“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.”

* * *

We left her standing in her doorway, new drink in her hand.

Milo drove away, muttering, “Sometimes my crazy family doesn’t seem so bad.”

I said, “Mom hates Barnett’s guts but she never considered that he might’ve murdered Lara.”