I realized I might never receive a minute-by-minute account that satisfied me.

After the meeting, Rachel insisted on stopping at the cemetery.

I hesitated.

Whispering Pines had become a place I avoided so completely that I took longer roads to bypass its entrance.

But Rachel said she wanted to see it in daylight while she could leave whenever she chose.

We drove through the gates past tidy rows of stones and old cedar trees.

The ground where her grave had briefly been was repaired, with fresh sod covering the disturbed earth.