“Norma’s your niece?”

Mrs. Beecham nodded. “Small world, right? She didn’t even know for years that he was her dad. Sean got some girl knocked up, never married her, and Norma was only about four years old when he died. Before Norma’s mom died, she told her who her real daddy was.”

“Amazing,” Duckworth said. “And what about Harvey?”

Mrs. Beecham’s nose wrinkled. “He’s her boyfriend. He doesn’t amount to much, but he helps out, too.” She patted the checkbook next to her thigh. “He’s getting the house all fixed up for me case I decide to put it on the market. The plumbing’s got to be redone and he found something wrong with the furnace. Whatcha asking me all these questions for anyway?”

“Brian ran into some trouble,” he said.

“I don’t doubt it. He always was kind of a simple kid. Not downright stupid, but kinda simple.” She looked back at the TV. “You about done? I’d like to see the end of this.”

“Sure,” Duckworth said. “Thank you for your time.”

He went quietly back up the stairs. When he opened the door, he found Harvey and Norma had been huddled close to it.

“Did you catch everything?” Duckworth asked them.

“I just wanted to be sure she’s okay,” Norma said, wringing her hands. “What were you asking her?”

“Just a few things.”

“She says a lot of crazy stuff,” Norma said.

“She’s pretty nuts,” Harvey added.

Duckworth studied the two of them. “Either of you know Brian Gaffney?” he asked.

“Never heard of him,” Harvey said.

“Nope,” said Norma.

Duckworth looked at her. “Your aunt’s lived here a long time. You never heard of the Gaffneys? They’re right across the street.”

Norma blinked. “Nope,” she said. “Never.”

“How about Sean?” he asked. “You know anyone by that name?”

Norma and Harvey both shook their heads.

“That’s funny,” Duckworth said.

“Why’s it funny?” the woman asked him.

“Because that was your father’s name, wasn’t it?” the detective said.

Her mouth made a perfect circle. “Oh!” she said. “Yes, that’s right. But I thought you meant someone we knew now.”

Duckworth studied the pair for several seconds, saying nothing.

Finally, he nodded and said, “You folks have a nice day.”

On the way to his car, he took a quick photo of the plate on the back bumper of the van.

SEVEN

CAL

Gloria Pilford, refilling her wine glass in the kitchen, said, “You’ll help us? Really?”

“I’ll have a look at your situation,” I said, and then told them what it was going to cost them, per day.

Gloria looked helplessly at Bob and Madeline, no doubt wondering which of them would step up.

“It’s fine,” her aunt said. “I’ll write you out a check for five days.”

Bob said, “Madeline, I can look after this.”

“No,” she said in a voice that did not invite argument. “You’ve done enough already. Mr. Finch must have cost you a fortune.”

Bob didn’t disagree. Ms. Plimpton opened a drawer, found her checkbook, scribbled on one, tore it off, and handed it to me. I tucked it into my wallet without so much as a glance.