The Killing Game(63)

“Oh, yeah. I saw that on the news. And the Singletons poisoned each other?”

“That’s the way it looks,” September said.

She shook her head. “Sounds just like them.”

“You knew them.” September made it a statement.

“Not really. We only lived in the neighborhood a couple of years, but they were memorable. They were always sniping at each other . . . whenever they got out of their cars, if they were both outside, one of them getting the mail and the other on the porch.... They were always yelling. Always.” She frowned, little lines appearing between her eyebrows as she remembered. “I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but they weren’t nice people, that’s for sure.”

“We’re trying to determine if Tommy Burkey’s bones could be the ones in the basement,” Gretchen explained.

Her face clouded over. “I suppose . . . it’s just that . . .”

“What?” Gretchen prodded impatiently.

“Tommy was just kind of a goof, y’know? He mowed our lawn a few times, but he did a terrible job. He just didn’t pay attention to detail. Randall went back to taking care of it. It was just easier. I’ve always just pictured Tommy off somewhere, still being goofy.”

“How old was Tommy when he mowed your lawn?” September questioned.

“About eleven, probably.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Thirteen years, give or take.”

That didn’t jibe with what September knew to be the age of the unidentified bones. “Do you recall any other boy from that time period? He would have been about eighteen. Maybe he knew the Singletons?”

“There were those renters,” she said reluctantly. “They had a son, but I hardly saw him. He was a drug addict.”

“And he was about eighteen at that time?” September asked.

“About.”

“Did he know the Singletons?” Gretchen pressed.

“Yes ... I think so ...” Kitsy was taking more and more time answering. “I don’t recall their last name, something like ‘shoe,’ I think.”

“I can check with their landlord,” September said.

Gretchen put in, “How well did this kid know the Singletons? Did he know Davinia Singleton?”

Kitsy pressed her lips together, clearly reluctant to speak. “Yes.”

“When he was in high school?” Gretchen fished around.

“Well, he wasn’t an adult when it started,” Kitsy said. “Almost, maybe. But he wasn’t eighteen for sure.”

“It?” September asked.

Kitsy reacted in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were talking about the affair.”

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Gretchen jumped in. “Davinia’s affair with a much younger man, who sounds like he could have been a minor.”

“Well, I can’t say for sure.” Kitsy backed right down. “That was the rumor of course. And there were drugs involved, which is really why he got involved with Davinia; because she had the money, you know. That’s what my husband, Randall, always thought anyway. But then Nathan ran the car off the road and killed them both, and that ended it.”

“What happened to him—the kid—after that?”

Kitsy considered. “Oh, I don’t know.” Again her eyebrows puckered. “It kind of seems like the boy was gone first. I’d have to ask Randall. He’s better at dates than I am. I think he ran off or something, but I’m pretty sure it was before Nate drove the car off the cliff. The Singletons sure wanted everyone to think it was an accident, but we had our doubts.”

“You can’t recall his name?” September asked again. She’d pulled out her notebook and was writing down Kitsy’s comments.

“I just said I don’t know,” she said a little impatiently. “We just called him the druggie, y’know? He was always with other scruffy-looking guys. I heard one of ’em had money, but you sure couldn’t tell by looking at ’em. They were all the same, like their faded baggy jeans and hoodies were some kind of uniform.”

“Any of these other guys live on Aurora Lane?” Gretchen asked.

“I don’t think so. You could ask the Myleses. You know them?”

“We’ve met,” September said.

“Grace used to know everyone, but she’s got some dementia now.” Kitsy said it carefully, as if even mentioning the word would make the disease visit upon her.

“I interviewed Grace,” September admitted.

“At that assisted living place?” Kitsy was surprised.

“She’s the one who remembered Tommy.”

“Ah.” Kitsy shook her head. “My mother had dementia before she died. Terrible.”

September nodded, then tried to ease her back to the subject at hand. “Anything else you can remember about the ‘druggie’ kid?”

She grimaced. “Don’t say that came from me. We just didn’t know his name, so we had to call him something. But if you find Tommy Burkey, he might know what happened to him.”

“They were friends?” September asked, surprised because of the age difference.

“The kid was quite a bit older than Tommy,” Kitsy said. “Maybe six years or so? But I saw them together a few times, sometimes with some of those other scruffy kids, too. Tommy’s mother let him run wild. She paid no attention to who he was hanging with. It’s a wonder he was as nice as he was, but then he was . . . a little bit mentally challenged, almost like he had dementia himself sometimes.”