Dust to Dust

one can have.
    After a moment’s silence, Diane spoke. “Why do you think Marsha has not healed?”
    “I don’t know. At first, Wendy and I tried to help Marsha cope. But after a while, Wendy just went along with her, and I stayed across the street with my husband more and more. We quit having the neighborhood barbecues we used to have when the children were small. I have a son, Colton. He’s in California now at Berkeley studying political science. He’s getting a master’s.”
    “Do you see him much?” asked Diane.
    “Not a lot. I go out there some. I’m thinking about moving,” she said.
    Diane smiled.
    “My son doesn’t like to come here anymore. I don’t blame him. Bad memories. Wendy’s son, Tyler, is in law school at UGA now. He doesn’t come home much either. So much has changed. I sometimes resent Marsha and her family. I think Wendy does too. I know that’s unfair and cruel.”
    “But understandable,” said Diane. Kathy obviously wanted to talk. Diane wondered whether she had been frank with anyone about this.
    “Colton was a year younger than Ellie Rose. He and Tyler are the same age. We were so happy then. There were lots of kids in the neighborhood. Several people moved away after Ellie Rose’s death. Even though Colton was a boy, I was afraid after El’s death. You never know why someone kills children, or if yours might be next. All of us parents were afraid. Many distanced themselves from the Carruthers. Others, like Wendy and me, tried to help. But as I said, there was no helping her. I don’t know what it would have been like if it had been my child. Wendy said your child was murdered,” she said.
    “Yes,” said Diane. “I don’t talk about it much.”
    Kathy nodded as if she understood. “What did you think of us?” she asked, suddenly.
    “The three of you are very sad, especially Wendy and Marsha. They have turned very much inward. The whole time the three of you were here, you were the only one who seemed to be aware of your surroundings.”
    “Yes, we are different,” she said. “You noticed that?”
    “Yes, I noticed it. What I don’t understand is why the three of you came here today. Did Marsha actually expect to have me say that what I found really wasn’t true? Does she honestly think there is a chance Ryan Dance could get out of jail based on my findings about his sister’s death?”
    “Yes. Both of them think that. Marsha got some pretty mean calls that upset her after the article came out. And her daughter Samantha moved out. She is beside herself about that. But she never paid any attention to the poor girl. What did she expect? She wanted her family nearby, but out of her way. She never used to be so self-absorbed. Honestly, that’s true. She was just the nicest person. Ellie Rose was a nice girl too. Always cheerful, always had something sweet to say. Her death tried my faith. It did. I think it tried Marsha’s and Wendy’s too.”
    “Samantha moved out?” said Diane. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
    “She is eighteen. And, frankly, I think it’s a good thing. She was being smothered in that house. You were there. Could you live there?”
    No, Diane couldn’t have, but she didn’t say it. Instead she gave Kathy a prod. “Is there something you wanted to say to me?”
    “I wanted to ask you: Are you sure, are you really sure, that Stacy Dance was murdered?”
    “The Gainesville police will be receiving all the new evidence soon and they will decide how to proceed and what to divulge. So I can’t go into any specifics. However, I can tell you I have no doubts whatsoever, and neither does our medical examiner, that Stacy was murdered. And we both have had a lot of experience in what we do.”
    Kathy Nicholson’s eyes teared up. Diane reached for a tissue and handed it to her.
    “Are you afraid Marsha Carruthers or her husband might have done something to Stacy?” asked Diane.
    Kathy was quiet for several moments. “I would never say that. Never,” she said at last.
    “But you might worry about it?” said Diane.
    Kathy said nothing.
    “Is there anything you know that bothers you? Anything you’ve seen?” asked Diane.
    “It’s just the anger. We drove up here together. It was just terrible. Wendy drove and Marsha sat in the front seat. I sat in the back. We discussed strategy. It was all so—so frenetic. Marsha was so angry. I think it was equating the manner of Ellie Rose’s death to Stacy’s that got to her. Wendy called