"I hope I'm not late." Elsa said.

Brown-eyed, sable-haired, with a slender build and of medium height, Elsa wasn't the type who stood out in a crowd. But she was quite pretty, if one bothered to take a second look.

"Right on time," Grace replied. "Please, come join us in the parlor. Once Uncle Willis arrives-"

As if on cue the doorbell rang. When Nolan opened the door, a stocky, ruddy-faced man entered, a jolly expression on his round face, his pudgy cheeks flushed from the warmth of the humid Louisiana evening. Uncle Willis was Willis Sullivan, her father's old friend and attorney. Grace had known him all her life. He wasn't really family, unless you counted the fact that his sister had married one of her daddy's first cousins once removed.

"Evening all." Willis's thick Southern accent rolled off his tongue like molasses over hot biscuits. He was a rotund man of average height, with thick white hair and a full beard and mustache, both neatly trimmed. In his tan summer suit, he looked like Santa on vacation.

Once the round of greetings ended, Grace ushered everyone into the parlor and closed the massive pocket doors. With her guests all seated, she turned to face them.

"I didn't mean to sound so mysterious when I telephoned each of you, but this… this wasn't something I could talk about over the phone."

"Heavenly days," Joy said. "You certainly know how to make a body curious."

Grace took a deep breath. "I received a letter today. It was sent to the office. The envelope was postmarked New Iberia."

All eyes focused on Grace. Quivers of uncertainty rippled along her nerve endings. Although she had somehow managed to make it through the afternoon at work, her mind had never wandered far from the mysterious letter.

"The letter was typed and not signed." Grace paused. Dear Lord, how could she say the words aloud? How could she repeat such damning information? "Whoever wrote the letter wanted me to know that he-or she-is certain that the hit-and-run driver who crashed into Dean's car and sent it over the ravine wasn't just a drunk driver. Dean's death and Daddy's death weren't accidents. They were targeted to be killed that night."

Murmurs of disbelief rose throughout the room, but it was Uncle Willis who spoke. "Are you saying that this person, who didn't even sign his name to the letter, claims Dean and Byram were murdered?"

Grace nodded.

"Why?" Hudson asked. "Why would anyone want to harm your family?"

"Good question," Joy said. "I can't imagine either Dean or Uncle Byram having an enemy capable of such a terrible thing."

Just come right out and say it,Grace thought. Tell them. Name the enemy who is more than capable of murder. "What if that enemy was Booth Fortier?" Grace's heartbeat hammered deafeningly inside her head.

A stunned silence enveloped the parlor.

"The Booth Fortier?" Hudson 's eyes widened; his mouth gaped.

"The letter accuses Governor Miller of being 'in bed' with Fortier," Grace said. "Supposedly Dean was working on unearthing the evidence to prove it and he'd told Daddy and Daddy was set to use Sheffield Media, Inc. to-"

"Byram never mentioned a word of this to me." Willis shook his head in disbelief. "My God, if this is true… it would mean Dean and Byram really were murdered."

"Wasn't it possible that Daddy didn't tell you because he was waiting until Dean had the evidence in hand?" Grace asked.

"Of course, it's possible." Willis frowned. "And the fewer people who knew what Dean was doing, the better. It makes sense. And they wouldn't have told you because they wanted to protect you. You know how old-fashioned Byram was. And Dean, too."

"I think the whole thing is ridiculous," Hudson said. "It's a hoax. Someone's trying to upset you."

Grace glanced around the room, first to Elsa, then to Joy. "What's your opinion?"

"I don't think you can dismiss the letter as a hoax," Elsa said. "If you believe there's a possibility that what it states is true, then you will have to prove it."

"But that could be dangerous." Joy's usual vivaciousness waned and Grace could sense the fear she felt. "I think you should call the police."

"And tell them what? All I could do is show them the letter. I have no proof whatsoever." Grace walked over to the antique secretary, opened a middle drawer and retrieved the notorious missive.

"The police could dust for fingerprints," Joy said.

"Probably wouldn't do any good." Willis tsked-tsked. "This sure enough is puzzling."

"I called y'all here because I want your advice." Grace waved the letter about as if it were a fan, then slapped it down on the open drop-leaf secretary's desk. "I have to make a decision. The right decision."

"Call the police," Joy said.

"Throw the damn thing in the garbage and forget it," Hudson told her.

"Hire a private investigator to look into the allegations," Elsa recommended. "Find out if it's really possible that the governor is in Booth Fortier's hip pocket."

"I agree with Elsa," Willis said. "Hire a private investigator for now and if he uncovers anything that links Fortier to Lew Miller, then go to the police."

"If we're voting on this then I cast my vote with Elsa and Uncle Willis." Joy's lips curved precariously, as if she had intended to smile, then thought better of the idea.

"Oh, all right," Hudson added. "What harm can it do to have someone check into the allegations and prove them unfounded?"

Grace sighed with relief. The four people she trusted most in this world had given her the advice she'd wanted to hear. "I'm glad y'all agree with me. I came to this same conclusion earlier and made some inquiries. I needed each of you to support my decision. Thank you."

"There are any number of decent private firms in Louisiana," Willis said as he moved toward the tea cart. "Anyone else care for something to drink?"

"I'd love some coffee," Joy said. "Cream and sugar, please."

"I've chosen a firm that's based in Atlanta," Grace told them. "The Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency. I checked them out and found that they're considered one of the top agencies in the country, definitely the premiere agency in the South."

"I take it that you haven't contacted them, yet." Elsa joined Willis at the tea cart.

"Now that we're all in agreement, I'll call first thing in the morning. I want an agent here in St. Camille as soon as possible."

"Why not call them tonight?" Elsa suggested. "I'm sure someone will take your call, an answering service probably." Elsa instantly took over the job of hostess, serving first Willis and then Joy before preparing a cup for herself.

"Would y'all stay awhile? I asked Laverna to prepare enough supper for guests." Grace didn't want to be alone when she made the call. And she didn't want to spend the evening alone, thinking about the letter, about the implications. Simply dealing with her family's deaths on a daily basis was difficult enough. How would she cope if she could prove what the letter stated was true?

You'll make sure the ones who are guilty pay… and pay dearly.

With Haviland cup and saucer in hand, Joy advanced on Grace, pausing at her side, a sympathetic expression on her china doll pretty face. "Are you sure you really want to dig up that particular can of worms? You'll have to relive that night… and remember all your losses. And if there's a speck of truth that Booth Fortier was somehow involved, then your own life could be at risk if you start snooping."

Grace grasped Joy's chin, forcing her cousin to look her squarely in the eyes. "If you were me, would you leave it alone? Would you be so afraid for your own life that you'd allow-"

"I'm not as brave as you are." Joy clutched Grace's wrist and pulled Grace's hand away from her face. "But, yes, I suppose I'd do exactly what you intend to do. I'd need to know the truth. I'd have to know." Joy set her cup and saucer on the secretary, only inches from the letter, then reached up and placed her arm around Grace's shoulders. "If Uncle Byram and Dean were murdered, then you could wind up a victim yourself. I'd just die myself if anything happened to you."