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She waited for a better excuse.
"I did fix that guy's car, though."
She tilted her head, then after some thought, nodded, this apparently being an acceptable sign of competence.
"Is your grandma home?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Can I speak to her?"
"I don't know, can you?" She giggled.
"May I speak to her?"
"Stop giving Ms. Levine a hard time, Kayla."
A woman stepped from the next room. There was no question who she was--she looked like a forty-something clone of her granddaughter--small and wiry, with graying blond hair and quick blue eyes.
"Off with you, miss," she said, pointing to the front door. "Go outside, but stay--"
"--off the road and on the property." Kayla rolled her eyes. "But what if Savannah has questions for me? She needs to interview everyone. I'm someone."
Her grandmother's face softened and she bent to kiss the top of Kayla's head. "You are indeed, but for now, I'd like you to play outside."
When Kayla was out of earshot, I said, "About yesterday, it was an accident. Kayla found me checking out some things in the library and we started talking. When I realized who she was, I shut up. I apologize if I upset her in any way. If I'd known she was Ginny's daughter, I wouldn't have spoken to her."
"I'd like to believe you, Ms. Levine, but it'll be easier if you tell me the whole truth. She wasn't at the library, was she?"
"Well, she was supposed to be."
She gave a small laugh and finally stepped aside, unblocking the entrance to the family home.
She offered me a chair in the living room. "She was in the building where Genevieve was found, wasn't she? With her detective kit."
I said nothing.
"I'll take that as a yes." She sighed, still standing, as if she hadn't quite
committed herself to talking to me yet. "I suppose buying her that kit wasn't my best parenting idea ever. She just ... she wanted it so much. I thought it might help. Empower her." A wry smile. "Yes, I've read too many books on helping children cope with grief."
"I don't think it's a bad idea. I ..." I hesitated. I wasn't the sharing type, but this seemed as good a time as any to work on that. "My mother died when I was a little older than Kayla. Murdered. It was just the two of us. If I could have found out who killed my mother--or thought I could--it would have helped me deal. Trying to solve the crime doesn't seem to upset her, and that's the main thing."
Paula turned away slightly at that, and her expression made me kick myself. I'd meant that it was a good thing Kayla wasn't traumatized, but I guess it was, troubling, too. I saw that in Paula's face, the relief mingled with regret and sadness that her daughter had raised a child who didn't particularly mourn her passing.
"Can I get you a coffee? Tea? Cold drink?" she asked.
I could tell she wanted a minute to herself, so I said sure, whatever was easiest.
I'd been too direct. Not enough empathy and compassion. How would Paige handle this?
I looked around the room. There were pictures of Kayla and Ginny. Exactly equal numbers of each, as if Paula had been careful not to favor one. Even as a child, Ginny hadn't looked happy. Sullen, like the world owed her something and wasn't paying up. The shots of Kayla were mixed. If her mom was in the picture, she looked uncomfortable. Alone, she looked solemn, but content. It was in the two pictures with Paula that she shone. I could say the same for Paula.
She came back, and I struggled for a way to ease into the case. I noticed papers and textbooks on the table and waved at them. "Kayla told me she's homeschooled. She said you pulled her out after Bruyn's grandson had taken crime-scene photos to school."
"Yes. They made him very popular apparently, so he couldn't understand why I'd object. Neither could his parents."
"Seriously?"
