg was the next logical step.”

I said, “Well.”

I thought she was on the verge of taking my hand, but she made no move. Instead, she watched me with a sympathy I chose to ignore. She said, “Look. I know this is hard for you. Once you’ve read the letters, you might end up feeling the same alienation, but at least you’ll know more than you do now. If you’re like me, you’d rather deal with hard facts than speculation and fantasy.”

“That’s been my claim,” I said, with a pained smile.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” She turned and opened the handbag sitting on the seat beside her, looking for her wallet.

“I’ll take care of it,” I said.

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. You brought me a gift.”

“Let’s hope that’s what it is.”

“If not, you owe me a dinner.”

Chapter 21 - DEBORAH UNRUH

21

DEBORAH UNRUH

May 1967