“The two of them had no health insurance. I’m not sure if fertility’s even covered by insurance. I felt sorry for her, knew it was tough for her to come with her hand out. I told her I’d ask her father and she thanked me. Actually hugged me.”

Balquin’s eyes fluttered. She got up and refilled her glass. “I can get you guys something soft.”

“We’re really okay, ma’am. So your husband agreed to pay for the fertility treatments?”

“Ten thousand dollars’ worth. First he said no way, then of course, he gave in. Ralph was a big softie. Lara cashed the check and that was the last I heard about it. Then back to the same old routine, not returning my calls. My therapist says I have to confront the possibility that she used me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s possible they never paid the doctor.”

“Why would you suspect that, ma’am?”

Balquin’s hand whitened around her glass. “I carried Lara for nine months and sometimes I miss her so much I can’t stand to think about it. But I need to be objective for my own mental health. I always suspected those two spent the money on something else because soon after we gave it to them, they moved to a bigger place and there was still no baby. Lara said Barnett needed space for his piano. I thought what a waste, all he played was country-western songs and not very well. Kristal didn’t arrive until years later- when Lara was twenty-six.”

“That must have been something,” I said.

“Kristal?” She blinked some more. “A cutie, a beauty. From the little I saw of her. Here I was, a grandma, and I never got to see my grandchild. Lara had choices but I know he had a role in it. He isolated her.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “That man never once uttered a pleasant boo-hoo to any of us. Despite our feelings about the marriage, we tried to be nice. When they got back from Vegas we threw them a little party, over at the Sportsman’s Lodge. The invitation said ‘Business attire.’ He came in dirty jeans and one of those cowboy shirts- with the snaps on it. His hair was all long and unkempt- my Ralph was a real dapper guy, you can imagine. Lara used to love dressing up, but not anymore. She wore jeans just as filthy as his and a cheap-looking little halter tank top.”

She shook her head. “It was embarrassing. But that was Lara. Always keeping things lively.”

“Ma’am,” said Milo, “would it be too painful to talk about the suicide?”

Nina Balquin’s eyes floated upward. “If I said yes, would you drop it?”

“Of course.”

“Well, it is painful, but I don’t want you to drop it. Because it wasn’t my fault, no matter what anyone says. Lara made choices her whole life, then she ended her life with a horrible, stupid, rotten choice.”

“Who says it’s your fault?” I said.

“No one,” she said. “And everyone, implicitly. Lose a child to an accident or an illness, everyone feels sorry for you. Lose a child to suicide and people look at you as if you were the most horrible parent in the world.”

“How did Barnett react to the suicide?”

“I wouldn’t know, we never spoke about it.” Her eyes clenched and opened. “He had Lara cremated, never had the decency to have a service. No funeral, no memorial. He cheated me- the bastard. Can’t you tell me what he’s suspected of? Is it something to do with drugs?”

Milo said, “Barnett used drugs?”

“Both of them smoked pot. Maybe that’s why Lara couldn’t get pregnant- isn’t that supposed to do something to your ovaries or whatever?”

“How do you know about their drug usage?”

“I know the signs, Detective. Lara was a pothead when she was in high school. I never saw any evidence she’d stopped.”

“The bad crowd she fell in with,” I said.

“Bunch of spoiled kids,” she said. “Driving around in their parents BMWs, booming that music and pretending they were ghetto. Neither of my other two went for that nonsense.”

“You figure Lara continued using after she was married.”

“I know she did. The few times I visited their apartment- the few times they let me in- everything was a mess and you could smell it in the air.”

Milo said, “Did they ever use anything stronger than marijuana?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Balquin eyed him. “So this is about drugs. Is Barnett pushing?”

“Have you known him to sell drugs?”

“No, but I’m being logical. Don’t users become pushers to pay for their habit? And all those guns he keeps- Lara wasn’t raised with that, we never had so much as a BB gun in our home. All of a sudden they’ve got rifles, pistols, horrible stuff. He kept them out in the open, in a wooden case- the way sophisticated people display books. If you’re not doing something shady, why do you need all those guns?”

“Ever ask him?”

“I mentioned it to Lara. She told me to mind my own business.”

I looked for bookshelves in her front room. Nothing but pickled oak paneling and the photos on the back wall.

She said, “Lara used one of his guns to shoot herself. I hope he’s happy.” Her hands tightened into fists. “If he is a pusher, I hope you catch him and put him away forever. Because the last thing my daughter needed was another bad influence.”

She scraped an incisor with a fingernail, raised her glass to her lips, and drank slowly but steadily. Finished off the refill without taking a breath.

Milo said, “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us, ma’am?”

“I shouldn’t say this but… oh, what the hell, she’s gone and so is Kristal and I need to concentrate on rebuilding my own life.” She tightened her face again, held the tension so long that even the refashioned muscles of her cheeks and chin gave way.

“I always wondered if drugs had something to do with Lara losing sight of Kristal. She insisted it was only for a second, the store was crowded and she turned her head and she was gone. But doesn’t dope slow your reflexes?”

Milo uncrossed his legs. He took his pad out but didn’t write.

Nina Balquin said, “It’s a terrible thing to say about your own child, but how else can you explain it? I raised three kids, and as a toddler Mark was a hellion, all over the place, you couldn’t get him to sit still. But I never lost him. How do you just lose a child!”

Her voice had risen to a near scream. She plopped back heavily, massaged her left temple. “Damn cluster headache… the last thing I’d want to do is blame my daughter, but objectively… maybe that’s why Lara felt guilty enough to do what she- oh, spit it out, Nina! Maybe that’s why she killed herself!”

Both her hands began shaking violently. She sat on them, shut her eyes. A high-pitched keen made its way from behind closed lips.

Milo said, “We know this is hard, ma’am. We appreciate your being so frank.”

Nina Balquin opened her eyes. Her expression was vacant.

“Insight,” she said, “can be a bitch.”

As Milo thanked her, I walked to the back of the room and looked at the photos. A couple in their thirties with two kids under ten- the accountant son and his family. A woman who resembled Lara Malley, wearing a cap and gown. Heavier face than Lara’s, red hair curling from under the mortarboard. Sister Sandy.

No image of Lara, but below her sibs hung a cheaply framed, three-by-five snapshot of Kristal. Infant photo- less than a year old from the way she needed support to sit up. Wearing a pink cowgirl dress and matching hat. Bucking broncos and cacti in the background, a tiny moon above the plains, airbrushed slick. Probably one of those kiddie-photo outlets. The kind you find in every mall.

Smiling baby girl, chubby, rosy-cheeked. Big brown eyes engaged the camera. Moisture on her chin- teething drool.

Nina Balquin said, “I got that when I dropped in on them and brought Kristal a Christmas present. They had a stack. I had to ask for that one.”