“And you’re sending them to Angela, too, right?”
“If they mean anything, one of you or a brilliant young person in our tech department will discover what.”
There was a knock at the door.
Jon went to answer it, and Kylie followed behind him.
“Mr. and Mrs. Flannery?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“I still don’t believe they wanted to come over here.”
“I don’t think they know I’m unofficially on the case. And I don’t think they’d care one way or the other. It seems they want to see the house. Curious, huh?”
“You think one of them dressed up as a clown and carried a woman in?”
“No. They’re older and not in great health. But they may have seen someone hanging around the house at a different time—or may even know who was related to whom in this area.”
He opened the door, and as expected, Mr. and Mrs. Flannery stood on the stoop. They were a handsome older couple. Both slim. And Jon had noted earlier that Mr. Flannery—possessor of a fine head full of snow-white hair—wore a medical alert bracelet. He didn’t believe that anyone who might need help quickly could have dressed up as the clown he’d seen on Ginger Radisson’s phone video. The clown had appeared bigger, too, a bit taller and broader across the shoulders. Of course, the clown costume had been billowy, but that wouldn’t explain the shoulders. And Mrs. Flannery was a little bit of a woman. She might have been someone’s accomplice, but she surely hadn’t been the clown.
“Please, come in. And thank you so much,” Jon said.
The couple entered.
“Mr. and Mrs. Flannery, I’d like you to meet my wife, Kylie,” he said politely.
“Charles Flannery, my dear. And my wife, Emma,” Mr. Flannery said.
“My pleasure, and I’d like to thank you, too,” Kylie said.
“I don’t know if we can be of any help,” Emma Flannery added. “We are out in the yard often enough. It won’t be long before the flowers are all gone, and we both love our garden. But we didn’t see anyone coming or going from the house. Ah, well. Anyway, we didn’t have far to come.”
“That’s true,” Kylie said, smiling.
“Are you a police officer, too, Kylie?” Emma asked.
“No, just a museum docent,” Kylie assured her. “But the owner of the house is a friend of mine.”
“Brenda. Such a lovely girl,” Emma said sadly. “Of course, we met her when she was looking at the house. We were so pleased. She didn’t intend to rip it up or create a silly sensationalist business or anything of the sort—she just wanted it because she loved it. And now…”
“Now, it will be a vacant sore thumb again,” Charles said sadly.
“Brenda may yet keep the house. We’ll have to see,” Kylie said.
“Well, anyway, we don’t need to stand in the doorway. Let’s sit, shall we?” Jon suggested. “The sofa is very old, but the room has been swept, and there are a few chairs we can drag over from the mantel area.”
“As you wish,” Charles said.
“I’m working in the kitchen,” Kylie called. “If anyone needs me, I’m just through the doorway there.”
She disappeared. Charles and Emma sat on the sofa. Jon thought it was a nineteenth-century piece, but he wasn’t an expert. He brought one of the cushioned chairs that faced the mantel over and sat, looking at the couple. They looked back at him expectantly.
“I assume that, having lived next to this place for years and years, you know the history,” Jon said.
“Of course,” Charles said. “Our house belonged to my parents and their parents before them. I grew up next to this haunted house. My grandmother used to tell me tales about Fisher Smith, the man they suspected of being what we now call a serial killer, but no one was ever able to prove it. You’d hear about a murder in Peabody or Revere or elsewhere, and it always happened to be somewhere Smith had gone for the week or a weekend on business. Maybe there is justice we don’t know about sometimes. He was killed rather ridiculously by a falling icicle. Of course, people were still murdered. But not close to here, and not on days when he happened to be exactly where the murders were taking place. Nowadays, you people would have nailed him.”
“One can only hope. So, your families have been here forever?”
“Oh, no, not forever,” Emma put in. “My father passed away when I was a little girl, still living in Boston. My mother brought me here when I was about five because the game company offered her a good job.”
“And my family came up right after the Civil War. Like Emma’s family, my grandfather was offered a job, and there wasn’t much left in Mississippi at the time,” Charles said.
Jon wondered if that meant they were lucky. They might not be on a killer’s radar. Though, so far, it seemed the killer was targeting women.
Easier to offer a woman a poisoned drink.
“I am so sorry we can’t help you more,” Emma said sincerely.
“I’m curious. Charles, you said you’ve lived here all your life. Is much of the block the same? People leaving their homes to their children?”
“Ah. These days, kids can’t get going fast enough for a down payment,” Charles said, shaking his head sadly. “But I do believe that many people, with homes like these, try to keep them in the family. Now, the house to the other side…that’s a bit newer. It wasn’t built until around 1890. There’s still some family history there, but somehow, that lovely Ginger girl bought it from a fellow who had been there for about twenty years. And before that…I think the place changed hands a lot.”
“Ginger didn’t somehow do anything, dear. She has a great job. She works in computer graphics,” Emma told Jon. “Very talented. I understand she helps create some of those phone games young people are constantly playing these days.”
“There is a lot of money in that, or so I hear,” Charles said.
“The house is hers? Not hers and her boyfriend’s?” Jon asked. “His name is Kenny Innes, I believe.”
“That is correct. Well, I think one day they will both own it,” Emma said, smiling. “He is a nice young man.”
“He always offers to help shovel the driveway when we’re bombarded with snow,” Charles said. “Very helpful. Has a job. And a respectful fellow, too. Ginger could do much worse.”
“What about the other neighbors?” Jon asked.
“Let’s see,” Emma murmured. “Down the block on Ginger’s side you have Ned Olsen. Poor sad fellow—a widower. They were childless, and when his wife passed…I think he’s just waiting to go, too. His grandfather bought the house after World War II. His family hails from Annapolis, I believe. He was a military man. And across the street, you have the Matheson family. Joe and Darleen and their little ones, Pearl and Amber, ages six and seven. Delightful. Now, Darleen’s family does go way back, but as far as this place goes…I don’t know. And the next home…”
Charles wrinkled his face in thought.
“It’s the Daily place,” Emma said, taking her husband’s hand affectionately.