She brows arched. “You’re my granddaughter.”
Nell did skeptical. Grannie not-dearest looked away. Then Nell got it. This visit wasn’t about her. It was about Dad. Her son. That she hadn’t seen for thirty-plus years. Who she’d never see again. Was it longing she sensed beneath the anger? Or the old lady could be trying to play her, find out what she knew.
“Did he make music boxes…before?” Nell asked.
That put some surprise on her face. “No…” She blinked. “He…no.”
“Oh.” Nell hesitated. “Maybe it was his way to sing without singing.” Or a way to distract himself from missing what he’d left behind? “He was terrible. When he wanted to make us laugh, he’d do this lounge singer routine—” Nell stopped as the surprise grew, removing some of the scary matriarch vibes. “Did he sing a lot when he
