“No,” Jeri replied.
“Know ’em pretty good, do ya?”
“Not really.”
“Then why’re you lookin’ for ’em?”
“I’m a private investigator,” Jeri said.
He looked her up and down, then grunted, evidently satisfied with the explanation. He stuck out his hand, which both Jeri and I shook. “Name’s Kennedy. Kennedy Lynch.” He held up the cat and grinned. “This here’s Johnson, vice president. Go on, sit wherever it suits ya. Water’ll dry all right.”
He didn’t offer Jeri a towel, so either he liked the look or it didn’t occur to him.
Jeri and I sat on a couch. Kennedy and Johnson took an armchair facing us. Kennedy had on khaki slacks and a brown sweater covered in cat hair. The hair on his head looked as if he’d slept in it for several weeks since it had last seen a comb. A stale smell of bacon hovered in the air, and a powerful reek of Old Spice.
“Ask yer questions,” Kennedy said when he was settled.
“Are the Holmquists gone?” Jeri asked.
“Reckon so. Place’s been sittin’ empty for over two months now. Realtors come and go. Housing market’s not so good around here right now. Might be too hot, muggy. Be better in September.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Didn’t consult me, ma’am. Though if I had to guess, I’d say Reno. Way out in Nevada.”
“Please, call me Jeri.”
Kennedy smiled. “Jerry. That there’s a man’s name.” He stroked Johnson’s fur, eliciting a purr as loud as a muffled paper shredder.
“Reno?” Jeri said. “Why Reno?”
“That’s where they’re from. They come an’ they go.”
“Do you know Jacoba?”
“Knew her, yep.”
“Knew?”
“She died about twenty years ago. You don’t know much, Miss Private Eye.”
“I’m trying to find out,” she said.
“Jacoba was simple. Beautiful, but about as simple as they come,” Kennedy said.
“How did she die?”
“Story is, which my Olivia got over the back fence and you kin take that for what it’s worth, is that she fell, slipped and hit her head in the tub.”
“What about Jewel?”
“She died too, couple a years back. Near a hundred years old, she was. After that, it was just those two women.”
“Victoria and Winter.”
“Yep.” He looked fondly down at Johnson. “I’ve been in this house goin’ on forty-six years. Jewel Holmquist was here long before that. Wouldn’t take up with no man, that lady, not that I ever tried.”
We waited. Jeri took my hand. It was warm, small, as firm as a chunk of cured ham.
Kennedy went on: “Long time ago, upwards of forty years, Jacoba showed up. Came all the way from Reno. Jewel’s sister sent her. I don’t recollect her name, though, the sister’s. Pretty as a picture, Jacoba was, but just a kid. Pregnant, which’s why she come out. Just startin’ to show.”
“Did she have the baby?” Jeri asked.
“Yep. Jewel named ’er. Called ’er Victoria, but I s’pose you’d know that, huh?” He gave us a squinty look.
“How were they?” I asked.
“What d’you mean?”
“As a family. How did they act?”
He shrugged, running a hand over Johnson’s fur. Cat was lucky to have any left. “Quiet. Kept to themselves. Jewel took ’em off to church Sundays, Jacoba and Victoria. Other than that, I didn’t see ’em around much.”
He frowned. “Except…”
“Except…?” Jeri prompted.
“Well, I seen ’em a few times, now and then, over the years—Jacoba and Victoria. Down at the store, around. Nothing regular. Victoria was a kid, but when she was seven or eight years old she was like a mother to Jacoba, tellin’ her what to do, doin’ things for her. I saw her tie Jacoba’s shoes once, right out in front of the house. It didn’t take no special insight to see that Victoria loved her mama, simple as Jacoba was.”
“Do you remember what year Jacoba died?”
He thought about it, then started counting on his fingers, lips moving silently. Outside, the storm raged. The water sounded like birdshot against the window. It ran in sheets down the glass, causing the street to ripple wildly.
“Be about twenty years, I’d say. That was the year my grandson Ricky was born. If Olivia was alive, she’d know to the day, God rest ’er.”
Twenty years. That sounded familiar. What had happened twenty years ago? Something. I could feel it clumping around in my brain, trying to get out. Things do that more now than when I was thirty, facts trapped in there like convicts serving a life sentence.
“How did Jewel and Victoria take her death?” Jeri asked.
“Jewel was okay. She took most everything like an old Marine. Nothing bothered her. I called her Rushmore, after the mountain, all those stone faces. Olivia’d shush me when I did, but Jewel had that look. Victoria took Jacoba’s passing pretty doggone hard, though, way I heard it. Fourteen, fifteen years old. Olivia said she was a handful. Got that over the back fence too. Probably true, though, since Victoria went back to Reno not long after Jacoba died.”
Jeri looked at me in surprise.
Kennedy stroked the cat. “I heard tell Jewel couldn’t take any more. You know how kids can be.”
“But then—Victoria must’ve come back,” Jeri said. “You said she and Winter left only recently.”
“Oh, yeah. Victoria came back, all right. She was only gone for a couple or three months.”
“How was she?” Jeri asked. “Better?”
“All depends on your point of view. She was as pregnant as two cats, that’s how she was.” He smiled at the expression that bit of news put on Jeri’s face.
“With Winter,” I said.
He nodded. “Yep. Victoria swelled up, then by and by along came Winter. Weird doggone name, huh? Cute kid, though. Grew up beautiful, like her mama, but thin. Not enough meat on her, I always thought.”
A moment of silence spun out, filled with the sound of wind and rain.
“So Victoria and Winter lived with Jewel?” Jeri asked, trying to keep Kennedy talking.
“Yep. Kinda peculiar, those two.”
“What do you mean?”
“If ’n you saw Victoria, you saw Winter.”
“You mean they were close?”
“Close, yeah. Like each was the other’s shadow. Never saw anything like it.”
“Well, they were mother and daughter.”
“Even so.” He
