Beth Corbin was questioned the same afternoon investigators recovered the blue box.
I did not see the interview, and Dana was careful about what she shared because the criminal and child-welfare investigations had begun overlapping in ways she could no longer simplify for me. What I learned came in pieces: first from Dana, later from Greg, and finally from records discussed during the next court review.
Beth denied knowing Kaylee was being physically hurt.
That denial remained consistent.
She admitted communicating with Tasha.
She admitted contacting her after conversations Kaylee had at school.
She admitted believing Tasha’s repeated claim that Kaylee had developed a habit of making exaggerated accusations whenever she disliked rules at home.
But when investigators asked why she had been listed as an emergency contact during the urgent-care visit, Beth’s explanation became less simple.
Nicole had called her.
That was Beth’s version.
Nicole said Tasha was taking Kaylee to urgent care after a playground fall and Greg was out of town. Beth claimed Nicole asked whether she could serve as a backup contact because she worked near the clinic.
She agreed.
“Did you speak with medical staff?” the investigator asked.
Beth said yes.
“About what?”
According to the interview summary, Beth said a nurse called because the clinic had been unable to reach Greg.
“What did you tell them?”
“That Kaylee was clumsy.”
The phrase sat in my mind all afternoon.
Clumsy.
One word capable of covering a great deal.
Kaylee bumped into things.
Kaylee fell.
Kaylee exaggerated.
Kaylee sought attention.
Kaylee misunderstood discipline.
Every adult around her had been given a vocabulary that made the truth sound childish before she ever spoke.
Dana called me shortly before dinner.
“Beth says she thought she was helping.”
“Do you believe her?”
“That isn’t my role.”
I knew better than to push.
“What does she say about the blue box?”
“She admits telling Tasha that Kaylee brought something unusual to school.”
“She knew it was a box.”
“Yes.”
“Did she look inside?”
“She says no.”
“Then why warn Tasha?”
“Because Kaylee had told another child she had proof that someone at home was mean.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not a disclosure to an adult.
A conversation with another child.
And even that had made its way back.
“Who told Beth?”
Dana paused.
“A student overheard it and told her.”
“So Kaylee had no private space anywhere.”
“That may be how it felt to her.”
I looked toward the living room.
Kaylee and Mia sat cross-legged on the floor, constructing a miniature town from cardboard boxes. Kaylee was drawing windows onto what she had declared was a bakery.
She looked peaceful.
The sight hurt.
“Does Kaylee know Beth is being questioned?”
“No.”
“Should she?”
“Not yet.”
That night, Greg came to my house for his first supervised visit since the hearing.
Dana arrived first.
She explained the rules.
No questions about the investigation.
No discussion of Tasha.
No promises about when Kaylee would return home.
No asking Kaylee whether she wanted to live with him.
Greg listened carefully.
When he arrived, he carried the old blue blanket he had found under his truck seat.
Kaylee saw it through the window before he reached the porch.
“Dad!”
She ran toward the door.
Then stopped.
I watched the hesitation cross her face.
Old instinct.
Wait for permission.
“You can open it,” I said.
She did.
Greg remained on the porch.
“Can I come in?”
Kaylee nodded.
He entered slowly.
For thirty minutes, nothing important happened.
That was what made it important.
They played cards.
Greg lost three times.
Kaylee accused him of cheating badly.
He said losing on purpose was different from cheating.
She rolled her eyes.
Mia joined them and beat both.
Dana sat at the kitchen table with paperwork, intervening only when Greg’s emotion began pulling him toward questions he could not ask.
At one point, Kaylee wrapped the blue blanket around her shoulders.
Greg looked at her.
“You used to drag that everywhere.”
“I remember.”
“You cried when we washed it.”
“It smelled wrong.”
“You were four.”
“It still smelled wrong.”
Greg laughed.
Then his expression shifted.
Four.
The age when Kaylee’s biological mother had died.
I had known vaguely that Greg’s first wife died when Kaylee was small, but I had never asked details. Tasha entered their lives roughly two years afterward.
Later, while Kaylee and Mia played upstairs, Greg sat across from me and Dana.
“I keep thinking about her mother.”
Dana looked up.
Greg rubbed both hands together.
“Claire would kill me.”
“That kind of thought isn’t useful right now,” Dana said.
“I know.”
He stared at the tabletop.
“I promised her.”
Neither of us spoke.
“She was sick for fourteen months. Every decision was about Kaylee. Who would take her to school. Who knew her allergies. Where the insurance cards were. Claire made lists.”
He gave a bitter laugh.
“Thousands of lists.”
“What happened after she died?” Dana asked.
Greg swallowed.
“My mother helped for a while. Then I met Tasha.”
“How quickly did Tasha begin caring for Kaylee alone?”
“Maybe a year after we married.”
Dana made a note.
“Did Kaylee resist?”
“Sometimes.”
“How did you interpret that?”
Greg looked toward the stairs.
“As grief.”
“Could it have been?”
“Some of it.”
He pressed his thumb into the edge of the table.
“But now I don’t know what I ignored because grief was easier to understand.”
Dana asked about Tasha’s relationship with Claire’s memory.
Greg frowned.
“Why?”
“Answer if you can.”
“At first, she was respectful.”
“And later?”
He hesitated.
“She thought we kept too many things.”
“What things?”
“Photos. Clothes. Kaylee’s baby stuff.”
“Did she remove any?”
“A few boxes went to storage.”
“Whose idea?”
“Tasha’s.”
Dana’s pen stopped.
“Where is the storage unit?”
Greg looked surprised.
“North Briar Storage.”
“Whose name is it under?”
“Mine, I think.”
“You think?”
“Tasha handled the payments.”
Dana wrote something else.
My stomach tightened.
The blue box had contained Kaylee’s birthday card from her mother.
The photographs.
The bracelet.
Objects tied to Claire.
“What exactly was in the blue box when Kaylee first had it?” I asked.
Greg looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Claire give it to her?”
He went still.
“I did.”
“When?”
“After Claire died.”
Dana looked up.
Greg continued.
“It was Claire’s jewelry box originally. Not expensive. Blue wood, little brass latch. Kaylee used it for things she wanted to keep.”
“The same box investigators recovered?”
“Yes.”
He looked sick.
“I didn’t realize.”
That altered the box again.
It was not simply a hiding place.
It had been one of Kaylee’s last physical connections to her mother.
And Tasha had taken it.
Dana asked, “Did Tasha resent the box?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she resent Claire?”
Greg’s first response was immediate.
“No.”
Then he stopped.
Memory moved across his face.
“She hated when people compared them.”
“Who compared them?”
“My mother sometimes.”
“What would she say?”
“That Claire handled Kaylee differently.”
“How?”
“More gently.”
Greg looked away.
Dana asked, “Did that cause conflict?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“My mother stopped coming over as often.”
“Why?”
Greg frowned.
“She said Tasha didn’t want her there.”
“Did Tasha say that?”
“She said Mom undermined her.”
The circle widened again.
First Kaylee’s school conversations.
Then food.
Then medical care.
Now extended family.
Anyone who might see too much seemed gradually pushed outside.
“Your mother still lives nearby?” Dana asked.
“Twenty minutes away.”
“Has anyone interviewed her?”
“No.”
Dana stood.
“I’m going to make a call.”
Greg looked alarmed.
“Why?”
“Because she may have observed earlier changes.”
Kaylee came downstairs before Dana returned.
She carried a framed photograph.
I recognized it from Mia’s room where Kaylee had placed a few belongings after the emergency placement.
“Dad?”
Greg looked up.
Kaylee handed him the picture.
It showed a younger Greg beside a woman with dark hair holding toddler Kaylee between them.
“Mom kept this in the blue box.”
Greg stared.
“I thought that picture was gone.”
“Tasha said I couldn’t have it out.”
His expression hardened.
“Why?”
Kaylee realized she had entered forbidden territory.
Her shoulders rose.
Greg saw it and stopped himself.
“You don’t have to answer.”
She studied him.
Then said anyway, “She said it made the house sad.”
Greg closed his eyes.
Kaylee hugged the photograph to her chest.
“I liked it.”
“You can keep it out.”
“At your house?”
He looked toward Dana, who had reentered.
She gave the smallest nod.
“Yes,” Greg said. “At my house too.”
Kaylee watched him.
“Even if she doesn’t like it?”
Greg’s face changed.
“She won’t be there.”
Kaylee looked down.
The visit ended at seven.
Greg hugged her only after asking.
Then he stood on the porch for a long time before walking to his truck.
Dana remained behind.
“I spoke with Greg’s mother.”
“What did she say?”
“Enough that we need a formal interview.”
My stomach tightened.
“About injuries?”
“Not directly.”
“Then what?”
Dana hesitated.
“She says Kaylee began hiding food at her house almost two years ago.”
I thought of the pantry lock.
The cautious second helping.
The granola bar.
“Did she ask why?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Kaylee said she was saving it for later.”
That alone could have meant nothing.
Dana continued.
“Then Greg’s mother says Tasha stopped allowing unsupervised visits.”
“When?”
“Shortly after.”
I looked toward the stairs.
“So every time someone noticed something—”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“She got between them.”
“Possibly.”
Dana’s phone rang.
She answered.
The conversation lasted less than a minute.
When she ended the call, she looked troubled.
“What now?”
“Investigators reviewed more of the blue-box photographs.”
“Kaylee’s injuries?”
“Some.”
She paused.
“Others show the laundry room.”
“What about it?”
“Changes over time.”
I waited.
“The room was altered.”
“How?”
“Padding removed from part of the floor. A door latch added. Shelving repositioned.”
My skin prickled.
“Why would Kaylee photograph that?”
“We don’t know if she did.”
The same issue as the medical paperwork.
Somebody else may have added evidence to the box.
“Then who?”
Dana shook her head.
“That’s the question.”
The next morning, investigators found a partial answer.
One of the photographs had a date handwritten on the back.
And beneath the date were three initials.
Not Kaylee’s.
Not Greg’s.
Not Tasha’s.
They belonged to Greg’s mother.
Which meant someone else in the family had known enough to document the room long before Kaylee ever arrived at my house in pink sneakers.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Greg’s Mother Brought Out Photographs She Had Hidden for Nearly Two Years, Along With the Reason She Never Reported What She Suspected
The Sleepover Began Normally Until Kaylee Wouldn’t Take Off the Pink Sneakers She Had Worn Inside All Evening
Part 13 of 44
