Page 17 of So Alone

“What about you?” she asked.

Genevieve didn't answer. Olivia watched, bemused, as the younger woman proceeded to snap several more pictures of herself.

Michael reached forward and snatched the phone from Genevieve’s hand. Genevieve stiffened and regarded Michael the way one might regard a fresh stain on their carpet. “Excuse you,” she snapped.

“My partner was just asking if you noticed anything out of the ordinary the morning before your mother was ripped apart by dogs,” Michael said.

Faith shot him a warning glance. She understood his frustration, but now was not the time for them to lose their cool.

“No,” Genevieve said irritably. “Can I have my phone back now?”

“No,” Michael replied. “We’re interviewing you about your mother’s death.”

“Well,Ididn’t kill her!”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you much that she’s dead,” Faith said, “Either of you.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes and plopped back on the couch. “Well, I’m sorry. Do you want me to cry or something?”

Michael leaned forward, offering a hard smile that stopped well before his eyes. “If it will make things easier, Miss Demetrious, we can have this conversation at the sheriff’s station.”

“That won’t be necessary, officer,” Olivia interrupted. “My granddaughter is very upset at her mother’s death, as you can clearly see.”

“We can’t see it,” Faith said. When Olivia cast her an offended look, she added, “and we’re not concerned with politeness or etiquette. To repeat my partner’s point, if we don’t feel we’ve learned what we need from this interview, we may opt to continue this conversation at the station,” she turned to Genevieve, “where we can talk free of distractions.”

Olivia’s lips thinned in disapproval. Genevieve sighed loudly and rolled her eyes again. “Okay, look, Mom was a bitch, all right? If you think Grandma and I are tough to deal with, you should have seen her. It was always about her. Always. When I heard she was dead, I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t care. I didn’t kill her, all right? Neither did Grandma. We have security cameras all over the house. You can see that we stayed home all night. Happy?”

“We’ll look at that footage,” Michael said, “and for now, we’ll give you both the benefit of the doubt. I’d like to know why you considered your mom a bitch.”

“I told you,” Genevieve said irritably. “It was always about her. If I had a problem, she had a bigger one. If I needed help, I was being annoying. If I was upset about something, I was ruining her good vibes. She didn’t care about anyone but herself, and no one cares enough about her to be upset that she’s gone. She left me her house and money, and it was the only nice thing she ever did for me. So I’m sorry that I’m not weeping uncontrollably, but I’m just not all that upset that the bitch is dead, now can I please have my fucking phone?”

“Language, Genevieve!” Olivia exclaimed.

Genevieve rolled her eyes and fell silent.

Olivia turned back to the agents. “I apologize for my granddaughter’s outburst. I’m afraid she’s correct. My Gigi was a poor mother. She loved Genevieve with all her heart, but I’m afraid she lacked a certain quality that allowed her the patience to raise a child. I think she only had poor Genevieve to try to please her husband. I’m afraid that didn’t work out.”

Genevieve’s shoulders tensed very slightly at her grandmother’s announcement. Faith decided she needed to have a one-on-one talk with her, but first, she needed a little more info from Olivia “Where is her ex-husband?” Faith asked.

“Charles? Oh, he died a long time ago. When Genevieve was eleven. She never knew him. He left Gigi three weeks after she was born. Good riddance. I always told Gigi that nothing good could come from marrying a Scandinavian.”

Faith fought the urge to curl her lips in disgust. Olivia was the worst example of her generation, a bitter relic of the most revolting aspects of her time. Faith found herself almost hoping Olivia had something to do with the murder just so she could have the pleasure of seeing her carted off to jail.

“I think we’ll make more progress if we interview the two of you separately,” Faith said. “Miss Genevieve, you’ll come with me.”

“Can the dog stay here? This is a four-thousand-dollar dress. I don’t want him getting fur or drool on it.”

Faith glanced at Turk, who seemed to have no desire at all to get close to Genevieve. He fixed a look of exasperation on Faith, and Faith shrugged. "He'll stay with Michael and your grandmother."

“Fine,” Genevieve said, standing and stalking away.

Faith shared another look with Michael, then followed Genevieve. The younger woman led her to the back of the house, then out into a spacious backyard dominated by a swimming pool fed by a rock-lined waterfall. She walked to a pair of lawn chairs and draped herself over one with the practiced ease of someone used to being watched. “Can we talk here?” she asked, a rather unnecessary request since she’d already sat. “I haven’t gotten any sun today, and I feel drained.”

“Here’s fine,” Faith said, sitting on the edge of the other lawn chair.

She waited silently for Genevieve to speak. If she was correct, Genevieve had more to say but would close up like an oyster if prodded. If left alone, maybe she would open up, just a little.

After a few minutes, Genevieve turned her head lazily and regarded Faith with a gaze that seemed to be intended to be contemptuous but succeeded only in being vulnerable and afraid of opening up. Faith continued to wait, and when Genevieve evidently decided that she could trust Faith not to belittle her, she spoke.

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