A wonderful story of masterful misdirection.

Letter From Her Daughter

J. Dean Casey

Det. Stan Morrisey switched on his car radio:

". . . sources have confirmed the identity of the body of a teenage girl found this morning in Oslo Park as Tina Simmons--"

He angrily flicked the radio off; his hand had never left the knob. "Damned departmental leaks," he swore out loud. He was at least a good half hour away from the Simmon's place. The heartless SOB's at the news service hadn't even given him a chance to officially tell her family. Not that he'd been looking forward to it.

After arriving at the immaculate house on the hill, he continued to hold out hope they hadn't heard the broadcast until a young woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair answered the door. Red-rimmed, watery eyes of china blue stared at him. Somewhere in the house a telephone began to ring.

"I'm Detective Morrisey with the Metro Police," he said, showing his ID. "I'd like to speak to you about Tina Simmons. May I come in?" He glanced behind her, to the ringing phone. "I guess you already know why I'm here."

The woman nodded, stepping aside. "Friends have been calling. I'm Camille, Tina's sister." She asked him to wait and disappeared into a large drawing room. The phone stopped ringing.

Tina was a brown-eyed brunette, and he glanced about wondering at the difference between the sisters. When Camille returned, he said, "I realize this is a difficult time, but I'll need to ask a few questions. We have a report filed last week that states Tina was abducted by her boyfriend, Harlan Price?"

"My mother made that out. Tina left with him willingly, but she was underage. We've been expecting someone from the police department. I've taken the phone off its hook so you and my mother can talk. She has something she wants to give you."

Camille led him through the expansive house, arms hugged to her body, and Morrisey sensed she was bothered by more than her sister's death. They stepped out onto a terrace where a woman reclined on a chaise lounge holding an envelope in her lap. Mrs. Simmons appeared almost too young for the strands of gray in her dark brown hair. She wore sunglasses, although the sky was overcast, and he imagined they concealed eyes red and puffy from crying.

After they were introduced, he offered his condolences and took a seat. Camille stood near the chaise and said, "We received a letter from Tina a few days ago. I told my mother it wasn't important, but she wanted the police to have it."

"It's always best to let us decide," he said. He glanced at the opened envelope. "Is that it?"

Mrs. Simmons nodded, shifting her gaze to the view of the valley below the terrace. "Tina must have mailed it before--" She began to sob.

He wasn't sure what to say. He had a fifteen-year-old daughter himself and couldn't imagine what she was going through. He didn't want to imagine it.

Camille put an arm around her mother who quickly regained her composure. "I'm all right," she said, turning to him. "Tina was always a wild one. But she was all I had left of her father after he died." As if reading the question in his mind, she added, "Camille is my first child from a previous marriage."

She sighed. "I gave her everything she ever wanted, but when I found out she was seeing that Harlan and how old he was, I knew he was no good. Isn't there something wrong with a nineteen-year-old boy interested in a girl her age?"

"It's my fault," Camille said quietly. "They only met because I knew him."

Morrisey glanced at her curiously. Her mother reached out a comforting hand. "You know I don't blame you, Camille. I just wanted the detective to understand." She gripped the letter. "The day Tina left with Harlan, I was so angry. I said terrible things. Words I thought I could never take back."

Her voice caught. "But it's okay, you see, because of the letter Tina sent. She didn't write very much, but she told me she understood I was just trying to protect her. She said she loved me and forgave me--I couldn't have lived with myself not knowing that."

Mrs. Simmons presented the letter to him. "Maybe it won't be of any use, but I thought it might help in your investigation."

Taking the envelope, he assured her it would be returned and wished her well. Camille walked him to the door, but hesitated, crossing her arms nervously.

"Detective, is it really necessary to take the letter?"

He eyed her suspiciously. "It might contain important evidence."

"You don't understand," she said, shaking her head. Her eyebrows knit together and she gazed past him at the wall. "Tina gave me enough reasons for hating her, but I never did. When she left, she hurt mother so much I couldn't stand it anymore. So I read that letter, like I always do my mother's mail, and told her what she needed to hear, because I would have done anything to ease her pain."

When he only stared without comprehension, she said in surprise, "Don't you know? Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Camille regarded him silently as she showed him out. Before she closed the door, she said, "I want Harlan to pay for what he did, but that letter won't help you. My mother is blind ."

Morrisey stood alone outside the house, and for the first time looked closely at the envelope, flipping it over. Then he quickly pulled out the single folded sheet. Except for a stamp, the envelope was as blank as the paper.