Leapfrog: Mystery

He'd played leapfrog with her when he was eleven and she was sixteen, too old for such childish games. But she'd hiked her skirt up and joined in with a will. She'd always hated being told what not to do, he thought. He wondered if that had led to her death. His head bowed as he stood beside her grave, he remembered the vivacious, spirited girl that she had been. A girl, little more, in his memories...he'd grown older but her memory had stayed the same age, forever caught in the golden amber of that summer. He'd fallen in love with her then, and he thought that he had never really shaken that feeling. She had seemed so old to him, mature and wise in the ways of the world. A woman. Now her memory seemed barely more than a slip of a girl. Staring at her grave, he couldn't shake the thought that something about that summer had led to her murder.