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“How well did you know Mrs. Ashville?” Arnett asked.
“Not super well. They moved in, what, five years ago?” She turned to her husband, who nodded. “They were only here weekends at first, and not all the time. Then about a year ago he stopped coming and she moved in full-time. I guessed they must have divorced and figured she might be depressed, so I invited her to our Fourth of July party, but she didn’t come—”
“Memorial Day party,” Jeff interjected.
“No, it was—oh, no, you’re right, because Fourth of July was when she had that dust-up with Mitch and Frieda.”
“Dust-up with Mitch and Frieda?” Jo asked.
Marianne’s face dropped. “Oh. You don’t think—but then, somebody killed her, so I guess it’s just as easy them as anybody else, and it makes sense with the rat—”
Jeff cut her off. “Mitch and Frieda Hauptmann, the neighbors on Sandra’s other side.” He noticed the questioning look on Arnett’s face. “You can’t see their house from Sandra’s and you have to take a different road to get to it. Anyway, they had a big family reunion that day and everybody started drinking before noon. They had the music blasting and were getting careless with their Jet Skis, and she took that personal.”
“That was later,” Marianne cut in. “She just went over and asked them to turn down their music after sunset.”
“Not after sunset. She didn’t ask until after eleven, that’s what Tiff told me.”
Marianne glared at him. “Elevenisafter sunset.”
He returned a withering glare of his own. “After sunsetmeansrightafter sunset, like eight thirty or nine in the summer, not eleven.”
Marianne flicked a hand at him. “Same difference.”
“No it’snot, especially on Fourth of July when you have to wait until dark to set off fireworks. Asking someone to turn their music down at eight thirty at night on Fourth of July is just damned rude. After eleven, people have a right to go to sleep—”
Jo cut in—normally she’d let diversions run their course, but she was in no mood today. “Who’s Tiff?”
Jeff jerked his head southward. “Tiffany and Dat Vo, our neighbors on the other side.”
“They were at the party?” Jo asked.
Jeff looked at her like she was speaking Martian. “Tiff and Dat wouldn’t’ve been caught dead over at the Hauptmanns’ place. Neither would we.”
Jo called up her reserves of patience. “Then how did they know?”
He shrugged. “Scuttlebutt.”
Sure. She should have guessed. “I take it the Hauptmanns didn’t respond well to Sandra’s request?”
“Not unless you consider turning the music uphigherresponding well,” Jeff said.
“Morons.” Marianne sniffed. “Everybody knows not to mess with lawyers.”
“None of us knew she was a lawyer ’til later,” Jeff said.
Jo hurried to preempt the spat. “What happened then?”
“Sandra called the police, and that’s when it got ugly,” Jeff said. “Of course there were ‘recreational drugs’ at the party, and as soon as the cops pulled up, they went bat-crap crazy.” He made finger quotes aroundrecreational drugs.
“Funniest damned thing I ever saw.” Marianne slapped her thigh. “Scattered like cockroaches when you turn the lights on.”
“And Mitch was sitting on his Jet Ski, had it turned on and everything, and of course he was drunker than a skunk.” Jeff paused to sip from his mug, and, Jo suspected, for dramatic effect. “They arrested him on the spot for operating under the influence.”
“Tiff told you about all this?” Jo asked.
Jeff gave her the scathing look again. “Thatpart we could see from our dock.”
Jo took a deep mental breath. “Then something else happened? You said something about a rat?”
