“Yeah, we rent the whole house. All the houses go all the way back, I think.”

“Do you have a backyard?”

“Yeah.”

“So if there’d been some noise, do you think you would’ve heard it?”

“Not really.” Phil gestured to his earphones. “I study with these on or listen to music. My other three roommates play video games. We keep the AC on and the windows shut, so the neighbors don’t bitch about any noise we make. They’re always looking for an excuse to get students out of this end of town.” The young man turned toward the back of the house. “I can show you, we do have a backyard, and we sit out there sometimes, have some wine, you know. That’s what we did Saturday night with some friends. But we were out Sunday night since one of my roommates is graduating.”

“Congratulations.” Christine smiled. “By the way, I’m sorry about what happened to your neighbor Gail Robinbrecht.”

“Wow, I know, it’s horrible, really horrible.” Phil frowned in a way that made him look older than a college student.

“Did you know Gail?”

“Sure, me and my roommates, we liked her. Gail was the organizer of the block parties, she knew how to make it fun. My girlfriend liked her, too, and she’s really freaked. She wants us to start a neighborhood watch.”

“That’s a good idea.” Christine saw her opening. “Did you see anything suspicious that night around her house? It was last Monday night.”

“No, not at all.”

“Were you home?”

“Yeah, I was, but I didn’t see anything. I had the game on. We already told the police.”

“Great, good. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.” Phil closed the door, and Christine walked to 303, Gail Robinbrecht’s next-door neighbor. They had a Norway spruce in a blue glazed pot, and the front door was of natural wood with a brass knocker. Louvered shutters covered the windows, but classical music played inside, so someone was home. Christine knocked, and the door was opened by an older African-American woman with wire-rimmed glasses and a graying topknot, in a white silk blouse with a navy skirt, evidently part of a suit. She was barefoot, as if she’d just kicked off her pumps.

Christine smiled, gesturing at her feet. “I do the same thing, the first thing when I come in the door.”

“Ha!” The woman smiled, warmly. “Heels aren’t shoes, they’re torture devices.”

“I agree.” Christine introduced herself, handing her Griff’s business card. “I’m a paralegal for an attorney in town, and we’re looking into the accidental death of Mrs. Kent, who lived around the block on Daley.”

“Nice to meet you. Anita Noxubee.”

“Anita, did you know Linda Kent, by any chance?”

“I knew her, but not well. Most of us at this end of the block run into her, from time to time.” Anita pursed her lips. “I had heard that she passed. I’m sorry about that.”

“Yes, it took place on Sunday night around midnight. Did you hear anything that night, maybe a shout or someone cry for help?”

“No, I didn’t. We were asleep by that time. My husband and I go to bed early because he teaches an early class at Widener.”

“By the way, did you know Gail Robinbrecht?”

“Yes, we both did. She was such a lovely woman, so full of life. She arranged block parties every summer, and everybody went. We were going to have one in July.” Anita’s expression changed, folding into lines of fresh grief. “It’s awful to think about how she died. We all know how dedicated she was.”

“You didn’t see or hear anything unusual or suspicious at her house that night, did you?”

“No, not a thing. We told the police.”

“I see.” Christine peeked past her, where delicious smells of curried something wafted from the kitchen. “Does your house go all the way through, with a backyard out back?”

“Yes, but it was paved over when we bought the house. We use it to park.”

“Well, thank you. Again, my condolences.” Christine stepped away from the house, heading past Gail’s, where the front door to the house, the alley beside it, and the sidewalk were cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape.

The memorial was larger, with more candles, bouquets of flowers, homemade signs, and a bunch of heart-shaped Mylar balloons floating in the breeze. Christine recognized the same two nurses from Saturday in front of the memorial, both in scrubs, with their laminated employee IDs around their necks on green lanyards; the one was young, perhaps in her twenties, with her silky black hair in a braid down her back, and the other looked older and was heavyset, with auburn hair chopped into neat layers and pearl earrings that dressed up her scrubs. They glanced up as Christine approached, their pained eyes meeting hers, their expressions changing as they seemed to recognize her.

“Hello,” Christine said uncertainly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” the older one said.

The younger one nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yes, thanks.”

Christine asked, “Did you work with Gail at the hospital?”

“Yes. We were on the same unit, orthopedic surgery. We saw you here Saturday, didn’t we?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t know Gail, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Christine thought fast, gesturing behind her. “I’m a paralegal for a lawyer in town. We’re looking into the fatal accident that occurred Sunday night, in which one of the other neighbors, on Daley Street, Linda Kent, died. I don’t know if you heard.”

“No, what happened?” the older nurse asked, concerned.

“She fell down her back steps and was killed.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. How old was she?”

“In her forties,” Christine answered, guessing. She switched tack. “Gail seemed like a really great person. When I was here the other day with my friend, I heard you saying how dedicated she was.”

“Yes, she loved nursing, and everybody at the hospital loved her.”

“Her family must be really upset,” Christine said, fishing. “Are they local?”

“No, they live in Minnesota. They’ll be coming in for the vigil.”