I can smell them. Anyone within fifty yards could.

An elderly woman peers from the window. I motion to her and she comes to the door.

She’s in her eighties if she’s a day. She’s wearing a pretty pink robe and boots. Her hair is black and white, almost skunk-like.

I’d rather smell a skunk right now, I think.

She squints at me.

“Do I know you?” she asks.

“No,” I tell her. “I’m Detective Megan Carpenter, from Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office, ma’am. I’m here on police business. Can we talk?”

Her lips tighten to a straight line. “I’m not getting rid of my cats. You can’t make me.”

“Oh, no. Of course not. I’m not here about your animals.”

“My babies,” she corrects me.

I ask her for her name.

“Maxine Jacobson,” she says.

“Ms. Jacobson, I’m here about your neighbors.”

“What neighbors?”

“The Wheatons.”

“Oh them. Religious weirdos. Don’t have much else to say about ’em. The girl and the boy are all right. Came over here a few times with food for my cats. Want to come inside and see them?”

I know I will throw up if I get any closer to that door; the acrid smell of feline urine is literally punching at my nostrils. I’d give anything for Ruth Turner’s wintergreen deodorant right now. I’d shove the whole stick up my nose.

“No,” I say. “Thank you. I’m highly allergic.”

It’s a lie. I actually like cats. Not a hundred at a time, though.

“That’s too bad. After my husband died, a pregnant cat showed up and, you know how it goes. Ten become twenty. Then more. I’m probably the luckiest woman on the planet. Never, ever lonely.”

I turn the conversation back to the Wheatons.

“Did you meet Ida and Merritt? What was your take on them?”

“Why are you asking about them? Folks out here don’t have block parties. We mind our own business.”

“I imagine that’s very true,” I say as a cat circles my legs, leaving a trail of gray fur on my pants.

“Cotton likes you,” she says.

The acknowledgment softens Maxine.

“She’s beautiful,” I say. “I so wish I wasn’t allergic.”

Maxine nods. “The Wheatons were weird. He did all the talking. His wife just stood around and looked lost. I couldn’t figure out the relationship. I even asked the kids one time if things were okay at home.”

“What did they say?” I ask.

She picks up Cotton and a cloud of fur scatters in the breeze. “Nothing really. It was a while ago. It was the last time I saw ’em too. They were real regular visitors. After that, nothing. Why all the questions, Detective—”