Лори Касс - Cat With A Clue

The door suddenly swung open. “Why are you smiling?” a high-pitched voice asked.

I looked ahead and up and then finally down. Standing in front of me, instead of the elderly and wizened person my imagination had assumed a Dana Coburn would be, was someone little more than a child. She—or he—was shorter than my five feet and thin, with lank hair swinging past the jawline, wearing jeans and a plain T-shirt. There were zero indications of gender.

“Hi,” I said. “My name is Minnie Hamilton. Rafe Niswander called yesterday. I’d like to talk to Dana Coburn.” The kid’s gaze didn’t falter. “Is, ah, Dana here?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” the kid said. “Why were you smiling?”

I blinked. Social niceties were clearly not going to be part of this conversation. Which meant I could tell the complete truth.

“It’s the porch,” I said, nodding at the pristine floor. “I was picturing so much mud all over it that the house would want to shake it off like a dog shaking off water.”

The kid stared at me. “Interesting. Ridiculous, but interesting.” She—he?—walked away, leaving the door open. After a short hesitation, I followed.

“You’re Dana?” I asked, hurrying after. There was no reply as we trekked through a large entryway, skimmed around the edge of a massive living room, and marched across a formal dining room. I gained an impression of old money and good taste. At long last, we reached a kitchen that was so clean and white, it almost hurt my eyes.

The kid sat on a stool at the corner of a white granite-topped island and pointed. I sat primly on the stool indicated and waited.

Dana, because I could only assume that’s who it was, peered into my eyes. “Why are your pupils dilated? Are you taking recreational pharmaceuticals?”

“Eye doctor,” I said. “She likes to check for—”

“Retinal detachment.” Dana waved away the rest of my explanation. Not interesting enough, no doubt. “Mr. Niswander told my mother you’d like information about the DeKeyser family.”

I wondered where the mother figure might be, but decided to keep on topic. “Yes.” I looked at her. Him. “Do you want to know why?”

“I have two theories,” the kid said. “One would be merely a spurious interest.”

It took me a second to make sure I knew what the word “spurious” meant. Fake. Not valid. I frowned. “Why on earth would I fake interest in the DeKeysers?”

Dana shrugged. “Not enough information. But the possibility exists.”

This kid had read too many Sherlock Holmes stories. “Okay, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then you’re looking to connect the murder of Andrea Vennard with Talia DeKeyser’s death.”

“How did—” I held up my hand, not wanting to hear the kid say “Elementary, my dear Minnie.”

“Never mind,” I said. “You’re right. I want to learn more about the DeKeysers, and I was pointed in your direction.”

Dana gave me a straight, unblinking look. “Don’t you want to know if I’ve made the connection between the murder and Talia?”

“If you had, you would already have told me,” I said confidently. Someone like Dana wouldn’t be able to keep from saying how she—he—had found the answer faster than everyone else. My brother had been like that. Spouting out the answer was practically an involuntary reaction for young folks with that much brain power.

The kid nodded slowly. “You’re right. I would have. How did—” Dana’s head went back and forth. “Never mind. I’ll think about it later and learn from the exercise.”

Why had I never met this kid before? Surely someone like this should be in the library on a regular basis. “I would, however, like to know why you’re the local expert on the DeKeysers.”

“Yes, I can see why you would be curious,” Dana said. “It was a research exercise. I am homeschooled, and my parents wanted me to get familiar with the methods involved in genealogical research. Death certificates, birth certificates, property records, newspaper articles, and similar items.” The kid eyed me. “This was before you were hired as the library’s assistant director. I’ve been told that the new building has much more to offer than the old.”

Old building? This meant the research had occurred at least four years ago. I desperately wanted to ask how old Dana had been at the time of the research, but let it go. “Why did you choose the DeKeysers?”

“I wanted a challenge,” came the prompt reply. “By head count, they’re the largest family in town. Having so many family branches to investigate made the project more interesting.”

Interesting. That word again.

“And you’re interested in Talia DeKeyser,” Dana said. “Would you also like information regarding her husband, Calvin?”

“Yes, please,” I said, and settled myself down to listen.

Dana leaned back on the stool, lifting one knee and cupping it with his—her—hands. “Calvin DeKeyser. Born 1928, died 2013. Would you like the months and days?”

“Not necessary, but thank you.”

The kid nodded. “Talia DeKeyser, born Talia Wiley in 1933. Both Calvin and Talia were born in Chilson, went through the Chilson schools, and graduated from Chilson High School. Talia attended the Michigan Normal School in Ypsilanti, which is now Eastern Michigan University, and subsequently taught school for three years before she married Calvin in 1958.”

At that point in Dana’s precise factual recitation, my tiny little brain adjusted to the concept of a child with the vocabulary and sentence construction of a doctoral candidate. I stopped being amazed at the person in front of me and simply tried to absorb what was being said.

“Benton’s, the general store in the downtown core of Chilson, was one of the first commercial establishments in Tonedagana County. Newspaper accounts indicate that the county seat was settled in Chilson primarily because of Benton’s.”

I started to ask a question, but stopped, not wanting to interrupt the narrative flow.

“Benton was the maiden name of Calvin DeKeyser’s mother,” Dana said. “Elijah DeKeyser married Dorothy Benton in 1920 and they had six children: five daughters and one son. The daughters married into other original Chilson families, and, as there were no Benton males, Calvin eventually came into ownership of the store.”

Yes, folks, primogeniture had been alive and well in northern lower Michigan in the 1900s. I stirred but didn’t say anything. After all, maybe none of the daughters had wanted to run the store.

“Calvin and Talia,” Dana was saying, “also had a large family.” Dark eyes peered at me through long bangs. “Are you interested in Talia’s ancestry?”

“As a matter of general interest, yes,” I said, “but I doubt it’s pertinent in this case.”

“I agree,” Dana said, and I felt an embarrassingly happy rush that a thought out of my small brain matched a thought out of the big one. “Talia had seven children who lived: four daughters and three sons. Would you like their names?”

I quickly pulled out my cell and opened the notes app. “Yes, please.” I typed away as Dana dictated the names and birth dates.

Leslie, born 1953. Kimberly, born 1956. Thomas, born 1958. Kelly, born 1961. David, born 1962. Melissa, born 1965, and Robert, born 1968.

After that, Dana rattled off the names of the spouses, names and birth dates of the next generation of DeKeysers, and the cities in which they were born.

“Do the sons still run Benton’s? Or one of them?” I asked, typing in the last few letters.

“There was a change of ownership after I completed my project,” Dana said. “I don’t have that information.”