Waking the Witch

thirteen

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.

Paula nodded, but woodenly. She lowered her mug, hands still folded around it.

“Are you happy with the investigation?” I asked after a minute of silence.

It seemed like the right lead-in. But Paula’s hand tightened around her mug and she said, very carefully, “The sheriff’s department knows its job, and Chief Bruyn is doing his best to support them.”

In other words, despite the antagonism between them, she wasn’t going to question his competence. Not with a stranger, at least.

“You’re very young, Ms. Levine,” she said after another moment. “Yes, I know, you’re obviously an adult, old enough to be done with college, working. Twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

I didn’t correct her, just gave something that could pass for a nod.

“When I was your age, Ginny was in school already, I was working two jobs and I had this house, and I wouldn’t have appreciated someone saying how young I was. But from where I sit now, you are young, Ms. Levine. Young means inexperienced. I’m not unhappy to get extra help with my daughter’s case, but I will admit I’m much happier to hear that a Dallas detective is also working it.”

I bit my tongue—hard. How would she react when she realized Michael Kennedy wasn’t much older than me?

“When he comes to me for an interview, I’ll gladly grant it,” she said. “So, to be fair, I’ll do the same for you. I want my daughter’s killer found, and I suppose more people investigating can’t hurt.”

“Thank you.” I wasn’t sure it was the kind of statement that expected thanks, but I appreciated it.

I took out my notebook. “Chief Bruyn is convinced he knows who killed Ginny.”

“Cody Radu.”

“And you think ... ?”

She hesitated, her reluctance to disparage a local warring with other feelings. After a moment, her shoulders dropped, as if conceding the battle.

“I think he’s a bastard,” she said. “A lying, scheming bully. Is he capable of murder, though? No. I doubt he’d dirty his hands like that.”

I thought of the lie I’d spun for Michael. “Would he hire someone?”

That gave her pause. “Yes, if Cody wanted someone dead, I suppose that’s how he’d do it.”

I asked her about Cody and Ginny’s relationship. She didn’t tell me anything I wouldn’t have already guessed. Cody’s relationship with Ginny had been nothing short of toxic, and Paula had hated him for it.

Cody hadn’t even done the typical wealthy-guy seduction and wooed Ginny with a better life. The only thing he gave her was booze and drugs. And black eyes. A lot of black eyes. Look at another man, get a black eye. Couldn’t find someone to baby-sit Kayla when he wanted sex, get a black eye. Didn’t get him a beer fast enough. Wouldn’t entertain his friends. Complained about anything. All earned her a beating.

“But she loved him,” Paula said. “Isn’t that how it always is? The one guy who treats you worse than all the rest, that’s the one you can’t live without.”

I thought of Adam. Not always. But I nodded. “What about Kayla? Did he ever hurt her?”

Paula’s face fairly crumpled with relief. “No, thank God. He wanted nothing to do with Kayla. Wouldn’t have her around.”

“He didn’t like the reminder that his girlfriend was a mother.”

“Maybe that was it. I was still careful, though. I started helping Kayla in the bath again, to look for signs ... I had to be sure. I couldn’t say anything about how he treated Ginny—she wouldn’t listen. But if he’d ever touched Kayla ... ”

“Did Ginny or Brandi have any contact with Alastair Koppel?”

“Favorite suspect number two. I don’t know anything about that commune or cult or whatever he has going up there. Neither did Ginny. He takes in young women, and Ginny and Brandi were young women, but that’s the only connection. Mr. Koppel has never recruited in town. Never even approached one of our local girls. He’s not stupid. Some people want him gone and he won’t give them any excuse.”

“What about Ginny’s father?” I asked.

She started at that, coffee sloshing. “Pardon me?”

“Ginny’s father. Is he a local? Did she have any contact with him?”

“Oh.” She laughed. “Sometimes I forget she had a father. Certainly never felt like it. He left town before she was born. She was, for all intents and purposes, my daughter. Mine alone.”

My responsibility. I heard that, even if she didn’t say it.

“What about Claire Kennedy? I know she arrived after Ginny’s death, but was there any way Ginny might have known her? Did Ginny ever move away from Columbus? Work outside it? Socialize outside it?”

“The only time Ginny left Columbus was to party, and even then, no farther than Portland. I encouraged her to take a job in the city. I thought it would help if she got away from Brandi. She just accused me of trying to get rid of her. The truth, I’m sure, is that she was afraid to leave. This was all she knew. Could she have met Claire at one of those parties in the city? I suppose it’s possible, but from what I’ve heard of Ms. Kennedy, she didn’t seem the type to have gone to them.”

“Did Cody know Claire? Any rumors? A chance meeting, maybe?”

She shook her head. “Nothing I ever heard of.”

“I did,” said a voice from the hall.

We turned to see Kayla. She stood there, notepad clutched to her chest.

“Dorothy told Aunt Rose that she saw Cody talking to Claire the day before she died. They were fighting.” She pursed her lips. “Arguing, I think she meant, not really fighting.”

“I never heard this,” Paula said.

“Neither has Bruyn,” I said. “He’d have been all over it.”

“Dorothy didn’t tell the chief,” Kayla said. “She doesn’t like him. He egged her house at Halloween when he was a kid. She didn’t say that—just that if he was a good cop, then he didn’t need her giving him clues. She doesn’t like Cody either. He let his dog poop on her lawn a few times.” She looked at me. “Dorothy’s really old, but she never forgets anything.”

“Especially an insult,” Paula murmured.

“Aunt Rose said Dorothy was just trying to stir up trouble because she was still mad at Cody. Dorothy said, no, she saw Claire arguing with him behind Martin’s Hardware. The women from the cookie place were buying stuff in the store, and Cody came in, and Claire snuck out back with him, and no one saw but Dorothy. She followed them. They were arguing.”

“Did she say what it was about?”

“Aunt Rose wouldn’t let her. She said she was sick of rumors and that if Dorothy knew something that would help find Mom’s killer, then she’d damned well better tell Chief Bruyn.”

“Kayla ...” Paula said.

“She said damned.” Kayla held up her notepad. “I wrote it right here. Then Dorothy said maybe she was wrong, and that’s when they saw me and started talking about something else. But I don’t think Dorothy made it up. I’m sure she saw Cody arguing with Claire.”