Reid looked at the photos on the wall. "Is this you, Layla?" he asked, pointing to a picture of a girl with long blonde hair; also in the picture was a boy with spiky blonde hair about four years older than the girl, and a man who looked like the two children.
"Yes," I answered, "with my brother and my father."
Rossi walked across the room and stood next to Reid in front of the photo wall. He noticed a picture smack in the middle of the rest that said "Drama Queen;" it was a picture of a blonde girl, who was in her junior year in high school. It was Audrey in a high school's production of Little Shop of Horrors. On the wall next to it there was a picture of the same girl playing the piano, and her mouth was open as if she was singing along with the music she played. Above that photo was the same girl, dressed in a yellow ball gown and next to her stood a boy in a tux; the girl was kissing the boy's cheek.
"You were obviously a very dramatic young woman," Rossi pointed out.
I sat on the bench by the piano, and I ran a hand through my hair. I heard a low rumbling come from outside and Rossi and I looked out the window. There was a police cruiser behind the old pickup in the driveway; Richard was home.
"Reid," Rossi announced, "he's here."
I put my hands on the ebony and ivory piano keys, and then I gently pressed down on the keys, one by one. That last note made me want to play a whole song. I let my fingers do the talking, and every note I played brought out the tune to the song "Suspicious Minds" by Elvis Presley. I slipped off into the world of music and didn't return until the music stopped.
"That was good, Sylvia."
I looked up; I hadn't even noticed Richard come in or Rossi sit next to me. I glanced up at my older brother.
"I thought I told you never to call me that," I said coldly.
"It's your name," he replied. "I'm not going to call my sister by some fake name she came up with herself."
"Call me Layla."
Rossi put his hand on my back. "Cool it, Layla," he whispered. Once again, I hadn't noticed him move and he was then standing with his stomach to my back. I felt him tense behind me; he didn't trust my brother.
And to be honest, I didn't blame him.
"I'm David Rossi," his said, "and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We're friends and colleagues of Layla's. We're here to talk about Jakob Norris."
Richard went into the kitchen and after a few moments he came out with a beer in his hand. "Can I get you anything to drink or whatever?"
Rossi raised his eyebrow at this kind gesture and glanced over at Reid. "No," he said, "thank you." He glanced at me. "We just have a few questions to ask you about Jakob Norris, so if you'll sit down."
"I'll stand, thanks—"
"Richard, please," I asked. "It won't be too long."
After a moment, Richard sat down on the couch.
Reid sat on the piano bench next to me. "Did you ever get angry at Jakob, or have any arguments—"
"No, I didn't," Richard answered before taking a sip of his beer. "Jake and I were pals. Too bad he had to go off and get himself killed." His nose twitched and he made a freakishly fast movement with his hand. Rossi turned, giving me and Reid the signal that we were to leave and go back to Quantico.
"Thanks Richard," I said, following Rossi and Reid outside. "I'll call you at the end of the week, okay?"