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.”
Well, stone the crows, as Rafe might have said. There was something the kid didn’t know.
“The DeKeyser family,” Dana went on, “is well respected in the community. There wasn’t a hint of scandal in any of the newspaper articles I read, and none of them has ever died of anything other than natural causes or the typical diseases of their times.”
“Any theories about a connection between Andrea Vennard and Talia?” I asked. “And I’m not talking about the genetic relationship. I’m talking about something that would be a motivation for Andrea’s death. Even a guess might be helpful.”
The kid frowned. “I don’t guess.”
“Dana!”
Both Dana and I turned to see a woman standing at the back door to the kitchen. She was probably a little older than I was, with hair the color of Dana’s pulled back into a ponytail. Her forehead was streaked with dirt and there was a scratch across one cheek.
“Dana, I told you to call me when Ms. Hamilton showed up.” She looked at me apologetically. “Sorry about that. I’m Jenny, Dana’s mother. I was clearing out the backyard. Now that we’re only here in the summers, the spring-cleanup chores don’t get done until June.”
Which explained why I hadn’t met Dana during the school year, but not why I hadn’t come across this amazing human intelligence during the summers.
“Would you like something to drink?” Jenny asked, toeing off her garden clogs and walking stocking footed into the kitchen. “Water, soda, iced tea?”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I need to get going. Dana was very helpful and I’m grateful for”—his? Her?—“the time.”
“Did you get everything you need?” Jenny took a glass out of a cupboard and went to the sink. “The DeKeysers were a pet project of Dana’s a few years ago. I’m sure you were inundated with information.”
I glanced at the kid. “I think I have everything.” Dana nodded. “Thanks again for the help. I really appreciate it.”
“Stop by if you need anything else,” Jennifer said as she walked me to the front door. “Dana could use more human interaction.” She smiled wryly. “Even if it’s just spouting off facts.”