“Frank Quinn told me about your brother,” I say in one breath. “I’m sorry to bring it up,” I say, trying to backtrack. “I know it’s sensitive. I’ve been learning about everything with Caroline….”

The set of Grace’s mouth is grim, but her eyes aren’t unkind. “I wish Frank hadn’t dragged it all up again, but I understand your curiosity, given the circumstances,” she says. “It’s funny. You and Vanessa are so similar. I was so sorry to hear about your loss, hon. I should have said it when we met, but I didn’t want to ruin your first day.”

“You knew my mom?” I hate how small my voice sounds. Childlike. But even the most tenuous connection to her is potent.

“Of course. I’ve been here a long time. It would have been twenty-three, twenty-four years ago she was in here asking me similar questions for her paper.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know? Vanessa did a big research report for AP Psychology on Caroline’s death, and on Joe. She asked smart questions, your mom. I half expected her to end up in journalism.”

“She was a social worker,” I supply.

“That fits,” Grace asserts fondly. “She had a big heart.”

“Can you tell me more about what she asked?”

“Oh, goodness.” Grace exhales fully. “It was so long ago. Mostly about Joe, from what I recall. What he was like, what he’d said about that night. I was fifteen, so I didn’t know Caroline much at all, but Joe was my big brother.”

“How old was he when it happened?”

“Twenty-one. Prime of his life. And, well…” She frowns, surely thinking of her brother sitting in a prison cell all these years.

“Big age gap between you.”

“Oh, yes, I was an ‘oops baby,’ as they used to call it. They’re kinder now.” Grace chuckles to herself. “But Joe, he was a good big brother. Babysat me a fair bit when I was young. Then he became a teenager and started on the path that led him to where he is, as it goes.”

“Did something happen?”

“Not especially. He fell in with the wrong crowd in school, got fired from the Hardy lumberyard for stealing, and then ended up here, working as a janitor. You know the rest.”

“I don’t, really. All I’ve heard is speculation. And what was in my grandmother’s book. The older man who wanted the homecoming queen so badly he lashed out when she spurned his advances.”

“Your grandmother’s book is fiction.” There’s steel in Grace’s answer. She looks me up and down. “Since you’ve been talking to Frank, you know we don’t believe the police theory, which became the prosecution’s theory that put my brother away.”