local Catholic schools. She received a decent settlement in the divorce and is working part-time on specialty costume-design pieces from her house. She’s dating. Her social-media pages have her as in a relationship, and there are several pictures of her with a friendly-looking bald guy. He’s a local plumber.”
“Thanks. When you say gated community—”
“I already called her to make an appointment with her for you, so they’ll let you in. I assured her you were the nicest people in the world, trying to get her cleared before there was another media frenzy. Of course, she suggested her ex-husband could be the killer. Nothing amiable about that divorce. But I guess he wasn’t all that into his marriage—or his children. He’s back in Arizona. Gets his kids for two weeks in the summer. Naturally, I checked on him. He was camping near Sedona and has a friend who verifies that they were together. Fishing.”
“Thanks, Angela. We’ll be there soon.”
“Stacey?” Angela said.
“Hi, I’m here,” Stacey said.
“You doing okay?”
Stacey smiled. “I’m doing fine. Feeling determined. Thanks.”
“Be decent, Keenan,” Angela said a bit loudly.
“I’m always decent,” he said tersely.
“Yes, that’s true. Let me rephrase. Be gentle. Remember being a rookie yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am. On it,” he said, then he cut the call.
Stacey was smiling more broadly. “So, you’re always a hard-ass?”
“Hey now!”
“Sorry, that was out of line.”
He found that he was laughing. “No. Not always. Just sometimes,” he told her. They had reached the high-arched gates that led to the Havenwood housing development where Cindy Hardy was now living with her children.
Keenan pressed a button on the call box. A female voice, toneless, answered. He swung the car around and into the long drive that led to the conclave of upper-income homes.
Cindy’s was a two-story colonial surrounded by a white picket fence. She stood on the porch waiting for them as they pulled into the driveway.
She was an attractive woman of about forty, medium in height, with shoulder-length, wavy hair. She was dressed in tennis whites. They were apparently holding up her schedule.
She offered a hand as they walked up the two wooden steps to the porch. “The FBI,” she said dryly. “As if the whole thing with that horrible woman hasn’t already caused me enough grief.”
“Special Agents Wallace and Hanson,” Keenan said, introducing himself and Stacey. “And, ma’am, that woman is dead now.”
She nodded. “It’s all over the news—along with my name again! I tried to call her out on what she was doing, and what did I get for it? First, she convinced my husband he needed to give me anything as long as he got rid of me. Then, when she was sure she had the upper hand, she threatened to sue me! I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m just so distressed over all of this—not that she’s dead. I’m glad she’s dead, even if that makes me a horrible person. Please, come in. Would you like some coffee or ice tea perhaps?”
“We’re fine, thanks,” Keenan assured her.
She led them in to a handsome, and predictable, parlor. Sofa, large-screen TV, a few wingback chairs, and a mahogany coffee table.
She indicated they were welcome to take a seat.
“Isn’t it a serial killer?” she asked, perching at the edge of the sofa. “The Yankee Ripper, or whatever they’re calling him?”
“We believe it is the same killer who has now struck three times,” Stacey said.
“Right, so...why are people looking at me? What could I have against those other girls?” Cindy asked. She seemed to be truly perplexed.
“Well, because now it’s Billie Bingham. And everyone knew how much you despised her. Your fight was very public,” Keenan said.
“We just need to know where you were last night,” Stacey told her. “And the last time you spoke with or had any dealings with Billie Bingham.”
“Last night I was here, in bed. I still have a fourteen-year-old girl and a sixteen-year-old boy. They think they’re adults, but I’m still in charge. Just because their father bailed. He was a decent man until he met that woman. She twisted him to pieces. Personally, I don’t think she was that attractive. Although from what I’ve heard, she was...talented. But just how special that—that box of hers might have been, I can’t even imagine. Oh, I’m sorry. I was raised better than this!”
“It’s all right. So, you were here all night?” Keenan asked.
Cindy nodded vigorously. “I have the kids and live-in help. Maria will vouch for me.”
“That’s good, thank you. Now, with everything that went on, did you meet anyone