Seven
Atticus looked down at the carpet at the entrance of my parents’ bedroom. “Upon closer examination, we found a few of your mother’s blonde hairs on the floor. The intruders must have surprised them.” He sighed. “They dragged her out by the hair.”
My blood ran cold.
Atticus walked into the bedroom and pointed to a small crack in the wood paneling by the headboard. “This must have happened while your father was fighting them off.”
My heart fell. “But between the two of them, my mother was the better fighter.”
Atticus nodded. “Yes, she probably was. As I said, whoever did this surprised them both. Anyway, they must have put up a good fight, but I think your mother died first. Your father continued fighting them and then was shot.”