Clara said, “We had her tested several times, she’s at least average, above average in some things. Like creative thinking, she was definitely creative. School was even harder for her because her sister and her brother had found it easy. Classes and the social things.”

Bill said, “That’s for sure, Tracy could party in her sleep.”

“Tracy’s our older daughter,” said Clara. “She’s extremely social. Works as a party planner.”

“Bill Junior’s an accountant,” said her husband. “Smart as a whip.”

“Do they live in L.A.?” I said.

Clara said, “Tracy lives outside of Chicago, Bill Junior’s firm is in Phoenix.”

“Raking in the big bucks,” said Bill. “He was the easiest one to raise.”

“Thank God everyone’s doing well,” said Clara. “Including Frankie, she really had pulled things together.” The unspoken word: finally.

I said, “When’s the last time you saw Frankie?”

Long silence.

Bill said, “We really didn’t see her. Not since … maybe four months. She came by to get some cash.”

“Cash for …”

“Living. That’s on top of we’re already paying her rent.”

Clara said, “Not all of it.”

“Most of it,” he said. “Never even saw the place. She didn’t want us to.”

Clara said, “I saw it.”

“Once. Before she moved in. It’s not like we pay the rent and get to be entertained the way Tracy and Bill entertain us when we visit.”

“Everyone’s different. Frankie needed to live her own life.”

Bill grunted.

“She was painfully shy,” Clara persisted. “Social things were so hard for her.”

I said, “Did she have any friends after high school?”

“I’m sure.”

“Any idea who they are?”

“People at work, I’d imagine.”

“Losers,” said Bill. “Nutcases. You want who did this, look there. A loony or some ghetto lowlife.”

I said, “Did she report any problems at work? With anyone?”

“Never,” said Clara.

“Like she’d tell us?” said Bill.

Clara sprang up and ran out. This time she didn’t return.

We sat there with Bill but something in the air had changed and every subsequent question evoked a slow, weary shake of his head. As we turned to leave, he remained seated.

Milo said, “Thank you, Mr. DiMargio.”

“For what? All I did was fucking cry. And now she’s pissed off.”

CHAPTER

18

Bill DeMargio didn’t look at us as we left his house.

Outside, Milo said, “Poor people. Not exactly a model family, huh?”

I said, “Does that exist?”

“Good point. You see or hear anything relevant?”

I said, “I heard confirmation of my guess last night. Frankie’s shyness could’ve led her to trust the wrong person.”