Gregor looked down at Kyle’s piece of paper. He’d written the three names in a line: Mark DeAvecca, Belinda Hart, Emma Kenyon. He knew that Emma Kenyon’s married name was Bligh. He wondered if Belinda Hart used her married name, too.
“So,” he said. “This Emma Kenyon we’re talking to. That’s the one at the Country Crafts store I went into in town?”
“That’s the one. She’s easy to find. The store used to be their house—the Kenyons’ house, I mean. Emma grew up there. When she got older and her father died, her mother turned it into that little store, and then when her mother wanted to retire Emma and George took over the store and moved into the rooms above it. George works a little real estate at an agency on Grandview. We can go right over.”
“What about Belinda Hart?”
“She lives in an apartment in a building near English Drugs,” Kyle said.
“Does she work?”
“At the library. I don’t know if today is one of her days. The thing is, though, Maris Coleman is staying with her. It’s kind of weird, really. Maris doesn’t usually stay there because, you know, it’s hard to stay there and not go nuts.”
“So why is she staying there?”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because Nancy Quayde bought a house out in Stony Hill last year. Nancy used to live in town, you know, so Maris could walk—”
“She doesn’t drive?”
“Well,” Kyle said cautiously, “she used to. And she does have a car, nice rental Volkswagen, one of those new bugs. She’s got it parked back of English Drugs. So I suppose she’s still got a driver’s license. All you have to do to keep that up is show up to have your picture taken once a year. But she doesn’t drive when she comes here.”
“Why not?”
“You ever seen her one hundred percent sober?”
“Ah,” Gregor said.
“Like I said, Maris isn’t stupid. A bitch of legendary proportions, maybe, but not stupid.”
“Well, at least they’re together in one place,” Gregor said. “Maybe we can get to both of them at once.”
“We ought to talk to Nancy Quayde, too,” Kyle said. “She was Chris’s best friend, all the way back to when we were all in kindergarten. Dan will be back from Hawaii today. We can talk to him. Then I guess we should think about talking to Peggy Smith. Do you really think this is going to turn out to be about what happened back in 1969?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t either. Peggy was there. Peggy was a part of that popular crowd, but she’s sort of out of it these days.”
“Why?”
“Married a guy from our class. He drinks himself blind, stokes himself up on cocaine, and beats the crap out of her. If we could ever catch him with dope on him, we’d send him away, and maybe she could get free. But don’t count on it. I’ve been out there myself half a dozen times when she’s had to go to the emergency room and she will not rat on him. Will not.”
“That’s a syndrome, you know,” Gregor said. “There are therapists—”
“Yeah, well,” Kyle said, “that’s all well and good, but when you’re standing in the emergency room at three o’clock in the morning it doesn’t help you much. He blames her for us coming out to begin with, even though she never calls. The neighbors hear it and they call, but Stu won’t listen. If we arrest him, he’ll blame her for that, too, and if we can’t get him successfully prosecuted or she insists on taking him back home he’s only going to beat her up worse because of it. You tell me how to handle that, Mr. Demarkian, I’d love to know.”
“Gregor,” Gregor said.
“Here’s the thing,” Kyle said. “Peggy Smith doesn’t have a car. Stu won’t let her have one. I think he thinks that if she did have one she’d get in it one day and take off, and he can’t have that. She supports him.”
“Does he have one?”
“Yeah,” Kyle said, “but don’t go jumping to conclusions. He keeps the keys on a chain around his neck. I suppose she could get hold of them if he passed out cold, but you’d be amazed with these guys. They don’t pass out cold all that often. You’d think they’d spend their whole lives passed out cold.”
“They learn to accommodate the alcohol,” Gregor said.
“Nancy Quayde picks her up every morning and takes her to school, because now that the school is out in Plumtrees, she can’t just walk there.”
“What about, who is this, Belinda Hart? Does she have a car?”