Live to Tell (Detective D.D. Warren, #4)(18)

Patricia Bruni turned out to be a wizened old black lady who went by Miss Patsy and believed in serving her guests, even cops, megaglasses of iced tea. D.D. had a good feeling about Miss Patsy, and not just for the cold iced tea; in D.D.’s experience, wizened old ladies always knew the most about what was going on in the neighborhood.

Miss Patsy invited them inside, “out of the heat,” she said, and they gratefully followed her into her lower-level unit, where window air conditioners chugged away at full throttle. Her home was modest, boasting six rooms, lots of furniture, and an impressive collection of Hummel figurines. From what D.D. could tell, if it was small and breakable, Miss Patsy collected it.

D.D. took up the antique wooden chair across from Patsy. It was fun to watch Phil and Alex stand awkwardly in front of the camel-backed love seat, trying to figure out how to sit on its broken-down form. Alex finally perched gingerly on the edge. Older and heavier, Phil reluctantly followed suit. The love seat groaned, but held.

“You’re here about the Harringtons,” Miss Patsy said straight off, patting her tightly coiled hair. “I tried to tell that officer last night, don’t you be thinking this was drugs or any of that other nonsense. Patrick and Denise were nice folks. Good Christian couple. We’re lucky to have them on the block.”

“They live here long?” D.D. asked, sipping her iced tea. Sweet and cold. She loved Miss Patsy already.

“Bought the house last fall,” Patsy provided, confirming the timeline D.D. already had in her head. “Duffys lived in it before that. Kept a lot of late hours, the Duffys did. Seemed to entertain on a regular basis, if you know what I mean.”

“Drug dealers?” D.D. ventured.

“Didn’t hear it from me,” Patsy said, while nodding with her entire upper body.

“So the Duffys moved out, the Harringtons moved in. Get to see the new family very often?”

“Yes, ma’am. Denise came by the very first week with some pumpkin bread. She introduced herself and the kids, had ’em all lined up proper like. Said they were real excited to be living in the neighborhood and wondered if I could recommend a family-friendly church for them.”

“Did you?”

“First Congregational Church. Good community church and you can walk from here to there.” Patsy leaned forward again. “I’m not supposed to drive, you know. Had a little problem hitting the wrong pedal last year. But it’s okay, they’ve repaired that wall of the pharmacy now. Good as new.”

Alex made a sputtering noise from the love seat; iced tea down the wrong pipe. Phil obligingly whacked him on the back.

D.D. ignored them both. “How often did you see the family?”

“Oh, least once a week at church. More during the summer. This is a nice neighborhood. Lots of kids play outside during the day. I like to take my tea on the front porch and watch the little ones riding their bikes and whatnot. Does a body good.”

“And the Harrington kids? What did they like to do?”

“Football, the boys. You’d see the older one and younger one playing catch. The girl, she was getting to that age where she just wanted to hang out with her friends. Denise commented that Molly was always pestering her for a ride to the mall. But sometimes, on the cooler evenings, you’d see a whole group out playing capture the flag or maybe hide-and-seek through everyone’s yards. Not a bad place to live, our neighborhood.”

D.D. made a note. “What were the kids doing this summer? Once school was out?”

“Summer camp at the Y,” Miss Patsy answered. “’Course, their father was home during the day, working on the house. Sometimes you’d see them hanging out with him. They liked to take breaks on the front porch. Renovation this time of year had to be pretty hot work.” Miss Patsy fanned herself.

“Family entertain much? Socialize with the rest of the block?”

“Yes, ma’am. They were happy to live here, wanted to get to know everyone. I had the impression their previous home wasn’t in a very safe neighborhood—not a good place for kids, Denise would say. Like I said, they were real happy to move here.”

“You ever hear them fighting?” D.D. asked bluntly. “Patrick and Denise?”

“You mean screaming at each other in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, that sort of thing.”

“No, ma’am.” Miss Patsy said it primly.

“We heard Patrick lost his job. Money must’ve been tight.”

“Tough times all over,” Miss Patsy observed. “I still saw them putting a dollar or two in the tithe plate when it passed; they weren’t destitute yet.”

“Never heard them argue about it? Or taking an extra cocktail or two to help them unwind?”

“Never saw them drinking anything stronger than wine and beer. They were responsible people.”

“Drugs?”

“I already told you—no need to go down that road. Not with the Harringtons.” Miss Patsy gave a little sniff, as if maybe the same could not be said for some of the other neighbors.

“What about Denise and the kids? Did they have a tendency toward large bruises, broken bones? Report a lot of strange accidents?”

“Like falling down the stairs or running into doorknobs?” Miss Patsy asked.

“Exactly.”