Page 38 of Death on Riddle Road
“That, of course, ended with his illness.”Yale wasn’t done.“If any solace can be found in any of this, it is that we were able to spend time with our son in his final days before he died.”
“Before he wasmurdered,” Beverly said emphatically.“And ask yourselves who would have donethat.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Beverly Dorrio didn’tspell out her top suspects in the few moments before she indicated our visit was over by standing and gesturing toward the door.Or swatting a fly.
But when we pulled up in front of the house Jaylynn’s mother and sister shared, I had a feeling we’d arrived at the address of Beverly’s prime picks.
This time of year can be hard on the appearance of houses.Even cheery holiday decorations from early December can start to look listless.
Just guessing, but this house started every season looking listless.
Now it resembled New Year’s Eve partygoers straggling home at dawn.A dingy plastic snowman listed toward a battered elf partially uninflated.Light strings on the railing around a front deck drooped erratically.The lawn’s last cut came a month too early, leaving longer blades to poke up through the snow, giving raggedy a bad name.
As we took the steps up to the deck, areas close to the house displayed rotten boards.
Both of us stopped.
We could see their state because an overhang kept them mostly snow free.What about the boards we couldn’t see?
I pointed to a trodden path.
The fact that previous walkers hadn’t fallen through the deck was no guarantee, but it was the best guide we had.
Clara nodded and went first.That also put her in position to take up the introduction duties when the weathered front door opened to her knock.That’s notweatheredin a fashionable sense, but in a paint-peeling, wood-cracking, not-going-to-stand-up-much-longer sense.
“Hi, is this the Carnells’?”
A woman maybe a decade older than us blocked the opening.“Yeah.”
Past her, an older woman remained seated.She shot a glance at us, then away.
Neither was welcoming, but it didn’t dent Clara’s cheer or the flow of words similar to what she’d told the Dorrios, with tweaks for the expected point of view of Jaylynn’s family.
The older woman interrupted, calling from inside, “Why should we help you?”
“For Robbie, so he has answers—”
I cut across Clara’s words because I saw that appeal wouldn’t reach the door blocker.“To confirm, absolutely, that you’ve been right all along.”
She regarded me a moment from uninterested brown eyes.Finally, she swung the door halfway open and walked away from it.
With no indication she recognized the dismissiveness of the younger woman’s gesture, Clara followed her, saying, “You’re Payloma and Olive, right?”
The door opened directly into the living room.
Two identical worn upholstered chairs with devices in their arms that gave them away as recliners — not the kind advertised by celebrities — sat side by side in front of the television that was on the wall to our right and tuned to a celebrity update program.
The chairs gave an impression of solidarity that the humans didn’t.
Not bothering to confirm Clara’s guess of their identities, much less to welcome us, the younger woman — Payloma — said, “Like I said, why shouldwehelp you find out who killed Derrick?He murdered Jaylynn.”
She and the older woman shared similar facial structure, but the mother’s was softened and smoothed by excess weight, while her daughter’s appeared headed down the path toward the lines and drag of the senior Dorrios.
Olive Carnell said, “I don’t care how many times that Dova and those rich parents say their precious Derrick didn’t do it.He did.”
“That’s exactly it.”Clara’s warmth declared they were not only on the same wavelength, but completely simpatico.“That’s why finding out who killedhimwill erase any doubts raised by his murder about whether he killed Jaylynn.”
