“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.”

“No, ma’am. Patrick didn’t beat his family. Maybe he should’ve with the younger one. Lord knows I watched that kid provoke his father time and time again. But Patrick held his temper. He was a good man. In church, he would pray for patience. He knew what he was up against.”

D.D. exchanged glances with Phil and Alex. “What do you mean, ‘what he was up against’?”

“The younger son, the adopted child, he was trouble. Face of an angel, soul of the Devil, if you ask me.”

“The youngest child was adopted? The boy?” D.D. flipped through her notes. “Oswald?”

“Ozzie’s mother died when he was three years old. Guess folks didn’t find her until months later. All that time, he lived in the apartment with her body, eating every last piece of food in the cupboards, including flour, cardboard, powdered lemonade. Denise told me when the social workers tried to take him away, the poor child broke down and started screaming uncontrollably. He spent some time in a psychiatric unit for little kids. I never knew they even had such a thing.”

This was news. D.D. could feel both Alex and Phil leaning forward. She kept her eyes on Miss Patsy. “Know the name of the hospital where they admitted the child?”

“Someplace in Boston. He was there until last year. They brought him home once they moved here.”

“Sounds like you and Denise spoke quite a bit,” D.D. probed. “She come over often? Maybe join you for iced tea on the porch?”