A/N: A new chapter just for you! Enjoy!

Old Sins Have Long Shadows

Chapter 11

Grissom flipped through pages in the yellow folder as Sara drove across the city; he reached over and took her hand. She had told him about talking to Brass which caused him to laugh—not the first time Detective Jim Brass had reached a truth about Sara's life. Grissom squeezed her hand and smiled; he had been holding her hand for years, he realized.

"It was good of D.B. to give you the list of neighbors," he said.

Sara slowed as she turned into a neighborhood. "It's a start."

She had left the lab, made a call to her husband, and picked him up a few minutes later. Together, they decided a quick visit to Adam Spencer's old neighborhoodmight yield something—and they had the list of names.

"There it is—the Spencer's address," Grissom said as he pointed to a gray house, neatly kept, flowers on the porch.

The street curved and made a loop before rejoining itself. Adam's old home was located in the loop so Sara drove around, counting the houses before she stopped at the curb between two houses.

"Looks like we're lucky no developer came in and knocked them all down," Grissom said as he checked the list. "You want to split up?"

Sara smiled, "No, we stay together. Besides—this is your investigation. I'm here to take notes."

"Let's try the neighbor on the left." An older model car was in the carport.

They walked up a cracked sidewalk; one pot of flowers, wilting in the afternoon sun, hung from a hook on the porch. Before Grissom touched the doorbell, Sara noticed a slight movement of a curtain. Almost immediately, they heard the shuffling of feet and then a lock turned.

The door opened on a chain and one-half of a wrinkled white face appeared. "I don't want to buy anything."

Sara nearly choked when Grissom held up his university ID card, saying, "I'm Gil Grissom—this is my wife, Sara."

The lined face wrinkled even more.

"We are not here to sell anything. We know Adam Spencer—he lived next door as a child," Grissom explained. "We're trying to learn something about his mother's death—he asked if I would—would talk to the neighbors."

The door closed, the chain moved, and then the door opened again. "I remember Adam—and his mother." The face belonged to an elderly, short and wide woman wearing baggy knee-length shorts and a bright pink sleeveless shirt.

Grissom reached for Sara as the old woman held the door open to admit them.

Sara asked, "Are you Mrs. Barnes?" She held out her hand. "Sara Grissom."

"Lois Barnes, yes, yes, I am." A fleshy hand shook Sara's and waved toward the living room. "So Adam must be grown now—what did you say about his mother?"

Briefly, Grissom explained the reason for the visit—at Adam's request to learn something about his parents—and played his role as friend and mentor, inquiring about the old lady's health in a way that caused Sara to smile.

The older woman sat in a worn armchair, indicating the sofa for Grissom and Sara. Glancing around, Sara realized the green room had not been redecorated in years. Faded framed prints of flowers were arranged in groupings; old photographs covered surfaces of tables and were lined up on top of an old piano. The green walls, a shade nearly the color of an avocado, and the carpet on the floor were almost the same, and the upholstered furniture was a blend of two or three similar greens. Sara almost giggled when she thought of frogs; the entire room could hide a thousand frogs.

But Grissom was talking and she swung her eyes back to the old lady who said, "It's been a good many years, but yes, that was a very sad tragedy."

"Yes, yes—and Adam is a young man now. He—he asked me if I could find out anything about his parents. He doesn't remember much," Grissom said. "So we thought one of the neighbors might be able to help us."

Lois Barnes nodded, thoughtfully saying, "I don't remember seeing Adam again—not after the funerals—but I think it would be hard for a young man to—to go around asking about his parents. He might hear something—you know, something he didn't want to know."

"So you remember them well?"

"Oh, yes! We were neighbors for six or seven years, I think. Adam was a little boy when they moved in. Polly, his mother, was a good woman—she doted on that little boy." Intense blue eyes met Sara's. "It was always a mystery to me—why she did that—killed herself and left her little boy."

Sara leaned forward, placing her hands together, asking, "Do you remember anything that might help us piece together why Adam's parents killed themselves?"

"The police said it was suicide—one of them killed the other and then killed himself—or maybe one killed herself and then he killed himself—I always thought it had to be Mr. Spencer. He worked all the time—they had a business and he spent long hours there." Lois Barnes shook her head, adding, "But he loved that boy too."

Asking, "What do you think happened?" Grissom shifted his position so his knee touched Sara's; he leaned forward. She glanced at him, thinking he could charm a black widow spider if he wanted.

The older woman's finger traced along the chair's well-worn fabric for several moments. Finally, she said, "There was talk—you know how people, neighbors that really didn't know them—said there was another woman." A quick smile, and then, "Of course, just as many said there was a man, so who knows. I never thought that—never heard a quarrel between them. And our yards were not fenced then so the boy would play back and forth."

Softly, Grissom asked, "Could it have been jealousy?"

Lois shook her head, answering, "I wouldn't think so. Polly was a beautiful woman—do you have a picture of her? I'm sure I do somewhere." She started to rise from the chair, but Grissom motioned for her to stay seated. She sat back, saying, "Something else—Polly was a beauty, dark hair, always looked nice. Before she died, she changed her hair style—not much, but shorter."

"I know it's asking a lot, but do you remember the last conversation you had with Mrs. Spencer?"

Without hesitating, Lois Barnes said, "Of course. She was telling me about a book she was reading—something about women changing history. I thought it odd at the time—you know, reading history." The older woman chuckled, "She and I were always swapping trashy romance novels—paperbacks, mostly—so Polly reading a serious book was—was different."

Again, Grissom asked a question. "Do you remember her sister?"

Mrs. Barnes' eyes sparkled again and then a frown creased her forehead. "Oh—I had almost forgotten all the brouhaha about her sister. She came out for a couple of visits, about once a year—but she—she wasn't right, if you know what I mean."

Grissom and Sara shook their heads, indicating they did not know.

"They were identical twins. Polly told me they had gotten their first tooth on the same day but there was something about the sister that was off. Not physically—she was as beautiful as Polly—but she was off. Not something I could put my finger on, and I only saw her a few times, but Polly didn't talk about her sister. It was like—she'd show up—not that they were expecting her, she'd be here and stay two weeks and be gone."

Pulling herself up, Lois Barnes quieted Grissom's protest with a wave of her hand. "I'll find the pictures." With that she walked to a bookcase and, after several minutes, returned with two large photo albums.

Sara pulled out a small notebook and started writing notes.

Another few minutes passed as Mrs. Barnes thumbed through pages. "Ahh—here they are!" She turned the book so Grissom and Sara could see the page.

A younger Lois Barnes was in each photograph; she pointed to three of them. "This is Polly and me and this is Adam with me—sweet little boy—and all of us here." The group shot showed the boy and his father kneeling on grass and the three women behind them. Two identical looking women flanked Mrs. Barnes.

"Which one is Polly?" asked Grissom.

Without hesitating, Lois Barnes pointed at one. "This is Polly—longer hair—and this is Holly."

"Holly died a few weeks before the suicides," Sara injected.

Lois lifted her eyes from the photographs, saying, "I had forgotten that. You're not old enough to know how one forgets the order of things—certain events happen and you can't remember if it was ten years ago or seven years ago or if one thing happened and then another—sometimes they get all jumbled up. But, yes, now, I remember. The sister came for a visit and in a few days she was dead."

A finger tapped the photos. Lois said, "It was more than a few days—these pictures were taken then—when the sister came and before they took Adam to camp." She sighed, "I never realized this was probably the last ones taken of the family."

The three talked for a while, in generalities about the neighbors and the neighborhood, returning to the Spencer's and the photographs when Grissom asked:

"Is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?"

She shook her head. "No, not right now, Dr. Grissom. At the time, I could never imagine a cause for their deaths—so sudden like that. With the little boy at camp—was it something about the sister? I can't think why—she wasn't here very long—but I wouldn't be surprised if she jumped from a cliff out there. She was off—not that one could tell by looking." Carefully, she peeled the three photos from the page and handed them to Grissom.

"The Spencer's were happy. Adam was happy—but that sister was—was different." She sighed loudly and let her eyes wander around the room before settling on the front window. "The Simons are younger than I am. They've been here almost as long as me—and might remember something."

Again, Lois struggled to get out of her chair, refusing Grissom's hand, and made her way to a phone hanging on a wall where she pressed numbers from memory. Sara and Grissom listened to one-side of the conversation as Lois Barnes explained the reason for calling and they heard the confirmation that both neighbors would come.

"I'm going to fix coffee," Lois said as she hung up the telephone. "I may have some cookies—just stay there—let the Simons in, would you? Jewel and Mark, be here in three minutes." The older woman disappeared and the rush of water and clank of a metal pot caused Sara to think coffee would be instant.

A/N: A lot going on in this story-thank you for reading and, as always, we appreciate hearing from readers!