Easy Innocence by Libby Fischer Hellmann

said. “I didn’t know...”
    Walcher nodded. “We’re all—well, we’re all under a good deal of stress.” He looked over at Andrea. Was he apologizing for his wife’s behavior? She glared at him. “But Lauren’s strong. She’ll make it. We’re planning to take her to a therapist.”
    Georgia heard an intake of breath from Andrea.
    “And, thankfully, the legal wrangling seems to be moving along.” Walcher went on. “I’m a lawyer myself, and I know what legal sparring in the midst of grief is like.”
    “Are you involved in the case?”
    “No.” He unclasped his hands and leaned his elbows on the back of one of the wingback chairs. “I’m—well, let’s just say I know the players involved.” A trace of self-importance curled his lip.
    Did that mean Jeff Ramsey? Were they “buddies?” Georgia wanted to follow up, but she was supposed to be a social worker from the school. Social workers didn’t ask about murder investigations. She leaned back against the couch. Tom Walcher was continuing to play the genial host, but there was something disingenuous about him. And his wife was an arctic wind. What would they do if they realized she wasn’t the person they thought? She should never have come. Too late now. She dug her thumb nail into her index finger and squeezed. “May I talk to Lauren?”
    Walcher gestured. “Of course.” He turned to Andrea. “Would you get her, dear?”
    Andrea didn’t move. Walcher shot her a questioning look. When Andrea still didn’t move, he moved past her toward the stairs and called out. “Lauren, sweetie. Could you come down for a minute?”
    There was no response.
    Walcher flashed Georgia an embarrassed smile. “Her door must be closed. I’ll get her.” He started up the stairs.
    The few moments she was alone with Andrea Walcher seemed interminable. The woman leveled her with a suspicious look and made no attempt at chitchat. The message was clear: “You don’t belong here, I don’t like you, and I won’t do anything to make it easier.” Georgia’s pulse throbbed against her temple.
    At length a noise at the top of the steps distracted her, and a girl’s voice shouted defiantly, “No. I don’t have time.”
    A two-way mumble followed, and while Georgia couldn’t catch the words, the girl’s defiance became a whine, and eventually an exasperated, “Oh, all right.” Feet shuffled down the stairs, and Lauren Walcher spilled into the room.
    The girl was a younger version of her mother, but with sharper features. Tall for her age, and slim, she had hair the same dark shade as Andrea’s, but longer and thicker. Like her mother, she dressed in clothes that flattered her body. And looked expensive. Lauren’s expression was just as suspicious as her mother’s, and when she saw Georgia, her eyes narrowed.
    “Who are you? Where’s Beaumont?”
    “What are you talking about, Lauren?” Andrea said. “She’s your counselor from school.”
    “I’ve never seen her before. She doesn’t work at Newfield.”
    Before Andrea could react, Georgia jumped in. “That’s true. I’ve been brought in as a private counselor. I work in Evanston.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
    “Why would they do that?” Lauren’s tone was belligerent. “You didn’t know Sara.”
    “Right again,” Georgia said. “But sometimes that can work to your advantage. I’m not bringing any baggage. And I do know how to work with people in crisis.” She gave Lauren the hint of a smile. “It’s my job.” That wasn’t so far from the truth either.
    Lauren looked at her watch. “I only have a few minutes. I’m going out.”
    “Where?” Her mother asked.
    “Just out.” She turned a chilly voice to her mother. “You said to be home by seven thirty. It’s not even five.”
    Andrea shrugged in Georgia’s direction. “That was before she showed up.”
    If only she could get the girl alone. Georgia turned to Walcher, who had followed his daughter back downstairs. “Would it