“Really?” Christine hid her confusion. Zachary had told her that he had met Robinbrecht for the first time on Sunday, the night before she was murdered. “When did you see him, what time?”

“At about eleven thirty at night. After the news.”

“My God, how did you know it was him?”

“I saw him, clearly.” Jerri glanced behind her, checking on the giggling children, then turned back, warming to her story. “Our backyard is in the back, and I was putting out the recycling. I happened to look up, and I saw Gail opening her door and a very handsome blond man coming into her apartment. I saw her give him a hug, then they went inside.”

“Wow. How did you know it was him? It would have been dark, right?”

“I could see, easily. When he came inside the kitchen, it was light and I could see.” Jerri’s eyes lit up. “He’s a very good-looking man. I thought ‘oh, good for Gail, she’s seeing such a hottie!’ I was happy for her. We always go to the block parties, and we liked her so much. Emma adored her, she was wonderful with children.”

“And you told the police this, about seeing the man?”

“Certainly. When they arrested the man, Jeffcoat, I saw his photo on the TV, and when they came around asking, I told them, I saw him before. I went to the police station and gave a statement.”

Christine made a mental note. “Did you know if Gail was seeing anybody else?”

“No, I don’t. My hands are full.” Jerri looked back over her shoulder as the children started to fuss. “I should go, I’m sorry.”

“Please, just one last question. Did you generally notice visitors going up and down the stairs to her apartment?”

“Gail’s? No, but I’m never in the backyard. Richard takes out the recycling and the trash. The night I saw the killer, Richard had fallen asleep on the couch, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him up. I’m never out back otherwise.”

“I see. Well, thank you very much, I appreciate it.”

Christine left the house and walked down the street, troubled that Zachary had lied to her about meeting Gail Robinbrecht before. She wondered if Thursday was the first time he had been there, or if he had been seeing her earlier. And if it was the first time he had lied, as well. This wasn’t the time to figure it out, because she had her work cut out for her, hoping to find more answers around the corner on Daley Street, where Linda Kent had lived.

And died.

Chapter Thirty-five

Christine kept walking to the end of Warwick Street, turned the corner onto the cross street, Latham, and walked along Latham until she reached the skinny backstreet that ran between the houses on Warwick and Daley Streets. She walked partway up the backstreet, taking pictures of the back of Linda Kent’s house. She confirmed that it was directly across from Gail Robinbrecht’s apartment, so that Kent would have a perfect view of men going in and out of Robinbrecht’s.

Christine slid her phone back in her purse, left the backstreet, and turned right on Latham toward Daley. She passed the very spot where she had met Linda Kent sweeping up, and it struck her for the first time that she didn’t understand why Kent was sweeping so far from her own house, essentially around the corner. She made a mental note though she wasn’t sure it mattered, and turned onto Daley, scanning the street.

Daley was almost identical to Warwick, lined with cars parked in front of well-maintained brick row houses, each with different shutter and door colors, outdoor decoration, or foliage. She started with the house on the corner, number 507, feeling hopeful. The house was the best kept so far, with a buttercup-yellow door and matching window boxes, bursting with English ivy.

Christine knocked and waited, and the door was answered fairly quickly by an attractive brunette in her fifties, who had on a white polo shirt, tan riding britches, and black boots. Christine introduced herself, gave out the business card, then said, “I’m working for a lawyer in town, and we’re looking into the fatal accident involving Linda Kent.”

“Oh yes.” The woman’s face fell, her brow knitting. “That was really unfortunate. How awful. I’m Rachel Cannonette, by the way.”

“Hi, Rachel. We’re looking into if there was some problem with the steps, perhaps some negligence in construction or repair that could’ve caused her fall.”

“I see. She did rent, the duplexes are rentals. It would be their responsibility to repair the steps, but the Realtor is Cobblestone, and they do a really good job. The man who owns the company lives in town, it’s not as if he’s an absentee landlord. So, in terms of fault, it’s not on Cobblestone.” Rachel arched an eyebrow. “I don’t like to speak ill, but Linda Kent was an alcoholic.”

“I have heard that.” Christine thought of something. “I know that she used to sweep close to your house. Did you ever see her do that?”

“All the time.” Rachel half-smiled. “That’s why my boyfriend calls her the ‘wicked witch.’ She was always with her broom.”

“Why did she sweep here, if her house was at 505?”

“I’m not quite sure.” Rachel shook her head. “She used to sweep all the time, almost compulsively. I know she didn’t work, she had nothing else to do. My boyfriend thought she used the sweeping to spy on all of us.”

Christine thought it answered her question. “Did you know her?”

“No. Truth to tell, I avoided her. She tended to filibuster. Otherwise, I had no problem with her because she policed these houses like nobody’s business.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cobblestone has a lot of rules for renters in the duplexes. No pets, no partying, no smoking. The rules work fine for me because I like it quiet. I’m a public-interest lawyer, I work long hours and so does my boyfriend. In summertime, I ride at night, so I get home late and I don’t want partying. We don’t want this part of town to turn into the other part of town, where the WCU campus is.”

“I understand completely. By the way, did you hear any noise, like a shout or a scream the night that she was killed? After all, she fell down the stairs.”

“No, I didn’t hear anything.” Rachel averted her eyes in thought. “My boyfriend wasn’t home, just me. He was out of town.”