“The only thing on is me. On Sudafed, and it’s hardly putting a dent. Just the kind of place to make my allergies go wild.” Her eyes are watery, and she sounds congested.

“And the neighbors didn’t notice and wonder why her house would be pitch dark?” Benton asks.

“Lights burn out gradually and not at the same time? Maybe the neighbors mind their own business or weren’t into minding hers?” Burke supposes, and she’s talking fast, hyped up.

“We got a lot of neighbors to interview, but I’m guessing the assumption was she’d left town like she often did. One of these people typical for around here, doesn’t have to work for a living, dabbles in volunteer work and intellectual pursuits. You know the type,” she says to Benton, as if he’s that type, and it’s hard to tell if she’s teasing or flirting or means nothing by it.

“Most people leave at least a few lights on.” He continues assessing how much Peggy Stanton kept to herself or encouraged her neighbors to mind their own business, or if she might have been liked or resented or avoided.

Predators pick their victims for a reason.

“We’ve been through every room,” Burke lets us know. “Sil’s still roaming around in the basement, says he wants to point out something electrical to you.” She directs this to Benton. “Don’t ask me. I can barely plug in a toaster. Nothing interesting so far, except it’s obvious the place has been empty for several weeks at least.”

Several weeks.

I don’t like the impression I’m getting.

“We’ve requested records from the alarm company, which probably will be the best indication of when she was here last,” Burke adds, and I don’t agree.

“An indication of when someone was here last doesn’t mean that person was Peggy Stanton,” I remind her. “It could have been someone else who was here.”

I take off my tactical boots, not the same ones I had on earlier today, having insisted on a shower and a change of clothing before I was going anywhere.

“And I can tell you with reasonable certainty that she wasn’t here in recent weeks, because she was dead by then. What about a housekeeper?” I ask.

“One hasn’t been here for weeks; that’s obvious.”

Weeks, I think, and I don’t like where this is headed already. Burke is going to question any conclusion I make about facts she decides are debatable, and Benton isn’t going to intervene.

“Do we know if she has a housekeeper?” I inquire. “Or if, perhaps, she might have cleaned her house herself?”

“We don’t know yet. The yard man hasn’t been around, you probably noticed,” she says to me, and my regard for her hasn’t changed over the several years I’ve known her rather distantly.