The Avenue Only the walls know the truth about who they were and what domestic tragedy lies behind their manifestations and they"re not tellingOblivious to his presence, the woman continued dipping her quill in the ink bottle and scratching on the paper in her neat copperplate handwriting. She was, he judged, in her thirties, with long blonde hair let down for the night. She was dressed in eighteenth-century-style clothing, a shawl thrown around her. Jake tiptoed across the room and peered over her shoulder, shushing Alice, who wanted to know what he was staring at. The object of his curiosity was the letter and, to his horror, he saw that it was a suicide note. But—an icy hand gripped Jake’s heart—there was more to it than that; the woman was planning to kill her children before taking h
