"There are thirteen houses on Wallace Street and each house has at least one person living in them."
"Okay."
"The question is: how do we know who to interview? And do we go together?" Charles asked.
"Alright. So Paul's house is out since that's the murder site and the Willows are out since we just came from there. That leaves us with eleven houses," Alicia said, letting out a sigh.
"No, actually. The Hentingtons are on vacation, and I think Kitty might not be home," Charles replied.
"Kitty?" Alicia raised a brow.
"Yeah, she's my neighbor. So where do we start? Or do we split up?" Charles asked, rubbing his hands together.
"I think we should split up. We have about an hour left. I'll take George, Angelo, and the Jameson's, while you take Old Man Jones, Mrs. Henshaw, and Kitty. Call me if you find anything or if anyone seems suspicious."
"Okay. Be safe," Charles said, walking away.
"I should be telling you that," Alicia whispered under her breath.
GEORGE HAYES
Alicia rang the doorbell and waited on the porch. No response, not even footsteps approaching ,so she rang again. Still nothing. Just when she was about to knock, the door swung open.
George Hayes stood there.
George Hayes worked as a banker at the local bank. He was a fine-looking man in his mid-thirties with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and an athletic build. He stood about five foot nine and towered slightly over Alicia.
"Hi George, good morning. I'm "
"Alicia. My neighbor," George completed, adjusting the tie that clearly wasn't cooperating.
"Yeah, that's right." She smiled nervously.
"So, what can I help you with?" George asked, trying again to knot his tie.
"Yeah, sorry for interrupting, but I was hoping to ask you some questions about Paul," Alicia said. She noticed he was struggling, so she gently tugged the tie off his neck and knotted it for him.
"Thanks," George chuckled.
"So, Paul."
"Great guy. Come on in," George said, heading inside.
Alicia raised a brow. Great? Charles had told her everyone hated Paul.
She followed him into the living room and immediately her instincts sharpened.
The air carried a faint scent of a woman's perfume, expensive and heavy. Something floral with a hint of musk. Not the kind of fragrance people wear to run errands in the morning.
As George packed his work bag, Alicia's eyes drifted subtly, without turning her head too far. Under the coffee table, half-hidden by the shadows, a pair of lacy underwear lay bunched like it had been kicked there in a hurry. Alicia didn't react. Didn't comment. She simply tucked that observation away where useful things go.
George cleared his throat loudly as if to fill the silence. "So yeah, Paul was a great guy."
Alicia blinked. "Paul was a great guy?"
"Well, great in wealth not in character. He comes to the bank at the end of the month and he treats everyone there like crap. The man acts like he doesn't know me," George said, still rummaging around.
"You know he's dead, right?"
"I'm pretty sure I saw him yesterday when I was jogging," George muttered, eyes fixed downward.
"George, he died early this morning."
George froze. Alicia's expression was flat,no amusement, sarcasm, or hints of a joke. He knew she was serious.
"What do you mean he's dead? I… I saw him yesterday," George stammered. He sat heavily on the couch.
"He was killed this morning," Alicia continued.
"Killed? Oh my God!" George exclaimed, hands in the air.
"Yeah."
"Why? How? Who? What?"
"So many questions," Alicia muttered. "How? With a kitchen knife. Who? Derrick, your other neighbor. What? I told you Paul's dead. And why? Well, that's why I'm here."
"You think I killed him?" George snapped, jumping up.
"George "
"I didn't kill him, I swear! I came home by eight last night and I've been asleep since." George started pacing.
"George! Stop!" Alicia yelled.
"Sorry… I'm just shocked." He sank into his chair.
"I know. What do you know about Paul?" Alicia asked calmly.
"Not much. He banks with us. He's rude to the bankers and the neighbors. One time he accused me of looking at his girlfriend and gave me a serious warning. I've never even spoken to Candice, not to mention looked at her."
"Mhm."
"I mean, Candice is hot and all, but no thanks. Paul thought every male was after her. The one who got it worst was Angelo."
"Angelo?"
"Yeah. House right before the Jameson's."
"Okay. Thanks for your time," Alicia said, heading for the door.
"Wait… you don't think I'm the killer?"
"No, George. I highly doubt it." She shut the door behind her.
But as she walked down the porch steps, Alicia's mind was already replaying the perfume, the underwear, and George's jittery pacing. He wasn't the killer ,not in her book. But he wasn't telling the full truth either.
Someone had been with him last night.
Someone he didn't want to mention.
And Alicia couldn't shake the feeling that whoever that woman was… she knew something.
KATHERINE WESLEY
Charles stood at Kitty's door, hesitant to knock. He had never done detective work. He didn't know what to ask, what not to ask, or how interrogations even worked. But he knew Alicia would give him an earful if he chickened out so he knocked.
The door opened, revealing Katherine Wesley or as the neighborhood called her, Kitty.
Kitty was the neighborhood It-girl. Lovely personality, always cheerful, always helpful. Auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her morning robe hung loosely as she blinked sleep from her eyes. She stared at Charles, confused as to why he was here so early.
"Hi Kitty," Charles said a bit too eagerly.
"Hi Charles," Kitty replied, rubbing her eyes.
"Mind if I come in?" Charles asked already walking past her into the living room.
"Sure, help yourself," she muttered, shutting the door.
"So, I heard the mayor's coming in today," Charles said, sitting down awkwardly.
"Yeah, I heard too. What's up, Charles?" Kitty asked, crossing her arms as her foot tapped impatiently.
"Heard about Paul's death?"
"Yes, Charles. I was there."
"Right." Charles stared at her, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Kitty asked.
"Kitty," Charles said firmly.
"What? You think I killed Paul?"
"I never said that."
"But you looked at me like you did."
"Where were you, Kitty?"
"Excuse me?"
"Last night, Kitty. Where were you?"
"The hell? I was at home," Kitty snapped.
"No you weren't. I came around eight to borrow sugar and you weren't here. Everyone knows you're usually back by seven. So where were you?"
"Really, Charles? A girl can't come home late anymore?" Kitty scoffed.
"Fine. Then why did I see you coming from Derrick's house?"
"What?" Kitty asked, stunned, her eyes widening as if she'd just been slapped by the truth.
"I saw you, Kitty," Charles said firmly. "I mean, I forgot at first, but seeing you again,it clicked. I'm positive I saw you coming from there."
"Uh… no. It wasn't me," Kitty stammered, already glancing away.
"Really, Kitty? Who else in this neighborhood wears a pink robe at seven in the morning?"
"Candice," Kitty shot back. "And Mrs. Henshaw."
Charles nodded. "Fair point. But still I know what I saw. And I saw you, Kitty."
"Charles!" Kitty barked, her voice breaking between fear and irritation.
"Fine. Since you won't tell me, I'm sure you'll tell Alicia."
"Who's that?"
"The detective I'm working with. She lives down the street."
Kitty's nose curled. "Deadbeat girl?"
"Yes, deadbeat…" Charles stopped, jaw tightening. "And don't call her that."
He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Alicia's number,the number he'd gotten earlier when they split up to investigate.
"Charles, please," Kitty begged, voice suddenly trembling. "I can explain."
"Oh, I'm sure you can," Charles said. "And you'll explain even better when Alicia gets here."
"I'm secretly seeing George!" Kitty yelled, hands flying up as if throwing the secret into the air.