Dust to Dust

the Gauthier-Farragut divorce? Certainly you do, beautiful Edith Farragut in that big Parisian hat coming out of the courthouse dressed just like she did when she was a young girl. Here in North Georgia! She was a sight. Remember us laughing. We were awful.
Well, I have more news. You remember my telling you that three years ago her daughter, Maybelle Gauthier, just dropped off the face of the earth? Neither Edith nor Jonathan would talk about her. You wouldn’t believe the rumors that were flying. Her father married her off to a prince. No one believed that one. For having such a beautiful mother, Maybelle was quite a gawky girl. The Barbers down the street said she committed suicide. She was over forty and never married, Mr. Barber said, so what else could she do? He always was a harsh judge of character. Some of the kinder folk said she went to Paris to study art. I think I believed that. She was such a wonderful artist. You remember the portraits she did—and the landscape your mother bought that time. It was beautiful. But I digress.
Here’s the juicy bit of news I promised. Maybelle’s father, Jonathan, took Everett (you remember Everett—Jonathan Gauthier’s son by that new young wife he married seventeen years ago. Everett is about Vanessa’s age, I think, maybe a bit younger) and his wife, and moved to Atlanta—and changed their name to Walters! Can you believe that? He changed his name! He didn’t tell anyone. Virgil found out quite by accident when he was getting some legal work done. (They share the same lawyer. Virgil had no idea.) We still don’t know what happened to Maybelle. Her mother lives in Marietta. As far as I know, she is still keeping with her maiden name, Farragut. Sarah tried to ask her one time about Maybelle, but Edith ignored her. I wonder what happened to that girl. And why do you think Jonathan changed his name? Strange, isn’t it?
I’ll be happy to see you safe at home. I just can’t imagine living in strange countries all these years. Has Vanessa forgotten her native tongue? You’re lucky she didn’t marry a foreigner while you were there. I’ll bet you’ll be glad to get back to civilization.
Safe journey,
Ernestina
    They arrived at the retirement home. The chauffeur pulled into a parking place near the door and stopped.

Chapter 52
    “Oh my. This is a dreary place,” said Lillian Chapman as she stepped out of the car and put a hand on Detective Hanks’ arm.
    “I would hate to live here,” muttered Vanessa. “It looks so sad.”
    Diane retrieved a box and a file folder from the car, then turned and looked at the building. It was a one-story sprawling structure of concrete blocks painted a pale yellow. The grass in the surrounding yard had turned brown and dry with the coming of fall. The few scraggly trees had already lost their leaves.
    “I appreciate your allowing us to come, Detective,” said Lillian. “This is going to be interesting.”
    “I’m hoping she will respond to someone who once knew her,” he said.
    They entered the building and went into an office just to the right of the front door. A young woman with multicolored hair got up from her desk and came to the counter. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt that said I’LL TRY TO BE NICER IF YOU TRY TO BE SMARTER .
    “Can I help you?” she asked with a bright smile. She quickly scanned the five of them and gathered up several forms. “You’ll have to fill these out,” she said before Hanks could give her an answer. The woman smiled at Lillian. “This is a real nice place.”
    “I’m sure,” said Lillian. “Very nice hair extensions you have, my dear. I particularly like the purple and green together.”
    The young woman patted her hair. “Oh, thanks.”
    Hanks showed her his badge. Diane noticed he had taken off his arm sling and left it in the car. His movements were a little stiff, but he wasn’t wincing in pain.
    “We have an appointment to see Miss Gauthier,” he said.
    “The police to see Miss Agnes? Well, I hope she hasn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t a bank job or anything, was it?” The young woman giggled at her joke.
    “Please send them in here, Miss Jolley.”
    Jolley , thought Diane. Her name is Jolley . They went into the office of Ms. Christina Wanamaker, according to the name on the door.
    “Please, sit down,” she said. She was a woman in her early forties. She had dyed black hair pulled back in a severe French twist. Thick eyebrows and turned-down lips. She