“You’re Turn’s maternal grandfather?”
“Yes,” the old man nodded, a smile of quiet pride spreading on his chestnut brown face. “My only grandson. My only grandchild.”
“What was his mother like? What was your daughter like when she was growing up?”
The old man looked at Debra and chuckled. He lifted his glass of wine again for a drink and glanced at me over the glass rim before setting it down.
“She was a bouncing little kid who asked a million questions. Had big eyes, a big grin that’d just melt your heart, a sweetness about her that made everyone love her. Much as I suspect Turner was when he was a kid.”
She turned and looked at me, flashing a huge grin in the process. There was mischief in those eyes. But I kept quiet and continued eating.
“Innocent? Turner? Nah! I bet he was a hand
