“Do you want to do this or not?” September asked her.
When called on her behavior, Carol straightened up sharply. “Of course I do. I just want the proper protocol to be followed, that’s all. The world is certainly short on good behavior, and I refuse to be accused of rudeness, no matter what anyone else does.”
Gretchen said, “You’re with the police. They’ll be looking at us, not you. They’re not going to care whether you crossed every fucking t and dotted every fucking i.”
Her face suffused with color. “Well . . . really.”
September jumped in. “How about I knock and introduce myself? You can follow along.” She shot Gretchen a really? look as she walked up the porch steps of the Myles’s house and rapped her knuckles on a screen door that didn’t look as if it latched properly. She heard a crying baby inside and briefly thought about the child her sister, July, had delivered in June, naming the little girl for the month she was born. This was a Rafferty specialty, and though September and her siblings had all sworn they wouldn’t follow suit when they had their own children, July had buckled under when push came to shove and now she had little Junie.
The engagement ring on her left hand winked in the afternoon light, like a cosmic question: What will you do if and when that day comes?
Wedding first, she thought just as the door was opened by a young woman who was juggling a baby in a light green onesie on her hip.
September pulled out her badge and held it up. “Hello, I’m Detective September Rafferty. We’ve been trying to get in touch with Tynan Myles?”
“Oh God. What’s he done now?” the woman asked, making a face.
“Are you related to him?”
“My father-in-law. He’s at work. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s at a bar. Caleb is about done with him, that’s for sure.”
“Caleb is his son?” September guessed.
“Yes. My husband.” Again, the face.
September indicated the house behind her. “We’re here investigating the deaths that occurred at 1233 and are talking to all the residents on the street.”
The baby let out a howl, as if he objected to the conversation on principle. Gretchen had moved up to September, her badge out, but Carol hung back.
“I’m Hannah, and this is Greer.” The woman jiggled the baby a few more times. September had no clue as to its sex. “You can talk to Caleb when he gets back, but I don’t know how he can help you. And Tynan . . . well . . .” she said dubiously.
“Is there a cell number for Tynan?” September asked. She was more interested in speaking to someone of Nathan Singleton’s generation than Caleb, who would undoubtedly be closer to Fairy’s age.
“God, no. The man lives in a different century. But he’ll be here at dinnertime. That never fails.”
“Do you know if your husband was acquainted with the Singletons?”
“Sorry.” She shrugged.
“All right. We’ll come back. Do you mind if I leave a card?”
“Sure.” Hannah opened the door and accepted September’s business card, which Greer tried to grab. Hannah made a game of it and Greer finally captured it and shoved it into his or her mouth.
“Oops.” Hannah yanked it back, which caused Greer to wail like a siren.
When the door was closed behind them, Gretchen muttered, “Babies . . . gotta love ’em.”
Carol said, “You know, she and Caleb are living there for free. Tynan doesn’t charge them anything, and he should.”
“Thought you didn’t know Tynan,” Gretchen said.
“Well, yes, but I know the situation. I was friends with Grace before she lost her mind, poor soul.”
“So, you’re not friends now?”
September would’ve elbowed Gretchen if she’d been closer.
Carol rallied to the battle. “Friendship’s really out of the question when someone doesn’t even recognize you, don’t you think?”
An hour later September and Gretchen were back at the Laurelton Police Department squad room, September at her desk, Gretchen standing in the center of the room. Detectives George Thompkins and Wes Pelligree were already there, George riding his office chair, his usual position, and Wes across the room, standing in front of his desk. They both looked up as Gretchen and September entered, and George swiveled his heft in his chair and said to Gretchen, “Turning out to be a kinky case?”
She gave him a thin-lipped smile. It was well known that Gretchen got bored with your basic homicide. “Hoping.”
Wes, tall, lanky, and black, a secret crush of September’s until she’d hooked up with her first love, Jake Westerly, again, strolled over to her desk and joined the conversation. “What’cha got so far?”
“Nobody on that street seems to know anything about the Singletons,” September said. “At least that’s what they’re saying.”
“Thought the sister of one of the victims was making introductions,” he said.