“And your grandfather was Dalton Reed,” he added.

She drew in a breath. “He was certain that Morris was dealing drugs. He was going to a friend of his at the sheriff’s department, to tell him what he’d found out. He went missing that night. He never came home.”

“He taught you the guitar.” As she nodded, another memory fell into place. “He was at a retirement party for another sheriff’s deputy who’d worked in San Antonio but moved to Houston. I was there. Your grandfather sat in with the band. I heard him play. That’s where I remember him from. No wonder you’re so good. He was memorable.”

“Yes. He was a good, kind man. I can’t prove it, but I’m almost certain that Morris did something to him. It was terrifying, going back to that house after what Morris did to Tad and me. Ben, Morris’s father, was still alive then. He hated me because I told the police what Morris did. Morris was arrested and prosecuted, and Ben spent every dime he had on a lawyer. It didn’t do any good. When the case came up, I had to testify. So did the arresting officer. Morris was convicted.” She sighed. “Ben hated me. He loved Morris so much. He was forever getting him out of trouble, making excuses for him. He didn’t pay any attention at all to Tad.”

“What about after Morris went to prison?”

“Ben was killed by a hit-and-run driver soon afterward. I had to handle the services and get custody of Tad, so he didn’t go into foster care. Cal Hollister helped me. I worked for him.”

He didn’t understand why he felt so much anger at Hollister, who’d tried to help her. He put it to the back of his mind. “You aren’t going to try to live with Duffy?”

“Not on your life. Tad and I already have another place to live.”

“Where?”

“In the Brandiff Apartments,” she lied with a straight face. “It’s low-rent, but there are nice people there. We have a door that locks. We’ll be fine.”

He drew in a rough breath. “Fine,” he muttered. He was thumbing through the file. “Nobody in the neighborhood would talk. Police went door to door, asking about your grandfather. Nobody knew anything.”

“They were too afraid of Morris to talk,” she said simply.

“It might be a different story today,” he said. “I’ll talk to Marquez and see if he can spare a few people to help canvass the area. Some of the elderly people might still remember something helpful.”

“Pigs might fly,” she said solemnly.

“Pessimist,” he mused, smiling at her.

That smile made her toes tingle, but she forced herself not to react. She couldn’t compete with Grace. She wasn’t even going to try. “My whole life has been a study in pessimism,” she said simply.