“God, I’m sorry,” he said as I pulled off my helmet. “I saw you start forward and I tapped the gas and bang. I have no idea what happened.”

“Could be a sticky pedal.” I swung off the bike. “Want me to take a look?”

“I hit you and you’re offering to fix my car? That’s forgiving. I’ll get it into the shop later, thanks. You’re okay?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

I checked the back of the bike. Cody admired it, asking questions and acting like he’d know the difference between a Triumph and a Honda ... or that he’d care.

“Looks okay,” I said. “The alignment could be screwed up, though.”

He handed me his card. “Send the bill to me.”

“I will.”

I started pulling my helmet on.

“You’re the PI working on the murders, aren’t you?” He said this as if it had just dawned on him.

“Savannah Levine.” I extended a hand.

“Pretty name. Suits you.”

He smiled, but there was nothing in it. Forced flirtation with a girl he’d decided wasn’t his type.

“So, Savannah, you’ve been in town a few days and still haven’t gotten around to me? I’m shocked.”

“Actually, I just arrived yesterday.”

“Ah.” A nod. A look that said I was full of shit and he knew it. Was there another six-foot-tall motorcycle-driving young woman in town? Somehow I doubted it, but I let the point pass. From what I’d heard yesterday, the guy was more than a little paranoid, probably figured I’d been stalking him for days now.

“You will want to talk to me, I assume, considering that I top Bruyn’s list of suspects.” He checked his watch. “I have time for breakfast if it won’t take long.”

“I’ve already eaten. Let’s make it lunch.”

His full lips pressed thin. After a second, he managed a smile, but it looked painful. “No can do, I’m afraid. I’m a busy man. It’s breakfast or nothing.”

I put on my helmet. “Nothing then. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a trip into the city, check on something I found last night.” I got on my bike, then looked back at him. “You really should be more careful where you spend your money, Mr. Radu. And on what. Even when you think it doesn’t leave a trail, it does. Not one the cops can find legally but ...” I smiled. “That’s what I’m for.”

He froze, trying to figure out what I meant.

“Fine. Lunch,” he said, spitting the words. “One o’clock. There’s a McDonald’s off the highway. Meet me there.”

Not surprisingly, Cody followed me a little longer as he tried to see which “city” I was heading for. I turned onto the same back road I’d traveled with Michael, crested a hill, then hit the gas, slamming through a half mile of hills like they were ski jumps. Cody’s SUV couldn’t keep up. Once he was out of sight, I veered down the first side road and made my way back to town.

Paula Thompson lived in a mobile home. A very nice mobile home, I might add, on a piece of land I presumed she owned or rented, miles from any trailer park. The lawn was thick, and freshly cut, and the trailer had been painted in the last couple of years. An ancient sedan sat in the drive.

I rapped on the front door. Kayla answered.

“Did you find the killer yet?” she asked.

“I’ve only been on the job a day.”

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?”

“They understood that it upset Kayla, naturally, but they couldn’t see why I’d bring the matter to them. The boy got hold of them himself. They didn’t tell him he could take them to school. Therefore, it clearly wasn’t their fault.”

“Typical,” I muttered.

She nodded and sipped her coffee, both hands wrapped around the mug, gaze dropping into its depths as she murmured, “A child turns out the way we raise her, and if she fails, we’ve failed.”

Shit. I’d stumbled right into that one. I shook my head. “If a kid’s waving around crime-scene photos and his parents do nothing about it, then it’s their fault if he grows up to be an insensitive ass. If they punish him and explain what he did wrong, and he still grows up to be an insensitive ass ...” I shrugged.