have set Adrianna up with Garth.”
“Hmm. Mandy neglected to mention that. She did say that Garth came on to her.”
“Okay,” Decker said. “Triangle anyone?”
“Could be,” Marge said. “I’ll see if I can sort the relationships out. We’ve also got an appointment to interview Adrianna’s supervising nurse tomorrow. She was well liked, did her job, but several people remarked that she liked to party.”
“That’s consistent with the picture I got from her parents.”
“Her parents told you she liked to party?”
“Mostly her father did. He described her—and not kindly—as a party girl.”
“Unusual for him to admit that under the circumstances.”
“I have a feeling that he’s been miffed at her for a long time.”
“But she’s dead, Rabbi. For him to even hint at hostility…that’s weird.”
“People cope in all sorts of different ways. Maybe he figures if he can be mad at her, she’s really not dead. Anyway, there’s another sister in the family—Beatrice Blanc. She needs to be interviewed separately.”
“I’ll do it.”
“There are also two best friends of hers from high school: Sela Graydon and Crystal Larabee.” Decker spelled the names and gave Marge the phone numbers. “Lastly, we need to find out the name of the homeowner’s oldest son.”
“Did that. Trent Grossman. He’s twenty-six. He lives in Boston with his wife and was at a party last night. So he’s out of the picture. The two younger Grossman boys were home last night, according to the parents. For verification, they sent e-mails, IMs, and were on Facebook. I haven’t dug deeper, but I will if you want me to.”
“How old are they? Like fifteen and thirteen?”
“Yep.”
“Put them down at the bottom for now. Let’s go back to Adri-anna’s peers—Crystal and Sela. Set up interviews with them because…okay…here’s the deal.”
Decker flipped through his notes.
“Adrianna called Sela Graydon this morning right when she got off of work. Find out what that was all about. Adrianna also made another call, but we don’t know the identity of that number. Each time I’ve called it, the mailbox is full. It’s a cell, so our backward directories aren’t going to work. We may need a warrant to find out who the number belongs to. Hunt around and see if you can find out if the number belongs to one of her friends.”
“Will do.” Marge asked him, “Any luck with the canvassing of the area?”
“I haven’t heard anything so far. How about we meet up later in the evening and compare notes?”
“Sounds like a plan. Talk to you later.”
Marge hung up her cell and started to dial Sela Graydon’s number, when a crime-scene tech started walking her way. The woman came up to Marge’s stomach. Maybe a little bit higher than her stomach, but she was definitely less than five feet. She was young and Asian and as delicate as a spiderweb, except she had a smoker’s voice. Her name was Rebel Hung.
“We’re just about done with what we can do here.” Rebel snapped off her latex gloves. “I called the truck. We’ll tow it to the lab and give it a thorough going-over.”
“Doesn’t look like this is a crime scene,” Marge said.
“I agree,” Rebel said. “Who knows if she even made it to her car?”
“Footprints?”
“We’ve got some partials. We’ve got lots of latent fingerprints. Maybe something will pop.”
“Hope so.”
“What about the actual crime scene?” Rebel asked. “Where you found her dangling.”
“It’s a crime scene, but we’re not sure if it’s the murder scene. If she was killed there, she didn’t seem to put up a struggle. The coroner’s investigators haven’t found bullet or stab wounds—but she could have been poisoned or sedated before she was hanged. We’ll do a tox on her.”
“Sexually assaulted?”
“Doesn’t look like it, but we’ll know more once the autopsy’s done.”
Rebel pursed her lips. “Hanging’s a weird way to commit murder.”
“Yeah, someone strung her up for dramatic effect.”
“Very dramatic…like in serial killer dramatic.”
“Yes, indeed, we certainly haven’t ruled that one out.”
AS THE FRESHIES set up the chairs, Hannah took Gabe over to the choir director. Mrs. Kent was an energetic, stout woman with a bowl cut of black hair and glasses dangling from a chain.
“This is Gabe,” Hannah said. “He plays the piano.”
Slipping her glasses over her nose, Mrs. Kent looked the boy up and down. “What year are you in?”
“Sophomore, but I’m just visiting.”
“Visiting?” Mrs. Kent let her glasses drop onto her chest. “For how long?”
“Unknown,” Hannah said. “Maybe a day or two. I thought if he could play ‘My Heart Will Go On’ instead of you playing, you can concentrate on the vocals. Although it’ll probably take a lot more than that to keep us on key.”
“That’s very cynical coming from the choir president.” She stared at Gabe. “Do you know the song?”
“I can fake it pretty close. It’s in E, right?”
“Yes, it’s in E. Can you read music?”
“Sheet music is even better,” Gabe said.
“It’s on the piano.” Mrs. Kent told him. “Decker, help the kids set up.”
Gabe found a small spinet sitting in a corner, but turned to face the stage. It was a Gulbransen, and while it wasn’t exactly the German Steinway, the mark was serviceable. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, and then touched the ivory keys from middle C to two octaves above using his right-hand fingers. With his left fingers, he went from middle C to two octaves below. Then he played the accidental keys. The sound was about as expected from a small-bodied piano. Its tuning was true, although not all the notes were perfect. It would bother him. Anything that wasn’t musically perfect bothered him, but he had learned how to live with it. He rarely attended any live rock concerts other than thrash metal, where sound was bent
