She gave me a dismissive shrug. “That’s the DNA that passes from mother to child.”
“Bingo,” I replied with a grin. “And that’s what I need—something containing Agnes Mayfield’s DNA so we can establish a profile for her that might in turn lead us to her grandson, Petey.”
“So you’d use Agnes’s DNA to create a missing-persons report?”
“More or less,” I hedged.
I didn’t want to mention that as far as finding Petey was concerned, having his grandmother’s DNA profile would most likely be effective only in identifying his remains. What was important for me and for the job Alan Dale had hired me to do was the hope that Agnes Mayfield’s DNA profile would establish once and for all whether or not Petey was Athena’s father.
“What do you need from me?” Hilda asked.
“You told me yesterday that when Agnes’s mental and physical capacities began to fail her, you and other neighbors looked in on her from time to time. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did any of you report Agnes’s deteriorating condition to anyone—like Social Services, for example, or to Lenora?”
“Certainly not,” Hilda said with a shake of her head, “and why would we? We were all in the same boat. Agnes wanted to live out her days in her own house on her own terms. That goes double for me.”
“When you went to look in on her, how did you gain entry to her house?”
“How do you think?” Hilda asked in return. “With a key, of course. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly built for climbing in and out of windows.”
“Is it possible you still have access to that key?”
“Of course,” Hilda replied. “If Lenora had asked for it back, I would have given it to her, but she never gave me the time of day, and I didn’t see any reason to go chasing after her begging to return it. So that’s what you’re asking? You want me to let you into the house?”
“It would be a huge help,” I said.
“But don’t you need a search warrant?”
“Nope,” I said with a smile. “I’m a private eye, not a cop. And we’re not looking for evidence that will hold up in a court of law. Being allowed into the residence by someone who has access is good enough for my purposes.”
“All right, then,” Hilda said, rising to her feet. “Let’s do it now before it gets colder or darker. I’m pretty sure the power’s turned off there, too.”
Hilda retrieved a key ring from a kitchen drawer and then pulled on a heavy-duty sweater. Together we made our way down the wheelchair ramp and across the street to her old friend’s house.
“I haven’t been here since she left,” Hilda murmured as she limped up the sidewalk to Agnes Mayfield’s front door. “Makes me too sad to see the place going to rack and ruin.”
And it was. There was grass growing up through cracks in the concrete walkway. Here and there shake shingles were missing from the roof. Dead leaves were piled up at one end of the front porch, and a slippery coating of moss made walking treacherous. Here there was no wheelchair ramp, so I half carried Hilda up the front steps before going back down to retrieve her walker. All the curtains were drawn, so it was impossible to see inside, but behind a flimsy screen a crack in the corner of one of the front windows revealed that they were single-paned ones that had most likely been installed when the house was built.
The front door, however, was anything but flimsy. It was solid-core mahogany, covered with a layer of faded and peeling varnish. There were two locks, one in the doorknob along with a separately installed dead bolt. The key Hilda produced unlocked both, and we stepped inside. The closed curtains also allowed very little light to penetrate the room. It was like walking into something that resembled a musty mausoleum. The place stank of mold and mildew, with just a hint that probably indicated the presence of a dead critter of some kind up in the attic. Agnes tried flipping on the light switch, but nothing happened. By then, however, our eyes had adjusted to the dimness.
“Bedroom?” I asked.
Since this house was a carbon copy of Hilda’s, she led the way through the gloom without any hesitation. The bedroom was neat, with a properly made bed. Other than a pair of bedroom slippers on the carpet next to the bed, nothing was out of place.