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receiver from her grandmother’s fingers and laid it on the counter. “Grammy.” Violet gently shook her. “What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”
    â€œNo,” her grandmother rasped, in a voice so low Violet could barely discern it. “No, it’s not true.”
    â€œMrs. Baker,” the man shouted from the phone, “are you all right?”
    Her grandmother’s face went ashen, and she was trembling. No, she wasn’t all right.
    Violet grabbed the handset. “This is Mrs. Baker’s granddaughter, Violet. Who is this and what did you say to upset her?”
    â€œViolet?” Shock tinged the man’s deep voice.
    â€œYes, who is this?”
    â€œSheriff Monroe.” He hesitated, his voice husky. “Grady.”
    â€œGrady?” Darlene’s brother?
    â€œI’m sorry…I had to give your grandmother some bad news.” His breath whistled out. “Violet, your father is dead.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    G RADY GRITTED HIS TEETH . He’d never cared for Jed Baker. And when Violet had first left town, years ago, he’d halfway blamed her for Darlene’s death. Hell, he’d been a stupid adolescent at the time, battling his own guilt. Using her as the scapegoat had been easy. She was the reason his sister had rushed across the hollow alone. She hadn’t been able to tell them where to find Darlene.
    But she had been only eight years old.
    He stifled the sympathy he felt for her now. If her father had killed Darlene, then he deserved to die, although suicide wasn’t nearly severe enough punishment. And if Violet and her grandmother had known her father was guilty and hadn’t told…
    But what if the coroner did find evidence of foul play? What if his own dad had learned that Baker killed Darlene, and had gone back to finish their fight?
    No, that train of thought was too dangerous.
    She was so quiet he wondered if she’d fainted. And how old was the grandmother now—eighty? Ninety? “Violet?”
    â€œY-yes,” she said in a choked voice. “How…how did you track us down here?”
    â€œLloyd Driver, the lawyer who handled your father’s papers.”
    â€œHow…how did my father die?”
    Her whispered words echoed all the usual queries he’d expected. The hows and whys, the unanswered questions. “He left a suicide note.”
    â€œWhat? He killed himself?”
    â€œI’m just telling you what I found. I’m having the note analyzed to make certain it’s his handwriting.”
    â€œWhat does the note say? Did he give a reason?”
    The part he dreaded the most. Violet might love her father, but she’d also cared for Grady’s sister. He’d never forgotten the day he, his dad and the sheriff had driven to her house to inquire about Darlene. He’d heard Violet’s childish cries through the closed door. And the next day she’d been gone. Later, rumors spread that she was a spooky kid, that she claimed to hear voices in her head, that she might be schizophrenic.
    â€œTell me,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I want to know. I have to know.”
    He hesitated. “This can wait until you come back for the funeral. I assume you’ll want to bury him here. Or…maybe not.”
    â€œI…I don’t know.” Uncertainty laced her voice. “Just tell me what the note said.”
    He cleared his throat. “Violet—”
    â€œPlease, Grady.”
    Her soft plea twisted his insides. She sounded so young and vulnerable. He pictured those big sky-blue eyes, the innocent little girl who used to tag along behind him with his sister. The scrawny kid Darlene had felt sorry for, because the other kids called her white trash.
    What did she look like now? Was she still homely? Did she still think about Darlene? Did she realize today was the anniversary of Darlene’s death?
    He didn’t care. He’d wanted