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“I’m not accusing you of having anything to do with her death. But I need to find out why she was here and who she might have met and spoken with. Did you know her?”
The men seemed reluctant to say one way or another until the third fellow spoke up. He was younger than the other two, late thirties at most.
“I went to high school with her. I played football and she ran track and did gymnastics. And she was smart, too. Graduated top in the class. She was the...what do you call it?”
“Valedictorian.”
“Yeah.”
“So what was your take on her?” asked Devine.
“She...everybody loved Jenny, me included.” He glanced at his companions, clearly embarrassed at this frank admission.
“Did you see her when she was last up here?”
He nodded. “Saw her on the street. I waved to her and she waved back. Called me by my name, though I’ve changed some, gotten fat and lost most of my hair. But she rememberedme.”
This was obviously a point of pride with the man.
“Did she seem...okay?”
“Yeah, I mean, I think so. She comes up here from time to time, but that was the first I’d seen her in a few years.”
“She comes to visit her brother and sister?”
He wiped his nose. “I guess so. I don’t really know. I’m not really tight with the family.”
Devine eyed the tats on the other two men. “You guys know Alex, or Dak? Looks like you both got inked by him.”
The smaller of them said, “Yeah, dude’s an artist. And fair with his prices.”
“He ever talk about Jenny?”
The one looked at the other. “No, not really,” said the man Devine had accused of being an informant. He scowled and added, “Hearshewas a fed.”
“You know her sister? She’s an artist, too.”
“Alex is...different,” said the same man.
“Goes to the beat of her own drummer,” said the other. “Gorgeous gal, but...Hell, don’t know why she’s still here. She could go out to LA or somewhere and make a helluva lot of money.”
“Or marry some rich dude and fly around in a private jet,” said the man Devine had accused. “Not live in some spooky old house in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”
“So why do you think she never did that?” asked Devine.
The man shrugged. “Like I said, she’s different. I don’t think she cares about money and shit like that.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Maybe six months ago, when she rode her bike into town.”
“Motorbike?”
“No, a pedal bike.”
“You speak to her?”
“No, she don’t like to...interactwith folks. Keeps to herself. Don’t mess with nobody.”
