I selected a card.

She hid the face from me as she studied it. Her eyes grew merry. Then she flipped it around for me to see. The card showed a man lying facedown on the ground, in front of what looked like a blue snowscape. Ten swords protruded from his lifeless back.

“I’m guessing this is bad.”

“Only if you take it literally,” she said.

I didn’t believe for a second that I had “picked” the ten of swords myself. Lynda Lynch had talent; she’d pulled off this sleight of hand perfectly.

“Nice trick. Where did you learn it?”

Tina was the one who answered. “The Taj Mahal in Atlantic City, when she was dealing blackjack there a million years ago.”

The outburst surprised me, but it enraged Lynda. The squat woman leaped off the recliner with more energy than I would have expected and tossed the deck into the face of the much taller Tina.

“Show some goddamned respect!”

One of the cards must have hit Tina’s eye. She now clamped a hand over it. “You hurt me!”

“Boo-hoo.”

Tina glared at a closed door, leading to the rest of the house. I wondered who might be on the other side of it, eavesdropping on our conversation. It was the person, no doubt, who had been sending texts to Lynda Lynch.

The real Grambo?

Lynda pointed a finger at the threadbare rug. “Now, pick up my cards!”

Tina flared her nostrils. For a moment, I wondered if she might drive a fist into the older woman’s imperious face. Instead she dropped to her knees and began gathering cards.

“You promised me information, Mrs. Lynch,” I said.

“So I did,” she said. “Someone who I won’t name found that missing life jacket. He was helping with the search and found the vest by the river and took it for a souvenir instead of turning it into the wardens. I’ve seen it. The buckle was snapped, like it was torn off.”

“Not Burch.”

“You’ve met Arlo. Does that sound like him?”

“Where can I find this unnamed person?”

“Maybe you already have.”

“Are you talking about Jewett?”

“Here’s the thing you law enforcement guys never understand. You come into a place, asking your prying questions, stirring up trouble between neighbors. And then you get to go home to your families. Not in your case. I mean in general. But we’ve got to continue living with each other. If you want to know the man I’m talking about, figure it out yourself, smarty-pants.”

“Why tell me about it then?”

“Because I promised I would. I’ll give you one clue. He has a red aura, too.”

“In that case it should be a piece of cake.”

Despite her feigned outrage at my intrusion on Pill Hill, she seemed to want me to stick around and continue asking questions.

But why?

Another realization hit me on my way out the door.