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There was a bigger, newer addition behind it, but not big enough (or vulgar enough) to qualify for McMansion status. The garage was connected to the house by a breezeway. I looked in, cupping my hands against the glass, and saw a plain old Chevy Cruze. There was enough light coming through the side windows for me to make out the two small child seats side by side in the back.
Officer Zane knocked on the door of the house, a formality, then tried the knob. It opened. He told Canavan to come with him and roll videotape, presumably so he could show his bosses, including the county attorney, that they hadn’t lightfingered anything. Zane asked if I wanted to come in. I declined, but after they had gone inside, I tried the side door of the garage. It was also unlocked. I wheeled the stroller inside and parked it beside the car. There were thunderstorms forecast for later in the day, and I didn’t want it getting wet.
“Be good boys,” I said. The words were out before I knew I was going to say them.
Zane and Canavan came out ten minutes later, Canavan still videotaping as Zane worked through a loaded keyring, trying various ones until he got one to fit the front door.
“House was totally open,” he said to me. “Windows and all. I locked the back and the patio doors from the inside. Must have been a trusting soul.”
Well, I thought, she had her kids with her, and maybe they were the only things she really cared about.
After some more hunting on the deceased woman’s keyring, Zane locked the garage. By then Canavan had turned off the video camera. The three of us walked back to the road. The cops pulled their masks down around their necks. I had forgotten mine again; I hadn’t been expecting to meet anyone.
“Ito works for you, doesn’t he?” Zane asked. “Japanese-American guy from the Village?”
I said he did.
“Also for Mrs. Bell?”
“No, just me. She had Plant World for the grounds. I sometimes saw their trucks. Maybe twice a week.”
“But no caretaker? No one to fix a clogged drain or patch the roof?”
“Not that I know of. Mr. Ito might.”
Zane scratched his chin. “She must have been handy. Some women are. Just because you think your kids are still alive forty years later doesn’t mean you can’t replace a washer or a windowpane.”
“Not handy enough to oil the wheel on that squeaky stroller,” Canavan said.
“Maybe she liked it,” I said. “Or…”
“Or nothing,” Canavan said, and laughed. “Nobody likes a squeaky wheel. Don’t they say that’s the one that gets the grease?”
Zane didn’t reply. I didn’t, either, but I thought maybe the kids had liked it. Maybe it had even lulled them off to sleep after a big day of playing and swimming. Squeak… pause… squeak… pause… squeak…
The ambulance and two of the police cars were gone when we got back to where I’d found her body. Before departing, the other cops had strung yellow DO NOT CROSS tape from palms on either side of the driveway. We ducked under it. I asked Officer Zane what was going to happen with the house, and who was going to take care of her final expenses.
He said he had no idea. “She probably had a will. Somebody’ll have to go through the place and find it, plus her phone and any other paperwork. Her children and husband are dead, but there must be relatives somewhere. Until we get this straightened out, you could lend us a hand, Mr. Trenton. You and Ito keep an eye on the house, would you mind doing that? This could take awhile. Partly it’s the paperwork, but mostly it’s because we’ve only got three detectives. Two are on vacation and one’s sick.”
“Covid,” Canavan said. “Tris had got it bad, I’m hearing.”
“I can do that,” I said. “I guess you want to make sure nobody finds out the place is empty and takes advantage.”
“That’s it. Although hyenas who rob a deceased person’s house usually do it because they read the obituary, and who’s going to write an obituary for Mrs. Bell? She was alone.”
“Why don’t I put her name and what I know about her on Facebook?”
“Okay, good. And we’ll get it on the news.”
“What about Super Gramp?” Canavan said. “Could he go through the house? Look for a will and maybe an address book?”
“You know what, that’s a good idea,” Zane said.
“Who’s Super Gramp?” I asked.
“Andy Pelley,” Zane said. “Semi-retired. Refuses to go all the way to full retired. He helps out when we need a hand.”
“Charter member of the 10-42 Club,” Canavan said. He snickered, which earned him a frown from Zane.
