Dead Hunt

from prison. She was there for killing her husband and she has killed others. We don’t know her real name, but we think she is a cousin of your daughter. That would make her your niece, wouldn’t it?’’
Sarah Wallace sat without saying anything, looking less frightened and more angry.
‘‘Mamma, is this about your sister?’’ said Ellen Volker.
‘‘Don’t you mention her name,’’ said Mrs. Wallace.
‘‘It’s been so long I’m not sure I remember,’’ said Ellen Volker. ‘‘Mamma has a sister she hasn’t spoken to in over thirty years.’’
‘‘Shh!’’ she spat to her daughter. ‘‘Do the two of you have to have such big mouths?’’
‘‘Mamma!’’ said her daughter. ‘‘I’ve never seen you like this, least ways, not in front of strangers.’’
‘‘Mrs. Wallace,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘This is very important. We have to find this woman. The United States Marshals already know that you are a relative, and they will be coming here too.’’
‘‘Marshals?’’ said Carley and Ellen together.
‘‘Gramma, you’d better talk,’’ said Carley.
‘‘Look what you’ve done,’’ said Sarah Wallace. ‘‘I’m trying to protect you and look what you’ve done.’’
‘‘Mother! Maybe if you hadn’t been so secretive and told us why you were so set against her genealogy research, Carley would have understood. She’s an adult now and you can’t treat her, or me, like a child and keep secrets that you say are for our protection. If we’re in danger, we need to know so we can do something. For heaven’s sake, don’t tell us we’re in danger and then not tell us what we’re supposed to look out for. You are being ridiculous and mean about this. Talk to these people.’’
Sarah stared at her daughter. Diane got the idea that it took a lot to get Ellen Volker mad, but when she got mad, her family paid attention. The grandmother shook her head. ‘‘Maybe you’re right.’’
She poured herself a glass of tea and took a drink as if it were whisky.
‘‘I have a sister, Jerusha, who’s nine years younger than me. I don’t know if you remember her, Ellen.’’
‘‘Yes, I remember. I was a teenager when you two had the falling out,’’ she said.
‘‘Falling out? Is that what you would call it? I suppose I should have told you the story a long time ago. If I had, we wouldn’t be here arguing.’’
‘‘Well, tell us now, Mamma.’’
‘‘Jerusha married a man named Alain Delaflote. Our parents didn’t like him or his family, and neither did I. But Alain had good looks and money, and that was all that mattered to my sister. Of course, she was beautiful too, all blond curls and Scarlett O’Hara waist. She married him in a big wedding—long gown, doves. Lavish does not begin to describe it. I thought it was embarrassing.’’
‘‘Do you have pictures?’’ asked Carley.
‘‘I have nothing to remind me of her,’’ said her grandmother. ‘‘She is dead to me.’’
Carley looked wide-eyed at her grandmother. ‘‘What happened?’’ she whispered.
‘‘If you’ll be patient, I’ll tell you,’’ said her grandmother.
Diane wanted her to hurry and get it out, but she could see Kingsley leaning forward, hanging on every word.
‘‘Alain was in the shipping business, as was his father before him and his father before him. They have been around these parts forever and most people think they are some of the most respectable people on the Outer Banks. Little do they know what they have living among them.
‘‘My husband lost his job one time—he was an accountant before he retired—and Alain offered him a position in his office doing bookkeeping. My sister never let me forget their largesse , as she called it. I can hear her now, the way she pronounced it, always more accented than the rest of the words in the sentence, as if she were stuck on one sheet of her worda-day calendar.’’
Gramma took a sip of tea and grabbed a chocolate chip cookie. She ate all of it before she resumed her story.
‘‘My sister got pregnant. It wasn’t easy for her. She had triplets.’’ Sarah smiled. ‘‘Cutest little things you have ever seen and just as identical as you could imagine. She had to keep colored ribbons tied to their wrists to tell them apart. I helped her with them. That was about the only time we got along was taking care of those babies. Alain was indifferent to them. He would pat their heads, smile when someone complimented them, but