AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That poor child. She needed stability in her life after years of gallivanting around the world.” A sigh. “Renée, she was a flighty one.”
“Losing her mom can’t have been easy for Kaylin. Were you close?”
This place reminded me of my own teenage years, a time spent struggling to survive in a run-down neighbourhood, although on first impressions, Chelle seemed to care more about her family than my own mother had. I wasn’t even sure Mom noticed when I left home for good.
Chelle shrugged. “Kaylin took after Renée.” The unspoken “unfortunately” at the end of the sentence came across loud and clear. “She wasn’t one for small-town life, and neither was her mama. Magpies, both of them, always attracted to shiny things. The bright lights of the city, all those pretty trinkets in the glossy magazines. Kaylin wasn’t a day past eighteen when she up and left for New York.”
“You wanted her to stay?”
Chelle’s weighty sigh told me what her words didn’t. “I wanted her to be happy.”
“But you didn’t think that would happen in New York?”
“I saw what the modelling industry did to Renée. All that glitz and glamour—she wanted it for herself, but it came at a cost.” Chelle shook her head. “I tried to warn her. Tried to warn Kaylin too, but she wouldn’t listen. Those people, they build the young girls up, they pile on the pressure, and then they tear them down. Don’t even get me started on the men.”
“The men?”
“The dirty old men. Two and three times her age, showering her with gifts when she was still a teenager, inviting her to parties and passing her around their friends.”
“She told you that?”
“I know how things work, missy.” Since I arrived, Chelle had sounded strong with a side of bitterness, but now her voice cracked. “I failed with Renée; I know I did. She took after her father. Headstrong and full of misplaced optimism.”
“Was he involved in her life?”
Chelle snorted. “Not from prison, he wasn’t. I saw him in Kaylin too, but heaven knows who her father was. He wasn’t a man who paid child support, that was for sure.” A sigh. “I tried to steer Kaylin along the right path, and she promised she wouldn’t go down the same road as her mama. She wanted to be a singer, did your friend tell you that?”
Kaylin took after her grandma too. Despite the lines in her face and a semi-permanent scowl, Chelle La Rocca had been blessed with an old-school beauty that withstood the test of time, although she did nothing to accentuate it. Her grey hair was scraped back into a ponytail, and she didn’t go in for make-up. The pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray on the table beside her no doubt contributed to her yellowed fingers and gaunt frame.
“A singer? No, Nicci didn’t mention it.”
“Kaylin has the voice of an angel. Won every talent contest she ever entered, once she lost her puppy fat, and she swore she’d only model until she broke into the music industry.”
This was the first I’d heard of Kaylin’s desire to sing professionally, so I was going to assume she hadn’t gotten very far, although Crumb’s notes had mentioned her winning a handful of beauty pageants. I also noted that Chelle referred to her in the present tense.
“But she was still modelling when she…uh, at the time of the incident at the Bluebird Inn?”
Chelle’s expression darkened, and slightly bloodshot blue eyes zeroed in on mine.
“Whatever happened that night, it wasn’t Kaylin’s fault.”
“That’s what Nicci said too, but I can’t understand why Kaylin didn’t stay to tell her side of the story.”
“If you grew up around here, you wouldn’t stick around to talk to the cops either. They shoot first and ask questions later.”
“But—”
“You think I’m lying? Look up Martell Ziegler on that fancy phone of yours.” She nodded toward the smartphone I’d placed on the arm of the chair. “Go on—look it up.”
I did as instructed, and there were plenty of hits. Martell Ziegler had been thirteen years old when cops shot him through the front window of his home as he played Nerf wars with his younger brother. He’d bled out before the ambulance arrived with his mother crying at his side, and the police department later admitted that they’d been at the wrong house.
As I reached the end of the article, Chelle nodded knowingly. “The Zieglers lived half a mile from here. Marty and Kaylin were in the same class.”
“Was there an investigation?”
“Yes, but a few bucks and a half-assed apology can’t bring back that little boy. So a cop died at the Bluebird Inn? Good riddance, I say. If Kaylin was involved, then I’m sure she had a good reason.”
Yikes. Mental note: never, ever put this woman in the same room as Ford. I had a feeling that a “not all cops” comment would shut her down, so I nodded along, even though anger was blossoming in my belly. Officer Mike Downie had been a husband. A father. A son.
