Miss Patsy paused, seemed to realize she had just spoken of Jacob in the present tense, and caught her breath in a small hiccup. “Oh,” she said, and that one sad word spoke volumes of a family that did not exist anymore.

D.D. gave the woman a moment. She took another sip of her iced tea. She was almost done with her glass; Alex and Phil were as well.

Alex leaned forward, seemed to have something to say. D.D. nodded slightly and he cleared his throat.

“Miss Patsy?” he asked gently.

The old woman turned her gaze to him.

“Were you home last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What exactly did you hear?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. But I was inside, had the air conditioners running. Can’t hear much of anything over that hum.”

“Did you talk to any of the family members earlier in the day?”

“No, sir. Just saw Denise out, sweeping the front porch, when I went on my evening shuffle. I gave her a little wave and she waved back.”

“Did she mention having company?”

“Not to me, sir.”

“Notice any strange cars in the neighborhood?”

“Oh, there were several. Always is this time of year, with all the summer barbecues.” She smiled faintly. “We folks in Dorchester like to have fun.”

“Do you know of anyone who might bear a grudge against Patrick or Denise?” D.D. spoke up. “Did either of them mention getting in a fight with anyone? How was their relationship with their ex-spouses?”

“Patrick was a widower; Denise never spoke of her former husband. I got the impression he was out of the picture. Maybe not so interested in domestic life. I certainly never saw anyone coming by to take the kids every other weekend.”

D.D. made a note. “Times are hard,” she said softly, looking at Miss Patsy. “Sounds like Patrick and Denise had a lot on their plate. Three kids to manage-one with some challenges. Plus, they had an entire triple-decker to remodel, then Patrick lost his job. That’s a lot of stress for one family. Things happen when people are under that kind of stress.”

“The Harringtons are good people,” Miss Patsy repeated firmly.

“And the last time you spoke to either Denise or Patrick…?”

“Two days ago. Denise came by around nine o’clock and we had a little wine on the front porch. Jacob was starting up football practice and had just been picked for the first string. She was gonna take Molly back-to-school shopping this weekend.” Miss Patsy shrugged. “We talked of normal things, everyday things. Denise seemed happy enough to me.”

D.D. nodded, made another note-Money??-then rose off the chair, digging out her card. “Thank you for your time, Miss Patsy. If you think of anything else, please give me a call. Oh, and, of course, thanks for the excellent iced tea.”

Miss Patsy nodded, shuffled to her feet. Phil offered to carry their glasses and iced tea pitcher back to the kitchen. Miss Patsy let him.

“It’s true they’re all dead?” Miss Patsy asked as she escorted them to her front door. “Patrick, Denise, Jacob, Molly, and Ozzie?”

“Patrick’s hospitalized. Critical condition.”

“Poor, poor man,” Miss Patsy murmured. “I don’t know what’s worse: for him to join his family in Heaven, or for him to recover all alone. Sad choices for a good man. I guess you just never know what’s really going on with your neighbors, do you?”

“Nope,” agreed D.D. “You never do.”

By the time they were done with Mr. Dexter Harding, it was after twelve and D.D. was starving. Alex proposed that they break for lunch. He knew a great little Italian bistro not far from here. He said this more to D.D. than to Phil, and Phil took the hint, ducking out with some mumbled excuse about stacks of paperwork waiting for him on his desk.

D.D. was suspicious of her partner’s abrupt departure, but it was Italian food, so she didn’t press the matter.

She and Alex caravanned to the corner restaurant, which featured green awnings and the smell of garlic and fresh baked bread. D.D. inhaled twice and decided she’d found a new home.

Alex ordered lasagna. She went with chicken parm. The waitress brought fresh bread to dip in olive oil. D.D. tore her way through the steaming loaf while checking phone messages. Patrick Harrington remained in a drug-induced coma. Neil, D.D.’s other squadmate, had made it through the autopsy of the wife with no surprises. The ME would start in on the girl after lunch.

Finally, she had a message from Chip, the almost-got-laid accountant, wondering if D.D. wanted to try dinner a second time around. She did, but given the way the morning was going, Chip was going to have to be a very patient man.

“Okay,” D.D. declared half a loaf later, trying to check surreptitiously for olive oil dripping down her chin. “We spent last night with one crime scene and the morning with two neighbors. You’re the professor-what d’ya think?”

“Will there be a quiz later?” Alex asked mildly; he’d also been checking messages. Now he put away his phone and reached for the bread basket.

“Please. This case was supposed to be wrapped up five hours ago. You’re gonna have to start detecting a lot quicker if you wanna roll with my squad.”

He arched a brow, seemed amused. He was a good-looking guy, D.D. decided. The charcoal-colored suit worked with his dark blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. A good-looking guy with good taste in restaurants. Hmm.

“Let’s review the basics,” he said now, his deep baritone sounding very much like the teacher he purported to be. “We have a crime scene with four stabbed and one shot, close contact to the head. Blood evidence tells us the victims were taken out one by one. The pattern would at first blush appear to be a murder-suicide, with the head of the household, Patrick Harrington, stabbing his entire family before shooting himself in the head.”

“At first blush,” D.D. agreed.

“Now, we’d love Patrick’s take on this, but so far he’s one step above a vegetable in the ICU, so that’s not going to happen yet.”

“Darn convenient for him,” D.D. groused, then went for more bread.

“Which brings us to impressions of the family by friends and neighbors. We have the lovely Miss Patsy-”

“Very lovely,” D.D. interjected.

“Fabulous iced tea,” Alex agreed. “Though a little heavy on the breakable figurines.”

“Don’t sneeze in that house; it’ll cost you.”

“Miss Patsy likes Denise and Patrick very much. Considers them stand-up parents, good Christians, and all-around nice neighbors, who did have a lot on their plate but were holding up well enough. On the other hand, she is not a fan of their adopted son, Ozzie, who has a history of creepiness.”

“Licking the blood off his hand…” D.D. shivered.

“Now, the second neighbor, Dexter Harding, had a bit to add to that puzzle. Economic situation was a bit more dire than Miss Patsy understood from Denise. According to Dexter, Patrick considered them down to their last two months of operating income. Not a good place to be.”

“Ah, but according to Dexter, Patrick had a plan,” D.D. countered. “Patrick believed he was just two weeks from finishing the second floor. Say he gave himself six weeks to get it rented, asking for first and last month’s rent, plus deposit. That would be a significant cash injection due in the next two to eight weeks.”

“So we have a family in a tense economic condition, but not hopeless. Few things go according to plan, they could pull out of it.”

“Which suggests,” D.D. commented, “that Patrick has reason to be stressed, but perhaps is not yet suicidal. I mean, why go postal now? You’d think if he’s gonna lose it, it’ll be eight weeks from now when he can’t find a renter, doesn’t get the money, etc., etc.”

“Logically speaking, yes,” Alex agreed. “But he’s still stressed, the wife’s still stressed. Maybe someone said something last night at dinner. The daughter charged too much at the mall, the expenses for the older son’s football uniform were higher than expected. All you need is a trigger. Things unfold from there.”