Mrs. Peach sighed a bit, reached out, and turned the page.  “There were five murders, and no, the murderer was never captured.”  She took a sip of hot tea and turned a few more leaves of the book.  “Almost fifty years ago, that’s when they happened.”  Another page was revealed, the one bearing the face of the little girl.  “No rhyme or reason to them.”  Mrs. Peach touched the tiny face with an index finger.  “None.” 

I munched my cookie and remained quiet.  Mrs. Peach continued to stare at the little girl.  “Sally was the worst.  Her finger tapped the young face.  “Her parents struggled to stay together after the murder.  The mother…, what was her name?” Mrs. Peach paused for reflection.  “Jane…, yes, that’s it.  Jane almost lost her mind over Sally’s death.”

“What happened to Sally?”    

We heard my father’s SUV pull up in front of the long front porch.  Mrs.  Peach closed the scrapbook.  “You should put this away for now, don’t you think?”