“I have a mani-pedi scheduled at noon,” Ginny advised with a small, self-satisfied smile. “I should be home before two. Will that work?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“It’s not like we could forget what happened back then,” Ginny continued, apparently oblivious to the discomfort of the man standing beside her. She had no awareness, or no regard, for the fact that she was discussing the murder of Richard’s daughter with him standing right there. “I should have gone with you that night, Darlene.”
“Who would have thought that something so awful could happen in our neighborhood?” Darlene thinned her lips, her expression shifting to genuine sorrow as she glanced in Richard’s direction. The emotion seemed authentic in a way that Ginny’s performative concern did not. “I think about it often, you know. If I’d only walked home from the block party sooner, I might have?—”
“The police were fortunate you spotted the front door open in the first place,” Ginny said, cutting Darlene off with a pointed glance in Kinsley’s direction. She had the energy of a person who loved being the one to deliver information, who thrived on being at the center of a story, whether she belonged there or not. “You’re young, Detective. If you looked into the case, I’m sure you read about how our block party was in full swing at the end of the street. Nearly everyone from the neighborhood was there,except the teenagers, of course. They were either at the football game or the bonfire down at Miller’s Pond. Anyway, Darlene and I had made these mini-cheesecakes that were always a hit at neighborhood gatherings, but we could only carry so many trays. As Darlene was walking back to her house to get another batch, she spotted the front door of the Bell mansion standing wide open.”
“Ginny, I’m sure Detective Aspen already knows what happened that night,” Darlene said, her gaze turning apologetic as it settled on Richard. The man seemed like he was enduring a root canal without anesthesia. “It’s true that I found Grant hovering over Iris’s body. He appeared to be going through her pockets, which we later learned was because of the recorder she’d had in her jacket. The whole thing was just horrible.”
“As I said, I should have gone with you to get those cheesecakes,” Ginny replied, wrapping an arm around Darlene’s shoulder in a gesture that came across as more possessive than comforting. Richard reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience visibly deteriorating. “If you don’t mind us asking, Detective, what could you possibly have to follow up on after all this time?”
The rumble of an approaching engine saved Kinsley from having to navigate Ginny’s fishing expedition. A blue pickup truck pulling a trailer loaded with landscaping equipment barreled down the street, coming to an abrupt stop across from them with enough force that the trailer swayed on its hitch. The driver’s door swung open, and a man in his mid-forties jumped out. His movements were sharp with agitation, his boots hitting the pavement hard as he rounded the front of the truck.
Kinsley knew who he was before he opened his mouth. He shared Richard’s height and build, though his features carried the weathered quality of someone who spent his days working under the sun. His dark blond hair was cropped short, anddeep lines framed a mouth that was currently set in a hard line of displeasure. He wore work boots, khaki pants stained at the knees with grass and soil, and a navy polo with the Bell Landscaping logo embroidered on the chest.
“Dad!” The man took long strides across the road, his focus locked on Richard with an intensity that ignored everyone else present. “Mom just called me. Is it true? Are the police reopening Iris’s investigation?”
Joseph Bell, who went by Joey in the court transcripts, was Iris’s younger brother. The angry teenager from the recordings was now a grown man running a landscaping business. Kinsley could hear echoes of the voice on those tapes, the cracking adolescent rage, now deepened by decades but carrying the same sharp undercurrent of someone whose temper ran close to the surface.
Darlene and Ginny stepped back slightly, though neither made any move to leave. Their postures shifted subtly, heads tilting toward each other as they exchanged glances that communicated pure, undiluted excitement. They had front-row seats to neighborhood drama that had been dormant for thirty years, and they weren’t about to relinquish them.
“Joey, now isn’t the time,” Richard said, his voice dropping to the controlled murmur of a man trying to manage a situation that was rapidly expanding beyond his ability to contain it.
Joey’s focus zeroed in on Kinsley, taking in her badge and service weapon with a quick, dismissive assessment, as though she were merely an inconvenience rather than a threat. His attention returned to his father almost immediately.
“Why would you let the police dredge all this back up? Tatlock killed her. We all know that,” Joey said, and his voice carried the aggressive certainty of someone who had been telling himself the same story for thirty years and didn’t appreciatebeing asked to reconsider it. “Mom was practically in tears on the phone. It’s not fair to her that?—”
“Joey, that’s enough,” Richard snapped, and the sharpness in his voice was enough to cut through his son’s momentum. He set a firm hand on Joey’s shoulder and steered him away from the group. “Come with me.”
Kinsley observed Richard guide Joey toward the flagstone path past the entrance of the stone wall, leaving her standing on the sidewalk with the two women. The dynamic between father and son was revealing. Richard’s instinct had been to separate Joey from the conversation, to pull him aside before he could say anything else in front of a detective and two neighbors who would repeat every word they heard before the day was out. It was the same instinct for control she’d observed in his kitchen that morning. But Joey’s arrival had introduced a variable Richard hadn’t planned for, and the cracks were starting to show.
Darlene cleared her throat, finally breaking the silence that had settled over the sidewalk.
“We’ll leave you to it, Detective,” Darlene said as she and Ginny began to cross the street. “I’m in the blue house. Ginny and Todd live in the gray one next door.”
Kinsley nodded, doubtful they would hear her reply. The two women reached the opposite sidewalk in a matter of seconds, their heads already bent together in urgent conversation. She turned her attention back to Richard and Joey, who had gotten as far as the flagstone path just inside the low stone wall that bordered the property.
Their heads were bent close together, their conversation clearly heated despite their lowered voices. Joey’s hands cut through the air in sharp, agitated gestures while Richard maintained his composed exterior, though the muscle twitching in his jaw betrayed the effort it was costing him.
“...need to present a united front, Joey. I’ll put a call into the mayor, though. See if I can’t get...”
Richard’s voice dropped to nothing when he caught sight of Kinsley approaching. Joey straightened beside him, squaring his shoulders as though preparing for a physical confrontation rather than a conversation. Kinsley wasn’t in the mood for posturing, and she cut directly to the point.
“Mr. Bell,” Kinsley addressed Joey directly, extending her hand. “Your father didn’t have a chance to make our introduction. I’m Detective Kinsley Aspen. While I do apologize for the circumstances of our meeting, I’m sure you and your family want nothing more than confirmation that the jury convicted the right person in your sister’s death. I’ll do my best to investigate this new evidence as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
Joey stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment before reluctantly taking it. His grip was firm, almost challenging, his calloused palm speaking to years of physical labor in a way that his father’s smooth handshake never would. Where Richard managed conflict with composure and careful language, Joey appeared to manage it with the blunt force of his presence. Two very different men, bound together by the same tragedy and, Kinsley suspected, by the same desire to keep its details from being reexamined.
“My family has been through enough, Detective Aspen,” Joey stated flatly, releasing her hand. “Whatever you think you’ve found, I doubt it will change the fact that Grant Tatlock killed my sister.”
Before Kinsley could respond, a deep voice calling her name drew the attention of all three of them. Simon “Stretch” Matus stood on the front porch of the mansion, his tall frame nearly filling the doorway. He was waving her over with one long arm, and the expression on his face carried the urgency ofsomeone who had found something significant and didn’t want to announce it in front of civilians. There was a reason his nickname was Stretch, and at six foot seven, he was impossible to miss.
“Aspen, you’re going to want to see this.”
“Excuse me,” Kinsley murmured to Richard and Joey, noting the immediate spike of curiosity on both their faces. Joey took a half-step forward, as though he intended to follow her, but Richard’s hand found his shoulder again and held him in place. “Please stay here.”
Kinsley approached the house and ascended the porch steps two at a time. Stretch’s expression didn’t leave much to the imagination. He or one of his team members had discovered something worth interrupting an active interview for, and Simon Matus was not a man who interrupted lightly.
