Giselle's mother, on the very same night that Mr. LeClerq had a heart attack, his home was broken into by burglars who didn't bother to take anything of value. Despite the fact that the police said nothing of the sort happened.
Sketchy City.
But so what if Giselle's mother had some off-the-wall theory that underachiever thieves were to blame for her father-in-law's death? As long as Giselle and her mother were willing to talk to her, Lena was interested in hearing what they had to say. And she had been more than happy to meet them at Mr. LeClerq's home in Oak Park.
The first thing that Lena noticed when she walked through the front door was that Phillipe LeClerq was a lot neater than she was.
Well, okay. Just about anyone who was able to see their floor was a lot neater than Lena was. But Phillipe LeClerq was pretty exceptional.
From the tidy entryway with its little table and vase of dried flowers, to the formal dining room, with the lace tablecloth and the sideboards featuring lovely china, to the gleaming but somewhat outdated kitchen, to the living room with the surprisingly modern entertainment system, everything was clean, and everything was in its place.
But Giselle's mother was much more interested in having Lena look at the den. That's where she said that the men who broke into the house had gone. Lena checked to see the reaction of Giselle, the only witness to the supposed break-in. There was none. She could well have been the quietest girl that Lena had ever met. Maybe in a little while, she'd feel more comfortable around Lena and open up.
The den was lined with bookcases filled with books, dozens of framed rare coins—apparently Mr. LeClerq was a coin collector—and the kind of memorabilia that a well-loved high school math teacher and soccer coach accumulates over thirty years. Class pictures, yearbooks, and team photos were everywhere, as well as a few autograph-covered soccer balls, trophies, certificates, even a framed picture of Mr. LeClerq with a famous foreign soccer player that Lena's father used to talk about all the time. He had one name. Pepé, or something like that.
But the desk was clearly where Giselle's mom wanted Lena to look. There really was nothing special about it, except that for Phillipe LeClerq, it was ridiculously messy. Drawers were opened, and papers and file folders were scattered around on its surface. A computer monitor flashed a screen saver message repeatedly.
I love my granddaughter … I love my granddaughter … I love my granddaughter …
Lena cleared her throat. “Is this the way you found the desk after, um, after Mr. LeClerq was taken to the hospital?” One of the file folders held the closing documents for the sale of the house to Mr. and Mrs. LeClerq back in 1971. Another held insurance information. One contained several articles on teaching strategies for kids with learning disabilities.
Giselle's mom nodded emphatically. “My husband and I came over later that day and found it just like this. We didn't touch a thing. Neither did the police,” she added, with a disgusted sound. “Like I told you, they don't think anyone was here. Even though I told them that they took my father-in-law's CDs.”
“You mean from the living room?” Lena asked.
“No. His computer CDs.” The woman crossed her arms. “They were here on the desk.”
Lena moved the mouse and the screen saver disappeared to reveal the program manager screen. “Did your father-in-law do anything unusual with his computer?” she asked.
“Not unless you call e-mailing with his family unusual.”
“Did they check for fingerprints?” Lena asked.
“Oh, yeah. They spent about two minutes talking to Giselle, and then about two more minutes looking around for fingerprints and whatever, but they said they didn't find anything.”
Lena turned to the little girl. “What did they say to you, Giselle?”
The girl looked
Sketchy City.
But so what if Giselle's mother had some off-the-wall theory that underachiever thieves were to blame for her father-in-law's death? As long as Giselle and her mother were willing to talk to her, Lena was interested in hearing what they had to say. And she had been more than happy to meet them at Mr. LeClerq's home in Oak Park.
The first thing that Lena noticed when she walked through the front door was that Phillipe LeClerq was a lot neater than she was.
Well, okay. Just about anyone who was able to see their floor was a lot neater than Lena was. But Phillipe LeClerq was pretty exceptional.
From the tidy entryway with its little table and vase of dried flowers, to the formal dining room, with the lace tablecloth and the sideboards featuring lovely china, to the gleaming but somewhat outdated kitchen, to the living room with the surprisingly modern entertainment system, everything was clean, and everything was in its place.
But Giselle's mother was much more interested in having Lena look at the den. That's where she said that the men who broke into the house had gone. Lena checked to see the reaction of Giselle, the only witness to the supposed break-in. There was none. She could well have been the quietest girl that Lena had ever met. Maybe in a little while, she'd feel more comfortable around Lena and open up.
The den was lined with bookcases filled with books, dozens of framed rare coins—apparently Mr. LeClerq was a coin collector—and the kind of memorabilia that a well-loved high school math teacher and soccer coach accumulates over thirty years. Class pictures, yearbooks, and team photos were everywhere, as well as a few autograph-covered soccer balls, trophies, certificates, even a framed picture of Mr. LeClerq with a famous foreign soccer player that Lena's father used to talk about all the time. He had one name. Pepé, or something like that.
But the desk was clearly where Giselle's mom wanted Lena to look. There really was nothing special about it, except that for Phillipe LeClerq, it was ridiculously messy. Drawers were opened, and papers and file folders were scattered around on its surface. A computer monitor flashed a screen saver message repeatedly.
I love my granddaughter … I love my granddaughter … I love my granddaughter …
Lena cleared her throat. “Is this the way you found the desk after, um, after Mr. LeClerq was taken to the hospital?” One of the file folders held the closing documents for the sale of the house to Mr. and Mrs. LeClerq back in 1971. Another held insurance information. One contained several articles on teaching strategies for kids with learning disabilities.
Giselle's mom nodded emphatically. “My husband and I came over later that day and found it just like this. We didn't touch a thing. Neither did the police,” she added, with a disgusted sound. “Like I told you, they don't think anyone was here. Even though I told them that they took my father-in-law's CDs.”
“You mean from the living room?” Lena asked.
“No. His computer CDs.” The woman crossed her arms. “They were here on the desk.”
Lena moved the mouse and the screen saver disappeared to reveal the program manager screen. “Did your father-in-law do anything unusual with his computer?” she asked.
“Not unless you call e-mailing with his family unusual.”
“Did they check for fingerprints?” Lena asked.
“Oh, yeah. They spent about two minutes talking to Giselle, and then about two more minutes looking around for fingerprints and whatever, but they said they didn't find anything.”
Lena turned to the little girl. “What did they say to you, Giselle?”
The girl looked
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