The Williams-Cohen House

Is a massive custom home that sits safely behind several way, fences, and guardhouses is small gated community in North Hayden, were small city suberbia begins to give way to the flat agricultural terrain of Camarillo.

It was a fifteen minute drive from the cemetery, I had never been there but all I had to due was follow the limos again. I was swept through the gate and followed them up through winding streets where the homes sat perched back in groves of trees and veiled by ornate fences. This was were the movers and shakers of Hayden live. The Mayor, half the City Council, and all major players in the community all living within a few blocks of each other. It was the place to be, anyone who is anyone in Hayden lives in The Grove.

Which is probably why Richard Williams-Cohen II decided to take up residence here instead of his ancestral home in South Hayden Village. He and his wife, so it goes donated the multi roomed Victorian monster to the Hayden Historic Society and it is now a museums dedicated to "The Founding Family of Hayden".

Luxury cars littered the driveway and I was forced to park mine on the street. The "small gathering" was, in fact a large one; I stepped into the marble entryway and guessed that there had to be around 40 people there. Many were neighbors, fellow elite from The Groves and other VIPs who were family friends.

It made me feel a little odd, being the only person under 30 in sight, and I made my way into a plush sitting room to the open bar set up in the corner. Mr. Williams knew his booze well, and I opted for a scotch, guessing that it would be both expensive and good...I was right.

I found Mr. and Mrs. Williams-Cohen in a small sitting room, engulfed in a crowd of friends. Helen Williams-Cohen, a thin woman with her daughter's eyes and blond hair, sat with he husband sobbing lightly as they whispered, mumbling to the group.

As I was working up the nerve to speak to them, I spotted a girl sweep past me and move into the entry. Relieved to find someone my age I followed her.

It was Michelle Levin, I caught a glimpse of her as she dashed up the stairs. She nodded her head before disappearing into the hallway.

There were many doors on the second floor, but at the end of the hall only one stood open. She was sobbing heavily as I stepped inside.

"You want me to leave?"

"No. No."

"You sure?"

"You know, this was her room. Before she, before she moved to campus."

"Yeah."

"Your the guy from the paper right? Lewis or something?"

I just nod, she tried compose herself, slipping a finger through her hair and fixing her glasses. She fidgeted with the hem of her little black dress.

"So?" She says.

"What?"

"You want a quote or what?"

"Uh yeah, sure. If your up to it. You were best friends right?"

"Yes" she says. "We were roommates freshman year. We got real close. I feel like she was my sister." She starts sobbing again.

"I'm sorry. It must be hard."

"Yes, she was such a wonderful person. I, I'm gonna write a book about her life."

"Really?"

"Yes. She was such a beautiful person, people need to know that. She had her struggles, but she was an angle. The things she overcame to become the person she was..."

"Struggles?" I asked, smelling something in the air.

"Yes. well..."

"Look Michelle, I won't give your name if that's what you're worried about. But if there is something you know."

"It's nothing. A private matter to Rose, you know, but the police, they aren't saying anything about the fire you know."

"I know."

"Yeah well, there's things about her...Rose. That people don't know."

"No one is perfect. What kind of things Michelle."

"Look. I'll show you." She gets up and heads over to a desk in the corner of the room. opens a drawer and pulls out a small pink book.

"This is an old diary. I found in in here stuff here. She showed it to me once, when I slept over. I remembered it and Her parents let me see her stuff for the book, you know?"

She hands it to me.

"Its old, kinda, her other diary...you know burned..."

"Yeah."

"Read it you'll see. People should know how brave she was. What she went through. They need the truth, you know?"

The question was pleading. I took the book and put it in my coat. I got a few more quotes and left. I finished my drink and left, not wanting to face the family knowing I was snooping into there dead daughter's things.

I hold it now, the diary... in my hands not quite knowing what I will find.