“Well, of course the poor thing wants to know. I do, too. Everyone does. The thing is, we don’t know anything; none of us do. I was napping that day because I wanted to stay up to see the guest Mr. Hannity had on his show that night. As far as I know, and all of us talked about it afterward in a special meeting Gentry called, not one of us knew anything had happened until after the fact. When the weather is as hot as it has been, in the upper nineties, we all pretty much stay indoors until the sun goes down. The air-conditioning units more or less drown outside noise, if you know what I mean.

“We only became aware that something was wrong when the ambulances and the police cars showed up with their sirens blaring. That’s when we all ran out to see Mr. Cricket lying in the road. The police questioned all of us, but there was nothing we could tell them. I’m truly sorry about that. Mr. Cricket is a lovely man, and he takes care of this complex as if he lived here. His father used to live here, so that might have something to do with it. He held Gentry’s job for a while, but that was all before I came to live here.”

“What about Mr. Meadows?” Dennis asked, again paired with his boyish, winning smile.

She tilted her head to the side as she thought about the question. “I don’t think I’ve seen Mr. Meadows more than five or six times in the two years I’ve lived here. I do know that the other tenants said he used to come quite often. But like I said, that was before I moved in. He doesn’t attend our annual Christmas party or our Fourth of July festivities. Mr. Cricket and his wife and son always come. Sometimes Mr. Cricket plays Santa Claus. That’s always a fun evening.”

“What can you tell us about the gangs around here? Do you all think they had something to do with Mr. Cricket’s shooting?” Dennis asked.

The little gray-haired lady in the flowered dress eyeballed Dennis for a moment before she responded. “Now, that is something you have to talk to Gentry about. If you’re talking about the Cavaliers and Lionel, we don’t consider them a gang. Lionel and his friends patrol and protect this complex, and one reason for that is that Lionel’s mother lives here. I know Lionel, and neither he nor his friends would do anything like that.”

“If they aren’t a gang, what are they?” Dennis asked, going into reporter mode.

“Just . . . just Lionel and his friends. Someone said there are twelve of them altogether. Young men, early twenties. They’re always nicely dressed, they don’t use bad language. Very respectful. Lionel looks out for his mother, who is a really sweet lady. He brings her food, buys her presents, and sometimes takes her out for a ride on Sunday afternoon. Or he’ll take her to one of the casinos to play the slot machines for an hour or so. He’s a good son. Much better than my own son, I’m sorry to say.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, which Jack and Dennis pretended not to see. But not Cyrus, who stepped forward and wrapped his front paws around the little woman’s shoulders. He woofed softly to show he understood.