“Well?” Arthur Mattson said when I was close enough to hear him. The rest of the group turned, eagerly.

I waited until I didn’t have to raise my voice. “I’m afraid Miss Rudolph has died.”

“Died?” Arthur repeated, as if the word didn’t quite compute. I nodded.

“Murdered?” Denise asked shrilly. Tony the TV guy’s head turned toward the sound. She lowered her voice. “By the same person who killed whoever was in your basement?” It was by no means certain that the same person had killed both our unknown skeleton and Venetia, although as Wayne had said, when two unusual things happen in close succession and right next door to one another, it would be a monstrous coincidence if they weren’t related.

“I don’t know about that,” I said as Tony started toward us.

“But she was murdered?”

“Well…”

“Oh, my God!” Denise glanced down at the sleeping Trevor and around as if she were afraid someone was getting ready to pounce on him.

“How?” Arthur demanded.

“Um… I think maybe it would be better to leave the telling of that to the police.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. “An accident?” he suggested.

I shook my head. “Likely not.”

“Mercy.” He shook his head. Irina muttered a Russian word or two, and Denise squeaked. Linda crossed herself.

“She was an awful old battle-ax,” she said, with the air of one giving credit where credit was due. “Always carrying on about the kids today. No morals, no sense, no respect for their elders; and the girls, how they were dressed…! Remember, Denise?”

Denise nodded, a faint smile on her lips as she watched Trevor sleep. Linda continued, “But she surely didn’t deserve that. There wasn’t any harm in her. Just because she couldn’t seem to mind her own business…”

She pulled a miniature liquor bottle out of the pocket of her housecoat and tipped it in the direction of Venetia ’s silent house before taking a swig.

“Amen,” Arthur Mattson said. “She’d always stand behind those curtains whenever we’d walk by, making sure I kept Stella off her grass and didn’t let her do any of her business on Venetia’s lawn. Still, you wouldn’t wish something like this on your own worst enemy.”

The others shook their heads solemnly.

“I remember once,” Denise said with a giggle, “when Holly and I…” She stopped abruptly, blushing, and made herself busy adjusting the light blanket that covered the sleeping Trevor. Nobody spoke, and the silence lengthened, heavy.

“Who’s Holly?” I said eventually, looking from one to the other of them. Irina shrugged. Denise still had a betraying blush in her cheeks. I guessed that she and Holly, who must have been her friend, had done something mean or embarrassing to Venetia back in the day, which she wasn’t about to own up to now, when Venetia was due the respect usually accorded the newly deceased. “Holly White?”

Linda shot me a look, and Denise nodded. “We were friends growing up. How do you know about Holly?”

“I don’t,” I explained. “Just the name. Brandon Thomas mentioned her yesterday, when he was talking to Lionel Kenefick, and I happened to see her picture in the newspaper archives yesterday, too. Prom photo. Pretty girl.”

“Gorgeous,” Denise nodded.

“He said she went to Hollywood to become an actress?”

“That’s what she always said she wanted to do. Hollywood or Las Vegas. Or maybe Paris or Rome.”

Linda snorted and took another swig from her bottle. At this rate, it would be empty in another minute.

“She didn’t even stay for graduation,” Denise added. “Just up and left one day. Without even a good-bye. They had to mail her diploma, didn’t they, Mrs. White?”

She looked at Linda. I blinked, surprised. Whoa, not much family resemblance there between the lovely and svelte creature from the photograph, in her shimmery gown and tiara, and her mother, overweight and boozy, in a wrinkled house dress and with rollers in her hair.

“You’re Holly’s mother?” slipped out of my mouth.

“For my sins.”

“Surely she can’t have been that bad?”

Linda didn’t answer. “She wasn’t bad,” Denise said. “Just… different, I guess. Waterfield was too small for her. She was always talking about how she needed to get out, to see places and do things. Exciting things. Because nothing exciting ever happens here.” She shrugged.

I looked around at the hustle and bustle of police cruisers and K-9 vehicles, cops and TV cameras. There was nothing slow and sleepy about what was going on in their quiet subdivision these days.

“Looks like something exciting has happened now,” I said.

I was pretty much stuck where I was for the time being, a fact that hadn’t occurred to me until now. But with Derek’s truck in the shop, and Derek off with Brandon, and Melissa long gone, and with Wayne stuck here processing and keeping watch over the new crime scene, I had no way to get back to Waterfield unless I wanted to walk. Which I didn’t.

Luckily, a ride arrived shortly in the form of Josh Rasmussen and Shannon McGillicutty.

Wayne wasn’t happy to see them, something the look on his face made abundantly clear as he stalked across the grass toward the blue Honda. “Listening to the secure channels again?” I heard him inquire tightly as Josh rolled down his window.

“Actually, dad,” his son responded, “it’s all over the news. Tony the Tiger on channel eight has been broadcasting live for the past two hours. Talking to the neighbors, giving updates of the cadaver dog, stuff like that. When he reported a second body twenty minutes ago, we figured we’d come see if there was anything we could do.”

“You did, huh?” Wayne said, ominously. Josh shrugged. “I’m paying fifteen grand a year for you to cut class, is that it?”

“Relax, dad.” Josh rolled his eyes. “I’m between classes, OK? I’ve been helping the anthropology department process the bones from the crawlspace. Dr. Hardiman said he’d be calling you this afternoon.” I’d heard Wayne and Josh mention Dr. Hardiman. He was a forensic anthropologist who had joined Barnham’s faculty a few years ago but still worked on a freelance basis for the Portland medical examiner. He’d probably never expected to have a case so close to home. “The dentist, Dr. Whitaker, stopped by this morning. He made a record of the teeth-marked which teeth had fillings and which didn’t-and said he’d check his records and notify you if he could identify the skeleton. Also, it is Professor Hardiman’s educated opinion that the skeleton is that of a young woman, and that she’s been in the ground no more than six years and no less than two.”

“So Derek was right,” I said.

Josh continued, “I took a photograph of the skull. I figure I’ll try to use a facial reconstruction program on the computer to see what I can come up with.”

“Facial approximation,” his father corrected. “You know how unreliable it is.”

“It’s mostly just for fun,” Josh said calmly. “You’ll probably get a hit on the dental records long before I get any results on the facial reconstruction, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

“As long as you let me know what you find,” Wayne said. “In fact, why don’t you go get started right now? I have work to do.”

“Can you give me a ride back to town?” I shot in. “Derek’s car is in the shop somewhere on Broad Street.”

“Sure,” Josh said. “Get in.”

I crawled into the back seat while the kids pestered Wayne for details on what was going on. He was circumspect, but a lot of what they’d discovered was public knowledge, thanks to Tony the Tiger. Wayne summarized what had happened this morning.

“Murdered?” Josh asked, eyes alight behind the glasses, after Wayne had finished. His father shrugged.

“Wow,” Shannon said. “I wonder why.”

“She probably knew something,” Josh answered. “Something she didn’t realize she knew. She was old. She’s probably been sitting behind her curtains for twenty years, looking out, seeing everybody coming and going. She probably saw the murderer as well as the victim-the woman in the basement-and just didn’t realize it.”