JOHN HAD BEEN CALLED TO HELP LOCATE HER FATHER’S BODY, because they did not want his death publicized before they were very sure. It was because of the markets, and what might or might not occur.
The Cessna was a speck far out on the ice, burning like a beacon. The snow was still numb and falling down. You started out walking toward the plane, and realized it was still miles away. The body unfortunately was never found.
Garnet had not taken the flight back. People had always said he wanted to get away because there was an old girlfriend he wanted to see that night.
“The luckiest piece of tail he ever had,” some foreman of his said.
Still, Garnet had asked her father to go and inspect the shafts, so she blamed him for Murder.
“Murder most fowl,” she wrote in her diary, and drew a little bird with an arrow through it. This diary was in John’s possession—he had found it, luckily enough, before the Mexican police.
Worse, the diary showed all of her childlikeness. That is, it still had a little lock on it. John, whether or not he was supposed to, snapped the lock and began to read. He was hoping it might be about recent events and give him a name to go by. But it was a vastly different diary.
It had almost every day of her life in it—year after year after year—not a day missed—not anything left out, although sometimes only a line or two explained the day:
April 5, 1971
Mommy made me crakkers and chese
July 17, 1972
Got to go to the beech with my big white towell
October 29, 1975
Carved a pumpkin—I put it at the end of my bed to scare the hell out of me when I wake up.
Nov 1
The boys I met out trick or treating told me that my dad is alive. Then they ran. I followed them all night—all the way to the big highway.
“Where—” I said. I said, “Where is my dad?”
June 7, 1976
They won’t let me have a dog, so I’ve captured 5 ants, and will train them to be my pets. However, I think I broke one’s leg—it’s kind of hobbling about, looking worried that the other ants will now begin to eat him.
August 1976
Mommy has gone away again—I am trying to sit in one place with a book on my head to balance myself—
April 29, 1978
Mr. Cruise told me, well, he just said any time you want to talk to me about your dad or mom, you come to my office and just knock.
May 4, 1978
I kind of talked a blue streak about my dad—how he was the best in the world, you wait and see!!!
September 28, 1978
I was there, so I told Mr. Cruise about my dad—and he said:
“My dear girl—my dear, dear girl” and I just went gulp—like 5 times.
November 19, 1978
Mr. Cruise took my virginity—should I tell Uncle Garnet?
November 21, 1978
Mother died today—sometime in the early morning—
Ker plunk.