The Wicked Flea

exclaimed. His eyes crinkled in delight.
    “Gotcha? I don’t think so! I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “His remains.Scattered near the body, human remains evidently belonging to the late Mr. Metzner. Who was cremated. Who owned a .22. And did not take it with him.”
    “Where is it?”
    “The kids don’t know. All innocence!” Kevin mimicked: “ ‘Did Daddy really own a gun? How terrible! How awful! Where is it? We don’t know! We didn’t even know he had one!’ ”
    Kevin must’ve heard the story thirdhand. A Cambridge homicide lieutenant wouldn’t have been working in Newton. And even if Jennifer hadn’t been relieved of her duties, she’d have been the last person the Newton police would’ve assigned to interview Sylvia’s family. Still, Kevin is an experienced cop. I felt certain that he accurately conveyed the family’s attitude, if not their precise words.
    “You ever met these people?” he asked.
    I nodded. “All but the younger daughter. Oona, her name is. I’ve just heard about her. She sails. I’ve met the others, but I don’t really know them. Wilson’s the only one I’ve talked to much. He has a corgi he shows. Pembroke.”
    Kevin rolled his eyes.
    I laughed. “I can hear what you’re thinking. Wilson’s a dog nut, so he’s capable of anything. Actually, he’s just getting started in dogs, so from your point of view, maybe that lets him off the hook. And he and Pia, his wife—Sylvia’s daughter, the older one—are probably the two most normal people in that family. They both have regular jobs. They live—lived—with Sylvia, but for all I know, they paid rent. The other two probably couldn’t have. Oona apparently does odd jobs for friends of hers who own boats. Sailboats. Yachts, maybe I should say. She crews. That can’t pay, can it? And if she scrapes off barnacles and swabs decks, she probably gets something, but not much. The one Ceci really frowns on is Eric. He’s the youngest. He graduated from college a few years ago, and I guess he hasn’t done anything since, except hang around home. But Ceci’s prejudiced about him. She isn’t used to pierced ears on men.”
    “What’s your take on him?” Kevin asked.
    “Pierced ears don’t bother me. Ceci, I guess, could be responding to a difference in style or a generational difference or something like that. But I met him myself. This was actually after his mother was killed, except that no one knew that. Well, someone did. But I didn’t. Anyway, Sylvia’s dog, Zsa Zsa, was running around in the park, and I got a leash on her and took her home. The one who answered the door was Eric. This was in the middle of the afternoon, and he looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Ceci makes him sound kind of punk, but he isn’t, really.”
    “Known drug user,” Kevin interjected. “Keep talking.”
    I shrugged. “He’s more preppie than punk. Dissipated preppie. Mainly, he’s a spoiled brat. Here I was, a stranger returning the family dog, and what he did was complain about how there was no food in the house. He wanted me to tell his mother if I saw her. As if he couldn’t go to the store himself! Or cook. Or go out and look for his mother. But the point about Sylvia’s family, Kevin, isn’t any one person. It’s everyone. I mean, Sylvia was killed on Sunday, and her body wasn’t found until Tuesday afternoon, and so far as I know, no one in that family was worried about her. All three of her children and her son-in-law live with her, four adults, at least in terms of age, and not one of them even notices she’s missing? Unless you count Eric and the food, I guess. You have to wonder how long it would’ve taken these people to start wondering where she was. A week? More?”
    “They didn’t all gang up and do it,” Kevin said. “This’s Newton. It’s not Agatha Christie.”
    “That’s not exactly her formula, is it? Except in the one on the train where all those people stab someone. But the formula is the least likely suspect, isn’t it? It is in the movies, anyway, like that stabbing one. The least likely suspect is everyone. Anyway, the murderer is the one who couldn’t have done it or the last one you’d suspect. Some twist on that.”
    “The police got a lot to learn,” Kevin pronounced with mock solemnity. ‘Take me for example.” He tapped the side of his presumably thick head with one of his big fingers. “Geez, Holly, the correctional institutions of the