We walked outside and headed down the corridor. Leo didn't say a word.
"I guess they're off the hook for the murder," I said.
"It still doesn't prove they didn't hire someone else to do the job," he responded, reaching into his pocket for the key to Mary Larson's house. Listen, if you want to look over the crime scene, you'll need to go tonight. The Inspector and his band of merry young detectives should be finished with it by now. I'm going back to my office to wade through the Larson family's past."
"Thanks, Captain."
Leo's frustration was beginning to show. The press was trying to bury him and the rodents at the top were gnawing at his badge. I knew I had to find some way to put an end to this three-ring circus, both for Leo's sake and mine.
I pulled into Mary Larson's driveway a little before dark. Mrs. Lipton was standing in her front yard. When
she recognized the car, she came running across the street to meet me.
"Is everything alright, Mrs. Lipton?" I asked.
"I was hoping you'd be the Police," she replied, breathing heavily.
"Why were you expecting the Police?"
"The detective that was here this morning told me that someone would be coming tonight to let me into the house so I can clean. It's the least I can do."
"Was it Lieutenant Mathers?"
"On, no, I've met the Lieutenant. This was a young woman wearing a trench coat. She was carrying a manila envelope."
"She must have been one of the Inspector's rookies. In any case, I did bring the key and I'm going inside to have a look around. You're welcome to join me."
After being locked out of Mary's house for almost two months, Mrs. Lipton expected the dwelling to be in a considerable state of disarray, but I don't think she imagined the disaster area we discovered.
The place had been trashed. Someone had overturned chairs, dressers and stereo equipment in search of something the Police had obviously overlooked.
"Oh my goodness," Mrs. Lipton whispered, covering her mouth.
"Listen to me, Mrs. Lipton," I said, taking a business card from my pocket and handing it to her. "This is Captain Paremor's number. I want you to go back to your house and call him."
After Mrs. Lipton had safely left the house, I reached under my coat and pulled out my .38 ACP semi-automatic handgun. Cautiously advancing through the obstacle course of shattered vases and mutilated furniture, I made my way up the stairs to Mary's bedroom. The mattress was ripped and the frame had been dismantled. Part of the rug had been pulled back from the corner. Several pieces of floorboard, which had evidently been dislodged, were lying next to a dented metal box containing nothing more than a single sheet of paper. Three names typed in large bold print occupied the majority of the paper's space. The names were "Judge Henry Campbell; Mother Damien's Samaritan Clinic; and Dr. Nick Myers."
Someone had broken into the house with a specific goal in mind and by all appearances the mission was a success.
I'd completed my inspection of the house by the time Mrs. Lipton returned. '
"Did you get in touch with the Captain?" I asked her.
"He'd left for the day, but Lieutenant Mathers took my call. She's on her way."
Every emotion this gentle lady had ever suppressed seemed to simmer to the surface when she surveyed the malicious carnage that had besieged the home of her beloved friend.
"Perhaps you should sit down, Mrs. Lipton," I said, taking her arm.
"I think you're right," she agreed, as she sat down on the battered sofa.
I continued searching through the rubble until I came across a photograph of Dr. Lambert and his wife, Jessica. Mrs. Lambert's reaction caught me by surprise.
"I don't understand!" She exclaimed.
"What's the matter?"
"That's the woman I saw this morning. She said she was a Police detective."
"That's Jessica Lambert. Did she say anything else?"
"She told me the investigation was going well and the Police were close to making an arrest. I can't believe I let that broad trick me! I'm such a fool."
"That's not true. I remember you telling me you'd never seen her. She merely used that to her advantage."
"I'd like to give her a piece of my mind."
"I want you to go back to your house and wait for the Police."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to find Jessica. Will you be alright?"
"Sure. Thank you, Mr. Masters."
"I'll keep you posted."
Mrs. Lipton's contempt was understandable, yet considering the kind of violence our prolific imposter was capable of; I was pleased there wasn't more to commiserate than a dislocated ego.
After driving around in circles for several hours, I remembered something Victoria Lambert told me when we first met. Jessica was at her business every morning before sunrise. So I decided to wait until Monday morning and be the first customer at the door of Lambert's Pharmacy.
Realizing my car was a bit too recognizable; I parked in an empty lot a few yards down the street. Captain Paremore was still unavailable, but with a little fast-talking, I'd managed to convince Lieutenant Mathers to meet me. She had yet to arrive. I wanted to wait, but when I saw the lights go on at the drug store, my outrage wouldn't let me sit still. Jessica's little mind game had reached the final round and one wrong answer was going to cost her a ride downtown.
I was about ten feet away from the Pharmacy when I was stopped in my tracks by the unanticipated blast of a .32 caliber revolver. I raced to the door and cautiously entered the building where I encountered a masked intruder running toward the side exit.
"Drop your weapon!" I demanded.
The desperate trespasser pointed the gun at me and opened fire. I took cover behind a magazine rack, demolishing a vitamin display case on my way to the floor. After regaining my stature, I returned fire, but the shooter had retreated out the door. I hurried down one of the isles and pursued the tall, thin figure into the alley where I was suddenly blinded by the intense headlights of Jessica's minivan. I fired four rounds into the lights, hoping to compel the suspect to stop, but the speeding vehicle just kept accelerating forward. Having no other recourse, I dove into the open dumpster as the callous perpetrator rocketed past me. The driver entered the street and prepared to turn left, totally oblivious to stragtegic presence of Lieutenant Mathers who'd positioned herself in the bed of a parked pickup truck. Mathers fired two shots into the windshield, attempting to alter the minivan's course. Undeterred by the perilous offensive, the quick-thinking brigand sideswiped the pickup with a convulsing force that catapulted the Lieutenant over the side. Mathers landed on the sidewalk, striking the back of her head against the pavement.
Dented on one side and barely maneuverable, the minivan crashed into another parked automobile on opposite side of the street. The livid criminal emerged from the wreckage prepared for battle, but the injured detective didn't move.
In the quiescent morning hours before daylight, a lone gunman had left behind an unconscious police officer and a very smelly private investigator. Yet, despite our present condition, Mathers and I had little to complain about in comparison to Jessica Lambert. She was dead.
By the time Captain Paremore arrived at the scene, Mathers had been transported to Westlake Mercy General Hospital and the Paramedics were attending to a few minor scrapes I'd incurred from my nosedive into the garbage.
"Have you lost your mind?" Leo asked.
"Nice to see you too, Captain," I responded.
"I was called to a hostage situation. I just heard about Mahalia. How is she?"
"It looks bad, Leo. She took a pretty hard blow to the back of her head. I called her dad. He's on his way to the hospital."
"Was this a robbery gone bad?"
"I don't think so," Levi interrupted as he approached us with Jessica's purse in his hand. "I found this on the desk in the office. It contained this manila envelope along with several credit cards and $16,000 in cash."
There were news articles and surveillance reports inside the envelope. "Now I see why Jessica ransacked the crime scene," Leo said as he began reading one of the articles. "Jessica Baines is wanted for murder in Texas, Iowa and New Mexico. Suspected Black Widow is believed to have killed three husbands for the insurance money. The surprises never stop."
"Did you get a look at the shooter?" Levi asked.
"The victim was killed by a .32 caliber slug to the heart at close range," Levi said.
"Can this day get any worse?" The Captain wondered.
Leo shouldn't have asked that question, for in a few moments, the press began setting up; more or less guaranteeing the arrival of the ubiquitous Inspector Hoffman. He was not in one of his better moods. The unsettling odor of my trash-stained suit didn't help.
"What IS that smell?" He asked, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief to put over his nose.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Masters had to take cover in a dumpster," Leo answered.
"This is crazy." Hoffman exclaimed. "Another member of the Larson family is dead and one of my detectives is on her way to the hospital. You've even got Masters in the middle of all this."
"Inspector, we've made some discoveries and I'm going to need some time to see where they lead," Leo attempted to explain.
"Time is the one thing we don't have," the Inspector argued. "The Mayor's office is bgreathing down my neck. This case is political dynamite and when it explodes we'll all be victims of the fallout. The Chief will be out of town until Frieday. When he returns, the three of us are going to discuss your conduct throughout the course of this investigation. Now, I'm going over to talk to those reporters. I suggest you spend the next four days trying to solve these murders."
"Don't let him get to you, Leo," I said. "It's not over yet."
"Go home, Pete. Change your clothes and get some rest. I'm going back to the station to start all over again."
"I complied with most of Leo's instructions. I went home and changed, but I couldn't even think about resting. In four days, a very good friend was going to watch his career go up in smoke. I had to do something.
Leo was working tirelessly at his desk when I knocked on his office door.
"I thought I told you to go home," he chided.
"You did," I confirmed. "But like you, I can't go down without a fight."
"Well, you might as well sit down. I'm waiting on a call from the Bishop County Sheriff's Department.
"What can they tell you?" I asked as I picked up a stack of newspaper clippings.
"Deborah Larson was at a party in Bishop County the night her grandmother was killed. I recently learned that some of the neighbors called the Sheriff to complain about the noise. I'd like to know if one of the deputies who responded actually saw her there."
"If the party was as wild as reported, there were probably a lot of people there. What makes you think the Deputies would remember one person?"
"You've met Deborah. Would you forget?"
"Good point."
One of the news clippings caught my attention. It discussed a twenty year old court case involving one of Mary Larson's employees. Leo continued to talk, but I gave no response.
"I had Levi check Mary Larson's bank records," he said. "She paid more than $7,000 to the Harland Pratt Detective Agency. There's no telling how many other people she's had investigated besides Jessica."
"Have you read this article about a court case in Miami, twenty years ago?"
"Yes. The Larsons owned a trucking company then. One of their employees, Michael Dawson, was accused of embezzlement."
"This is a photo of his wife and eleven year old daughter," I said, looking at the picture through a magnifying glass.
"What do you see?"
"A motive for murder. Can I get this picture blown up?"
"Sure."
"You're going to have to get a search warrant. And we'll also have to run down some old records."
"I suppose you'll eventually tell me what's going on."
"All in good time, Captain," I replied on my way out.
"Later that evening, I explained everything to Leo while Carla Janic waited quietly in Interrogation Room B. All the evidence had been gathered and I was confident that we'd solved the case.
"I demand to know why you're holding me here!" Carla shouted. "I've done nothing wrong."
"Other than kill an old lady," Leo argued.
"Are you crazy?" She asked. "I loved Mary. She was like a mother to me."
"We know who you are, Carla," I said, placing the enlarged photo of her from twenty years ago on the table.
"What is this?" She asked.
"It's a picture of you and your family outside a courthouse in Miami. You took a real chance, Carla. I don't know why Mary didn't recognize you. That birthmark on your face is very distinctive. I first saw it when Victoria Lambert showed me your picture. I guess Mary just wanted to put those troubled times behind her."
"Well, I couldn't them behind me," she told me. "That old witch accused my father of stealing from her company. He was sentenced to five years in prison. My father was a decent man. The thought of being labled a thief for the rest of his life repulsed him. He killed himself the first year."
"You've held a grudge against Mary Larson all these years," the Captain said.
"You'd better believe I've held a grudge!" She insisted. "Do you know how hard life can be for an unwanted child? After my father's death my mother lost her mind. They put her in an institution. I was sent to live with relatives who resented the extra mouth to feed. No one seemed to mind letting me know that I was the poor discarded child that they rescued from this cruel world. They were cold and empty people who spent more time cursing society than loving me. So you're right. I hated Mary Larson, and I wanted to kill her. When I learned she'd moved to the Panhandle, I devised a scheme to befriend her. I was going to bide my time until the perfect moment, but someone else took the barracuda out before I could settle my score."
"What?" A surprised Captain asked.
"That's right," she said. "I didn't kill the old bag."
"Give me a break, Carla," I pleaded. "We already know your real name is Dawson. Janic's your mother's maiden name. The birthmark in tis picture is identical to the one Victoria showed you how to conceal with makeup. There's also the matter of a .32 caliber revolver found in your apartment. If the lab determines it was used to kill Jessica Lambert, you'll go down for two murders."
"Why would I kill Jessica?" She asked. "She was more like me than any of them. As for that gun, it was legal. I bought it three years ago."
Sergeant Van Eason had just received a call from the ballistics lab. He opened the door and beckoned for us to come outside.
"The bullet that killed Jessica Lambert didn't come from Carla's gun." He said. "I also took a ride down to the college library. The librarian and four other students distinctly remember that Carla was there the night of the murder."
"I thought we had her," I said, as Leo and I walked back into the room.
"How much longer are you going to keep me here?" Carla asked.
"You're free to go," the Captain replied. "We may need to speak with you again, so stay close."
Carla stood up and slowly walked toward the door as if she had something on her mind. "It's funny," she concluded, "I spent all those years hating Mary for ruining my father and destroying my life. Now that she's gone, I kind of miss her. How strange is that?"
When Carla left, Leo and I followed her out. s we walked down the hall past Lieutenant Mathers' office, we noticed Levi sitting quietly at her desk.
"What do they have in common?" I asked.
"Both men lived and worked in Sacramento, California," Levi answered.
"I'm still not sure what we're dealing with in this case," the Captain admitted. "Mistakes made at the crime scene suggest an amateur, but hit-men occasionally trip themselves up. The lab determined the killer was not a relative.
"It's too bad we weren't around to see the birth of every family member," Levi concluded.
"Of course!" I exclaimed, snapping my fingers. "Why didn't I see it earlier? We'll need another search warrant."
"Why not?" Leo said. "After the last wild goose chase, I'm sure Judge Sebvert will sign it with a smile."
"Levi, you'll have to make a few calls," I told him. "If I'm right, we should know the identity of Mary Larson's killer within the next two days. I also think you should have Dr. Lambert brought in."
"Why?" Leo asked.
"Because he's the essential piece in this entire puzzle," I replied.
Two days later, I made an early morning call to Victoria Lambert, with complete confidence that she'd discuss the subjhect of our conversation with the other members of her family, I asked her to conduct a search for the infamous .32 caliber revolver. I was also certain that Brenda would want to know why her husband, Lanigan, was being held for questioning by the U.S. Attorney. So I informed Mrs. Lambert that Captain Paremore and I would be stopping by later that evening.
Deborah and Brenda looked worried when they walked into Victoria's house. They were concerned about their Aunt's state of mind so soon after hearing of Jessica's death. Learning of her secret past was especially painful.
Victoria was sitting quietly at the kitchen having a cup of coffee when her nieces found her. "Hi, girls," she sighed, resting her chin upon her closed fist.
Brenda's heart immediately went out to her grandmother's exhausted sister. She stood behind the old lady's chair and lovingly embraced her. Deborah sat down and took Victoria's hand.
"Were going to be here for you, Aunt Vick," Brenda assured her.
Victoria could feel the pounding of Brenda's heart. Her trembling hands made her perceptive old Aunt uneasy as she turned around to look into the distressed young woman's eyes. Something else was wrong.
"What's happened, Brenda?" She asked.
"The police took Lanigan to the station this morning," she explained. "They wanted to question him about some kind of fraud. I wasn't allowed to see him."
"Oh, my dear child," Victoria consoled. "Will this family suffering ever end? I'm also concerned about Carter. With everything that's happened, he could start drinking again."
"Where is Carter?" Deborah asked.
"I haven't seen him since yesterday," her Aunt replied. "He could be anywhere."
After a brief moment of silent contemplation, the three women were startled by a knock at the door.
"That's probably the Police," Victoria said.
"Brenda, take Aunt Vick into the living room and sit down, will you? Deborah instructed, "I'll answer the door."
When Deborah opened the door, it was obvious that she wasn't happy to see us. "If you cops are tired of putting my immediate family in jail, I believe we have some cousins in Atlanta," she told us.
"That won't be necessary," the Captain replied. "I intend to make the last arrest in this case tonight."
"What are you talking about, Paremore?" Brenda demanded as she angrily sprang to her feet. "And what have you done with my husband?"
"Mr. Turner is being questioned by the U.S. Attorney," Leo answered. "I'm no expert on the subject, but according to the ledger we found at the crime scene, your grandmother donated several thousands of dollars to various charities. There would appear to be some discrepancies between the amounts recorded and the actual funds received by the organizations. The FEDS just want to clear a few things up. You'll be able to see your husband tomorrow."
Don't you people have any compassion?" Deborah asked. "My Aunt is already scared to death. Carter's wife is dead and we haven't heard a word from him."
Dr. Lambert is in police custody," Leo informed them.
What's he done?" The Doctor's terrified mother inquired.
He wilfully concealed the identity of Mary Larson's killer," Leo said. "The state Attorney is deciding whether or not there's enough evidence to press charges, considering the circumstances."
What circumstances?" Brenda asked.
The killer was one of Dr. Lambert's patients," the Captain replied.
You people amaze me!" Brenda declared. "First you call up my aunt and make her look for some old gun; and now you're accusing her son of aiding a murderer."
I'm not surprised Mrs. Lambert couldn't find the gun," I said. "It could be at the bottom of a lake by now. Don't you agree, Deborah?"
Why are you asking me?" She wondered.
Because you shot Jessica after she discovered that you were the one who killed your grandmother," Paremore told her.
This is outrageous!" Brenda shouted, tossing her hands in the air.
Why are you doing this to our family?" A heartbroken Victoria cried.
Brenda sat back down and lovingly put her arms around the grieving matriarch. "Don't worry, Aunt Vick," she said, "I won't let them ralroad Deborah."
I'm sorry, Mrs. Lambert," the Captain said, "But I wouldn't have come here without proof."
There is no proof!" Deborah insisted. "I was at a party in another county."
I spoke to the Bishop County Sheriff's Deputies who responded to a call at the home at your hose the night of the murder," Paremore explained. "By the time they arrived, things had gotten a bit out of hand. There was a lot of drinking. A few of the kids were arrested for drug possession. Neither of the deputies remembered seeing you."
Pretty flimsy, Captain," Brenda critiqued. "You seem to have forgotten that my husband has been following this case from the beginning. Deborah couldn't have murdered our grandmother because the killer was not a relative, and he also had AIDS."
Do you want to tell them?" Paremore asked Deborah.
Tell us what?" Victoria frantically inquired. "What is he talking about, child?"
"These were found in the medicine cabinet at Deborah's home," the Captain continued, as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing three sample bottles of medication. "They are Lamivudine, Zidovudine and Efavirenz. It wouldn't be too difficult for a doctor whose wife is a pharmacist to keep you supplied with these HIV medications without a prescription."
"You're right," she admitted, as she watched Victoria's body go limp. "I do have AIDS. But so do a lot of other people. It doesn't prove I killed anyone."
"She's right, Captain," Brenda agreed. "Besides, your own lab told you the killer wasn't a member of this family."
"I think I can shed some light on that question," I interceded, reaching into my pocket for a folded document. "I didn't put it together until Sergeant Van Eason mentioned that none of us were present when the members of your family were born. When Jessica broke into your grandmother's house to steal the reports and news articles, a sheet of paper was left in a metal box. THree names were written on the paper. Judge Henry Campbell; Dr. Nick Myers, and Mother Damien's Samaritan Clinic. The clinic is still in operation in Sacramento, California."
"So what does that prove?" Deborah asked.
"It didn't prove anything until I remembered something that Dr. Lambert told me," I replied. "Before you were born, your parents moved to California. It took some doing, but we found out your mother gave birth to a boy. He died a few days later. This is his death certificate. They returned to Florida four years later with you."
"You're crazy, man," she said.
"Dr. Myers was your mother's obstetrician," I continued. "He delivered the baby. Before becoming the family court judge, Henry Campbell was an attorney who helped your parents adopt you."
"How could you possibly know that?" Brenda asked.
"Because Judge Campbell's former secretary is still alive," Paremore explained. "We found her in a nursing home in Tampa. She distinctly remembered a young couple who adopted a red-headed girl in 1962. She said the girl was tall for her age."
"You're making all of this up!" Victoria insisted. "You want to trick us!"
"Deborah can put an end to this whole thing," I said. "If she takes a blood test and the DNA doesn't match, we'll be out of your lives for good. What do you think, Deborah?"
At that moment, the caustic Ice Queen began to break down. "She had no right to treat people like dirt," she said.
"Before you say anything else, you need to know that you don't have to speak without an attorney present," the Captain interrutpted.
"None of that matters now," Deborah insisted. "Do you think I'm afraid of facing a death sentence? Too late! I stopped by the old bag's house about two weeks before she died. I'd bought some new clothes from a nearby store and I wanted to try them on. She was used to me stopping in. On the way to one of the guest rooms, I happened to notice her bedroom door was open. Her journal was on the bed. She was going to give the restaurant to Carla. I put my blood, sweat and tears into that place. It wasn't fair! I wrote down the combination to the safe, and made a plan to come back. I knew she liked to drive down to her condo every Thursday night. That little family conference fiasco made things that much easier. I cut the screen with a utility knife and used the lug wrench from my car to break the window. I cut my arm climbing in. There wasn't time to nurse the wound, so I tied it with a handkerchief and got to work. Everything was working perfectly until the old bag came home with one of her migraines. She walked in and caught me cleaning out the safe. The crazy hag started screaming at me. When she said I was trash just like my mother, I slapped her. She charged me like a bull. We almost tore that roomo apart. I don't know what I was thinking when I picked up the tire tool. A lifetime of rage and degradation had all come down to one moment. I didn't go there intending to kill my grandmother. The money and jewelry were nothing more than the compensation for the years of suffering she caused me and my parents. I've known I was adopted since I was seventeen. My father told me. He didn't want the old woman to know. She was cruel and vindictive. You probably don't believe me, but I am sorry it happened."
"Why did you kill Carter's wife?" Paremore asked.
"Jessica figured it all out," Deborah explained. "She knew Carter was treating me for AIDS. The day after she spoke to Masters, she confronted me and threatened to blow the whistle. At the time, I thought she was the only link between me and the murder. I was in too deep. When Masters and that lady cop showed up at the drug store, I paniced. In the process of trying to avoid prison, I almost killed a cop. Now I'm going anyway. What a life."
Deborah walked over to her sobbing relatives and placed her hands on their shoulders. "I'm so worry," she said, "I never meant to hurt either of you."
"Place Miss Larson under arrest," the Captain ordered Levi. "Inform her of her rights."
As the two officers escorted Deborah out, I struggled to think of something that would make Brenda and Victoria feel better, but the words were beyond my grasp. All the platitudes and worn out cliches in the world weren't going to make a dent in the impenetrable wall of anguish that would cast a gloomy shadow over the dreams of those two women for generations to come. I couldn't begin to imagine the depth of betrayal they'd suffered at the hands of their own family. There was nothing I could do or say. So, I just left them alone to comfort one another with the hope that they'd find the answers that would bring them peace in their own good time.
Just as healing would take time for the members of Mary Larson's family, the entire community would spend a considerable number of years reflecting on the tragedy as well. Yet in the midst of all, we had lost a few glimers of glorious splendor began to pierce the darkness. Captain Paremore received a commendation for his efforts. The State Attorney decided not to pursue charges in the case of Dr. Lambert. Even Lanigan Turner managed to procure a deal with the FEDs. He'd be a free man in six months.
However, the best news came in the form of the Lieutenant's upgraded medical condition. After two weeks in Intensive Care, she'd been moved to a private room. The prognosis was excellent. I stopped by to see her a few minutes before the end of visiting hours. True to her workaholic nature, she was sitting up in bed pounding the keys of her laptop.
I opened the door and slowly stepped in. "How's it going, Mahalia?" I whispered.
"Masters," she looked up and smiled as if she were surprised to see me. "Come on in."
"Why are you working?" I asked, as I sat down in the chair beside her bed. "You're supposed to be
recuperating."
"I was just looking over this information about Jessica Lambert. She was quite a conn artist. How could she get away with it for so long? She traveled all over the country, seducing old men into marriage, then killing them for the insurance money a few months later. Didn't they see what she was up to at some point?"
"Who can explain a heart in love?"
"Speaking of love; Brenda Turner came by to see me today. She's expecting a baby."
"That's great news."
Before we could say another word, a voice came over the intercom, informing visitors that it was time to
go.
"I guess it's later than I thought."
"Well, I knew I was cutting it pretty close," I said as I stood up. As I headed for the door, I happened to catch a troubled stare in Mahalia's eyes. "Is something else on your mind?" I asked.
"You know, I've always expected the worst from most people." Then she turned to look at me. "It really amazes me when the most skillful liars seem to experience a change of heart."
"I don't understand."
"Jessica's M.O. It was consistent until she met Carter. She stayed with him for six years. Could she have really been in love this time?"
"I guess we'll never know."
She smiled. "Good night, Pete."
"Good night, Lieutenant."
As I walked out the front entrance of the hospital, a gentle evening rain began to fall. The soothing drafts made me feel calm as I made my way across the well lit parking lot. I pondered the impact that Jessica had made on Mahalia. Even a stone wall like the Lieutenant couldn't help but notice the transforming powers of real love.
I also thought about Brenda and Lanigan's new baby. The child would be born into a community that would never forget the widely publicized misfortune of the Larson family. Still, the new parents would have a priceless opportunity to learn from their own tragic experiences and teach the young one the importance of cherishing the loved ones in his or her life. Would the coming offspring of one of the town's most adored families be brought up in an atmosphere of love, mercy, empathy and consideration for his fellowman? The rest of us could only hope.