Dennis took the lead this time with hand flourishes along with elated and sour expressions. “And that’s where we are. Mrs. Cricket asked us to look into things. Tell us anything you can that might help us figure out what is going on here, because clearly something is going on.”

Porter Flannery, retired college professor, talked nonstop for twenty minutes. Maggie and Dennis finished their coffee just as he wound down. His monologue was basically the same as Frances Gossett’s, almost word for word. With one exception. “I can’t stand Gentry Lomax. He’s full of himself. He’s retired military, buzz cut, spit shine all the way, and he tries to run this place like the army. I’ll give the devil his due, the man does a good job of it. Running the place, I mean. The man has no emotion, no social skills to speak of, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. I don’t know how Bessie Love can stand working for him.” He answered his own question when he said, “I guess she doesn’t have much choice since her salary works off part of or all of her rent. I’m not sure how that works. Her husband’s medical bills left her with very little when he passed away. No one likes Gentry. I mean no one at all.”

“Who hired him?” Maggie asked.

“I assume either Mr. Cricket or Mr. Meadows. He was here when I moved in six years ago.”

“Did you ever meet Mr. Meadows?” Dennis asked.

“Once,” Porter said, refilling everyone’s coffee cup. “I wasn’t impressed. He’s what we would call back in my day a dandy. Nice-looking fella, pomade in his hair, everything he wears matches, or so I’ve been told. Like I said, I only met him once. Sharp dresser, high snoot factor. Charity Evans summed him up pretty good when she said he looks down on us renters and thinks he’s better than everyone else. That’s all I can tell you about him. Now, Mr. Cricket, he’s totally different. Very personable, listens to you, always wants to know if there’s more he can do for us. He cares. You can tell that the minute you meet him. He always calls us by name. How he remembers us all is beyond me. I hope they catch whoever it was that shot him, but I’m not hopeful. Frances told me when she called that Mr. Cricket is holding his own. Do you know any more than that?”

“That’s all we know too. We’re here looking around, trying to gain information at Mrs. Cricket’s request.”

“They say she’s a real sweetheart. She’d have to be if Mr. Cricket picked her. So, what do you think of my coffee, youngsters?”

“It’s the best,” Maggie and Dennis said in unison.