Friday morning Gretchen, full of nervous energy, swiveled back and forth in her desk chair. She’d been waiting for Wes to come into the squad room, but so far he was MIA. They’d finished their reporting on the homicide stabbing, and Lieutenant D’Annibal had suggested they work with their original partners again. Cutbacks were still a worry, and D’Annibal had called George into his office and drawn the blinds on the glass wall that separated it from the squad room. Whatever was said between them, George had come out looking grim. Though he was currently seated at his desk, his eyes on his computer screen, he hadn’t been interested in joking around.
September tried not to let the thought of the cutbacks gnaw at her guts. She was the most recent hire and the youngest detective. Her brother had moved semiperma-nently to the Portland PD, and it had looked like he might be coming back to the Laurelton PD, but now things had changed. Money was tight all over, but Portland had both larger staff needs and more fluid job opportunities. Laurelton was a lot smaller, and people who took jobs with the police department had a tendency to stick around.
September glanced over at the back of George’s head. She liked him. She didn’t want him to lose his job. But if it came to a showdown between them about who was the more industrious employee, she would win hands down. However, should the issue turn on office politics, she really didn’t know which way the dominoes would fall. George had friends in odd places.
“So where are we with the Aurora Lane crowd?” Gretchen asked.
September had tried to tell her about her meeting with Grace Myles two days earlier, but she had listened with only half an ear. Now, however, she was paying attention. George’s heart-to-heart with D’Annibal had raised antennae all around the squad room.
With an effort, September forwent making a smart remark about Gretchen’s lack of interest to date and answered, “I’ve interviewed every current homeowner and called the numbers I have for previous owners. Nobody seems to know anything. I’m just updating my report.”
“The other day you were hot for whatever the Alzheimer’s victim had to say,” Gretchen said.
“You actually heard what I was talking about? I couldn’t tell.”
Gretchen pretended to stifle a yawn. “So what did Grace Myles say?”
“She intimated that Nathan Singleton’s wife, Davinia, was having an affair with someone younger than she was. I was thinking about asking Tynan about it. Maybe this could be our vic.”
“Or maybe not.”
“Or maybe not,” September agreed. “Maybe the affair’s the reason Nathan drove off the road and killed them both. Tynan didn’t go into that when we interviewed him, but there’s a reason the man did what he did.”
“That means Davinia was having an affair with an eighteen-year-old.”
“Maybe younger,” September said. “Davinia died thirteen years ago and forensics has determined the eighteen-year-old male would be about thirty now, if he’d lived. So he died twelve years ago, and Davinia’s been gone thirteen.”
“Meaning Mr. Bones could have been seventeen.”
“Like you said, he might not even be the lover. If there was a lover. All speculation.”
“We don’t even know if it’s a murder,” Gretchen pointed out.
September nodded. This was why Gretchen wasn’t all that interested in the case. Mystery bones in the basement were weird, but not weird enough to intrigue her unless there was foul play involved. In this case, the cause of death had been indeterminable.
“I’d sure like to know why someone buried the body and then dug it up again and put the bones in the Singletons’ basement.”
“No DNA from the bones.”
September shook her head. “Not that the crime lab has been able to recover.”
“You said Grace mentioned a name, but that you thought he was too young.”
She was slightly surprised Gretchen remembered. “Tommy. Grace said Tommy used to mow lawns. She acted like she was a kid, but it’s hard to know what time frame she was thinking of. Any way around it, Grace’s account could be terribly flawed.”
“Bound to be,” her partner agreed.
“I called Mr. Bromward and left a message on his phone, asking if he remembered Tommy. He’s hasn’t called me back, so I’m thinking about just stopping in. He’s one of the few not sick of answering questions.”
“The guy with the cats.”
“The guy with the cats who’s really hard of hearing,” September added. “Probably why he doesn’t answer his phone.”
Gretchen grunted an assent. “Maybe Tommy mowed his lawn, too.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“What about the Asian neighbors?”
“The Lius’ daughter, Anna, has become less and less interested in helping. She’s tired of interpreting. Says her parents don’t know anything. Pretty much everyone I’ve interviewed is fed up with my questions.”