“We should check it out, but I suspect someone’s just trying to get in your good books, Savannah. Have you asked Adam to look into it?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d research it myself.”

“Let me handle it, then. I’ll send the pics to a Druid buddy, see what he says.”

I signed off and headed up the walk to confront Paula Thompson.

When I knocked, Kayla answered. She looked up at me, her thin face solemn. “I’m sorry about Detective Kennedy.”

“So am I.”

She nodded and backed up to let me in.

“Is your grandma—?”

“Right here.” Paula rounded the corner, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron.

“Something smells good,” I said.

“It’s for you,” Kayla said. “When Mom died, people brought food over, so I told Grandma we should make you something. Usually it’s casseroles, but Grandma said you won’t want that in a motel room, so we’re making muffins. Do you like blueberry?”

“I love them,” I said. “Thank you.”

Damn. This was going to make what I had to do very tough.

“Do you have a minute?” I said to Paula. “I need to speak to you.”

“Of course. Come on in.”

She waved me through to the kitchen. History books were spread across the table. As Kayla moved them aside, I could see her work-sheets, her neat handwriting below her grandma’s questions, Paula’s writing painfully precise, like a schoolgirl’s herself. Homeschooling a child couldn’t be easy, but Paula was trying. Anything for her granddaughter.

I turned to Paula. “I should really speak to you alone.”

“I’m fine,” Kayla said, parking herself in a chair.

“It’s about the police file on Ginny’s murder,” I said. “Did you know they took DNA samples?”

“Course they did,” Kayla said. “Everyone does these days.”

“Actually, no. Someone seems to have gone a little overboard, considering they didn’t find any DNA at the scene. They took samples from the victims and they tried to from any possible suspects. Cody wouldn’t go for it, but they got them from an old boyfriend of Brandi’s, as well as Ginny’s landlord, and Alastair Koppel ...”

Paula froze, oven door open, muffin tray in hand. It took her a second to unstick herself and get the tray in.

“We compared samples,” I said.

“With what?” Kayla asked, screwing up her nose. “You said there wasn’t any DNA at the scene.”

“Kayla,” Paula said. “I need some brown sugar.”

“Brown sugar?”

“To sprinkle on the tops.” She dug in her purse and handed Kayla a ten. “Can you get some from the grocery? And, yes, you can buy yourself something. Remember what the dentist said, though, no hard or sticky candy.”

Kayla studied her grandmother’s expression, then she scowled at me. She didn’t know why her grandma was upset, but I was clearly responsible.