Page 21 of So Bleak

Faith stared at the ceiling and thought about knowing until exhaustion accomplished what relaxation couldn’t and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Camden was close to the polar opposite of Rittenhouse Square. While not technically a part of Philadelphia, many of its residents commuted to the city for work, then returned home to neighborhoods far less affluent than the ritzier Philadelphia burgs.

Melinda Tyler, nee Crestwood, lived in a single-story ranch house sporting a lawn of patchy, brown grass surrounded by a chain link fence and covered in peeling paint that might once have been white. When the three agents knocked on the door, it was answered by a harried-looking woman in her mid-forties who glared at the two human agents and snapped, “Whaddya want?”

“Melinda Tyler?” Faith asked.

“Yeah, that’s me. Whaddya want?”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your sister.”

Melinda stared at her for a moment. Then she laughed. “All right. Come on in, then. I guess I should have expected you guys eventually. You want a beer?”

“We’re all right, thank you.”

Melinda shrugged and headed to the kitchen to get one for herself. The three agents followed her to find the interior of the house as faded as the exterior and twice as dirty. As Faith stepped into the living room, a boy of around nine slammed into her hard enough that Michael had to catch her to prevent her from falling.

The boy looked up at Faith and grinned. “Hi.”

Before Faith could answer, he continued barreling through the house. The reason for his flight became clear a moment later when a girl a couple years older than him jumped out from underneath the dining room table and leapt onto the boy’s shoulders. “Gotcha!”

The children chased each other through the kitchen and living room, somehow avoiding their disinterested mother, who returned to the living room and cracked open the beer. She sat on the couch next to a toddler who wore nothing but a diaper. Thankfully, the tot was more interested in the puzzle box she was playing with than the open beer can inches away from her.

Faith and Michael shared a glance and, after a glance at the stained loveseat, chose to stand.

“When was the last time you spoke with your sister?” Faith asked.

Melinda shrugged. “College, maybe.”

Faith and Michael shared another glance. “So you two weren’t close.”

Melinda looked away from the TV, which was airing some celebrity reality show, and said, "You're not very bright, are you?"

Faith’s lips thinned. She stepped forward, grabbed the remote and turned the tv off. “Miss Tyler”

“Mrs. Tyler.”

Faith took a deep breath. “Mrs. Tyler, we’re investigating your sister’s murder. Do you have any information that can help us with that?”

Melinda shrugged defiantly. “How the hell should I know? Probably one of the restaurants she pissed off.”

“Any idea who that might be?”

“Shit, take your pick. From what I gather, she was just as much a stuck-up bitch to the rest of the world as she was to me.”

Faith squatted in front of her until they were at eye level. “I realize that you don’t care that your sister is dead. Read you loud and clear on that. But I care, and if you insist on being difficult, I’ll just have you detained as a person of interest and drag you to the police station to have this conversation.”

Melinda held Faith’s gaze. “Wouldn’t be the first time a couple of cops tried to shake me down.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Michael said. “Where were you two nights ago.”

Melinda frowned. “Two nights ago? I thought she died last week.”

“Humor me.”

She gestured around her. “You see my kids. How long do you think they’d last without me to take care of them?”

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