Mrs. McKeogh went back into the house. She returned a minute later shaking her head. The computer appeared normal.

“Mind if I take a quick look at it?” Jenn asked.

The computer sat on a small wooden desk in the living room. It had an old CRT monitor. The tower sat on the floor beside the table, its front-access USB panel cover hanging open.

“Do you mind?” Jenn asked, indicating the keyboard.

The computer was in sleep mode. Jenn hit the space bar. The hard drive spun to life, and the monitor flickered on. Someone had opened a Word document and typed two words: “Terrance Musgrove.”

The McKeoghs glanced at each other.

“Do you know him?” Jenn asked.

“No,” Mr. McKeogh said. “Well, not exactly.”

“We bought the house from him,” Kate McKeogh said.

“From his estate,” her husband corrected.

“We bought the house from the estate. It’s kind of sad. I don’t really know the whole story,” she said.

“It was only the second house we looked at. We lowballed them, figuring they’d counter, but they took it. It was a steal to be honest. Thirty-day closing. Nothing like a motivated seller.”

“Any idea why?” Jenn asked.

“It’s a touchy subject in the neighborhood. No one really talks about it,” said Mrs. McKeogh. “But we found out later . . . you don’t like to feel you’re capitalizing on someone else’s misfortune. It’s not the kind of thing you want to bring into your home. Bad energy.”

Jenn cocked an eyebrow at them.

“He killed himself,” Mr. McKeogh said.

“William,” Mrs. McKeogh said in a shocked voice.

“Well, he did. In the house somewhere. Why we got such a good deal. It sat vacant while his siblings figured out what to do.”

“What happened to him?” Hendricks asked.

Mr. McKeogh shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. It’s not something the neighborhood likes to talk about. Just a tragedy.”

“And I don’t want to know,” Mrs. McKeogh interjected. “It’s in the past. It might have been one of the kids’ bedrooms. Then what would I do?” Mrs. McKeogh shut down the computer. “There. That’s better.”

Jenn felt her phone vibrate. She stepped away to check it. It was an automatically generated text message from ACG saying that Vaughn’s virus had gone offline. She nodded to Hendricks, who wrapped things up with the McKeoghs. They all shook hands at the front door, and Hendricks and Jenn walked down the driveway. Jenn showed Hendricks the text message.

At the end of the driveway, Jenn turned back to the couple.

“One other thing,” she said. “How long have you lived in the house?”

“Nine years in April,” Mrs. McKeogh said.

“And how long was the house vacant?”

“About two years,” said Mr. McKeogh.

“Ah, okay. Thanks for your time.” Back in their vehicle, Jenn turned to Hendricks. “Where does that rate on your strange meter?”