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He looked up, distracted. “I’d say you hit pay dirt.”
They continued to sift through the material, finding—no surprise—a number of books, including a worn copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Catcher in the Rye, The Count of Monte Cristo, and a copy of Don Quixote in Spanish. There was also a letter opener which seemed a little old-fashioned—maybe it was a gift?—a nice fountain pen, and some old cough drops at the bottom of the box, tucked under several folders.
After twenty minutes of reading through letters and correspondence Mr. Williams had been keeping—mostly documents she guessed he’d simply never had time to throw away—she finally found something that made her sit up and take notice. Handwritten on plain, white stationary were three letters, unmistakably feminine. She scanned the first paragraph.
Love letters. Addressed to Jackson, and signed with an elaborate “E.”
They didn’t profess undying love or anything, but they were very personal. The first one was short, thanking him for being there when she needed someone, and that she appreciated how he’d just listened to her.
Allie had always appreciated that trait, too.
The next one was more intimate, and from its tone, she could assume they had taken their relationship to the n
ext level. It felt weird and kind of pervie reading these details about her teacher. Sam came over and picked up the first letter. He looked as weirded out as she had felt reading it. Maybe more.
Then she read the last letter.
Jackson,
Forgive me. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize… You’re who I want. I’ll give it up, everything, for you. It’s not your choice to make, so don’t push me away. It won’t change how I feel.
I’m going to tell him. Tell them both. Being truthful is the only way I can be happy.
Just be patient a little longer.
And don’t give up on me.
Love always,
E
Good lord. Señora Sanchez was right. Jackson Williams had been carrying on an affair with a married woman.
Allie dropped into a chair. The letter didn’t come out and say she was married, but she’d be foolish to pretend otherwise. “E” had said she would tell them both. Which most likely meant a husband and child.
Mr. Williams had had an affair, and the result was he’d likely broken up a family.
She felt sick. Sam pulled the letter from her fingers and read it. She waited. This definitely opened up the list of people who would have had a motive for killing him.
“You know the familiar saying, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?” she mused when he finished. “What if he ended things? Told her to go back to her family? Do you suppose this woman could have been have been distraught enough to murder him?”
“Allie, we don’t even know when these were written. This could have been a college fling, over before he arrived at St. Andrew’s. Don’t jump to conclusions. Besides, the police went through all this, and for whatever reason, they didn’t think these were important enough to keep as evidence.”
“Well, back then no one knew for certain what had happened to him,” she pointed out, feeling defensive at his brusque response. “It wasn’t a murder investigation. There were no motives, no suspicious clues left behind. But now, with his body turning up yards from the school, it clearly indicates foul play. These letters may mean something in light of that. I’m going to contact Detective Johnson, see if he has any interest in them.”
Sam’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything. She dialed the detective’s number. Voicemail. She spoke quickly, explaining she had some items that might be useful for his investigation, and asked him to return her call. Sam stared out the window and refused to meet her gaze.
She picked up the letter again and studied the signature. Who was this mystery woman?
If Señora Sanchez knew about Mr. Williams’s relationship with this woman, Allie couldn’t help but wonder who else might have known. Back then, she would have laid bets on one certain person knowing all the hot, juicy gossip.
“Sam, have you talked to Meredith yet? Has she committed to coming in?”
He sighed. “I have. She was going to get back to me about when she’d be available to meet with us. I’ll try her again.” He turned around, his brows furrowed. “Look, I need to get going. There’s something I have to do.”
Allie nodded, slightly puzzled by his abrupt exit, then shrugged and returned her attention to the box’s contents, strewn across her desk. Having done her civic duty by attempting to notify the police about the letters, she started straightening up and realized there was a lot of other stuff in the box that would be perfect for her video.
She tossed everything back in, grabbed her purse, and carried it down the hall to the Crimson Press room, where she knew there was a VCR. She might as well pop in the tape and see if there was something she could use.
