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“Late July, Sandra put up two security cameras,” Jeff said. “We asked her why all of a sudden, and she just said she’d been meaning to for a while. But what we heard from a couple different people is she found a rat on her doormat. Some said its throat was slit, some said it wasn’t. All I know for sure is about a month afterthatthe Hauptmanns moved out. No notice, all in a day. Movers showed up, and they were gone by the end of the day after living here for twenty years.”
“And you think that was connected to the party and the rat?” Arnett asked.
“Maybe so, maybe no.” Jeff shrugged, palms up, and leaned back in his chair. “Timing is odd is all I’m saying.”
“Did she have any other trouble with anybody in the neighborhood? Anybody else who didn’t like her?” Jo asked.
Both Jeff and Marianne shook their heads. “Not that I know of,” Jeff said. “She kept to herself, but she was nice enough. Said hi and gave us chocolates at Christmas.”
Jo nodded. “Did you see anything else strange this morning? Any strangers around your property or hers, or strange cars?”
“Nothing,” Jeff said. Marianne shook her head.
“And you didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary?” Jo asked.
“You’re talking about the gunshot. No, we didn’t.” Jeff smirked. “But maybe the gunshot is what woke Marianne since she forgot to set the alarm.”
Marianne flashed him another glare.
“It didn’t wakeyou?” Arnett asked.
“I sleep like the dead,” Jeff said.
Jo stood, and Arnett followed her lead. She handed one of her cards to Jeff. “Thank you for your help. If you remember or hear anything else that might be related, please let us know.”
“Glad to help.” Jeff stood and walked them to the front door, with Marianne following behind.
“Oh, one last question,” Jo said when they got to the door. “Do you happen to know where the Hauptmanns moved?”
“Don’t know, don’t want to know. Good riddance to bad garbage.”
* * *
“What do you think about that Mitch Hauptmann story?” Jo asked as they strode back to the crime scene. “Just neighborhood gossip, or something to it?”
Arnett glanced back to the Nelsons’ house. “Hard to say. If she really did find a dead rat on her mat, I can’t see her letting that go.”
Jo nodded. “It’s a pretty pointed response to her calling the cops on them, if so. But since they pulled up and moved overnight, something more happened after that. We need to talk to Mitch Hauptmann.”
“Agreed.” As the crime scene came back into view Arnett’s face dropped. “Shit.”
Jo saw the woman at the same moment. An average-height black woman most likely in her early forties, wearing a short black bob, trainers, and a faux motorcycle jacket over jeans, stood jotting notes as she talked to Racinsky.
Jo didn’t recognize the woman, but she recognized the interaction. “Press?”
“Pretty sure. But everyone kept this quiet, how did she get here this fast?”
Jo grimaced. “Maybe the Nelsons? But why is she the only one here?”
Racinsky lifted his arm and pointed at them. The woman turned, then headed toward them with long, sure strides.
“Detectives Fournier and Arnett?” she asked when she reached them. “I’m Lacey Bernard, with theSpringfield Gazette. I understand Assistant District Attorney Sandra Ashville has been murdered?”
Jo slipped on her stern publicity face and kept her pace steady, passing Bernard. “We don’t have any comment at this time. Our lieutenant will be making a statement later.”
“There were reports of a gunshot called in at six fifty-five. Was she shot?”
Jo calculated quickly what the Nelsons seemed to know and how much she could afford to put on the record. “I can confirm that a woman was found dead on this property this morning, and that we’re in the early stages of our investigation.”
