A/N: A new chapter! Enjoy!

One More Grissom Sequel: The Day's Sweet Light

Chapter 6

Sara turned into the street as the GPS directed, passed the address and pulled to the curb at the next corner. She wasn't sure why she wanted to check out the neighborhood but a small park a block away provided a reasonable cover. Her daughter was happy to be her assistant in this exploring trip.

Grissom had made her promise to 'look—only look' at the Norwood house where the mother of the missing girl lived.

Dried leaves drifted along the curb so Jemma crunched through the clumps, delighted to be making noise.

Halfway along the street, Sara slowed and let Jemma play in leaves while she scanned the house. It was much like the others on the street, painted white with black railings along the porch. Long accustomed to common layouts, the placement of windows along the front indicated a living room and two sets of windows for bedrooms. Pots of flowers along the porch were well tended; the steps and sidewalk to the street was swept clean. Nothing moved, no slight shifting of blinds to indicate anyone was watching.

The observation had taken less than a minute and Jemma was ready to move along when Sara mentioned a park with a playground.

Across the street, the red front door of the house opened and a noisy tangle of legs and arms spilled onto the small porch. This porch had no blooming flowers but a colorful array of toys and a stroller and the sounds of other children stopped Jemma in her tracks. Sara had no option but to wait, watching as a woman emerged with a baby for the stroller and three small children around her legs.

A few minutes later, the family headed to the street. Sara tugged at her daughter's hand. "Let's go to the park."

"Are they coming too?" Jemma pointed to the two girls and one boy, all appearing to be under the age of ten. And all had noticed another child.

Without any plan, the children seemed to melt together; the two women behind them.

The young woman, a tentative smile to Sara, said, "We are headed to the park too—every day!"

Quickly, she said she was the nanny to the four children. "Two boys, two girls." She pointed ahead, saying, "All S names—Sean, Sylvie, Susie, and baby Sam. I am Cora—from Poland."

Sara introduced herself, first name only, and Jemma. "We are exploring playgrounds today," she said.

The nanny was delighted to have a conversation with another adult while she was attentive to the kids; she chatted to Sara about television shows she watched at night and after an hour, all the kids were sweaty from playing. When Cora mentioned snack time, the three children corralled around her ready to leave with the promise of food.

Sara and Jemma found a shady bench and Sara pulled out two apples and a small jar of peanut butter. She had learned nothing about the Norwood family but her daughter had enjoyed playing with the three children. Cutting slices of apple for Jemma, Sara listened as her daughter chatted about each of the three children.

Sara laughed as her daughter held up four fingers, naming each child. "We could have four, too. I really liked the baby."

Sara had been within three feet of the stroller while the children played. She knew Jemma had taken one quick glance at the baby before running to play. She said, "Well, we have two children and that's the number we are supposed to have."

Her daughter looked up, bright brown eyes wide with thought; Sara could see the child's mind working for a moment before she said, "We can have two children and two puppies."

Sara hugged her child, saying, "One more time on the swing before we go."

Later, with her husband, Sara said, "Pretty much a bust. I can't figure out a good way to contact Mrs. Norwood." She made a soft chuckle, adding, "She likes plants and her porch is neat."

Grissom slid a note paper across to her, saying, "Alana had two siblings. One lives in Seattle—the other, a sister, lives here."

Smiling, Sara read the address, saying, "Look at you! Work address and phone number—you had to pull a favor!"

"Nick."

Reaching for her phone, Sara said, "I'll text—ask if she'd meet to talk."

Sara and Grissom had been surprised with a response from Alana Norwood's sister, Abigail, within an hour. She worked in a hair salon and agreed to meet Sara the next morning before the salon opened. Sara arrived fifteen minutes early.

Finding the sister had proved so simple that Sara felt a suspicion of guilt at the ease. When a coppery-haired woman wearing a sun-yellow dress walked to the door of the salon, Sara knew this was Abigail, younger sister of Alana Norwood.

"Hello there," she called as Sara approached the door of the salon. The smile exposed magnificent pearly teeth. "I'm Abigail Stephens and it's a pleasure to meet you!"

Sara introduced herself as Abigail pushed the door open. "Call me Abby with a y—everyone does. So you are working my sister's case—last time it was a man—about ten years ago, I think."

Sara's attempt to explain how she came to Alana's cold case was waved away by brightly polished nails as Abigail said, "We know its coming—I mean, not the date or who but the press or law enforcement will show up occasionally."

Sara decided the woman's manner was one of efficiency rather than brusque and smiled quickly. She said, "I'm trying to learn what would not be in the file—what you remember—anything about your sister, her friends."

Abigail was happy to comply with remembrances of her childhood that covered usual family events up to the disappearance of her sister. "I was four years younger; our brother is four years younger than me. He doesn't really remember Alana like I do."

Sara paid full attention for a time but her concentration wavered when it became clear that Abigail's story was her own and Alana was a small part of it. A mention of their cousin was brief as Abigail said, "Everyone thought he did something to Alana." She shrugged, "We'll never know and I barely remember him."

During a pause of seconds, Sara managed to ask, "What about your mom? Do you think she'd talk to me?"

The interruption was met with a surprised silence and for the first time, Abigail's eyes flickered away from Sara. She said, "My mom—she's never liked to talk about Alana. I think it was the shock—and—and she had us. After a while, we didn't talk about Alana—we grew up." A quiet sigh came. "It is always surprising how normal we lived—my dad had cancer and died when I was fourteen. But he had life insurance—my mom made sure we continued to live like other families around us."

"And your mom? Is she retired?"

Abigail nodded, saying, "She lives in the house where we grew up." Giving a slight smile, she said, "I'll talk to her—she may decide she'll talk to you. I don't think she can tell you anything new."

Sara looked around the salon at the posters of latest hair styles, the spotless mirrors, the rows of chairs trying to think of anything else she could ask. As she stood to leave, she thought to ask, "Other than your mother, are there any neighbors who have lived there since your sister disappeared?"

Quickly, Abigail's answer was "no" then a pause before she added, "They moved away years ago. A couple of them died—all new neighbors around my mom." She shrugged, "You know how real estate is here—I keep telling my mom she should sell."

A few minutes later, Sara left the salon. Yet, there was an uneasy feeling in the way the conversation had ended. She was in her vehicle before she realized it was the same uneasy feeling she'd had with the retired detective.

Abigail Stephens and Doug Miller had spoken freely, easily up to a point—then both had become evasive when talking about the mother, Ann Norwood.

When Sara told all of this to Grissom, he was puzzled. "Why would they be less than truthful?"

"I don't think it's that way—not a lie. It feels as if they are intentionally vague when it comes to the mother. Why are there no direct interviews with her?"

Thoughtfully, Grissom asked, almost as a statement, "Why would Miller and the sister make that impression on you?"

For a long moment, they sat in silence until Grissom said, "We'll go see her. She can't avoid us forever." With a quiet chuckle, he added, "We'll take flowers—a plant."

A/N: Thank you for reading- we love to hear from readers! More to come.