Dean showed his badge, and told her that we wanted to speak to her in privacy. She got up to chase the kids and their dog out, and then stood with hands on hips facing us.
“Well, what do you want?” she demanded sourly.
“Want to get a line on your tenants,” Dean said. “Tell us about them.”
“Tell you about them?” She had a voice that would have been harsh enough even if she hadn’t been in such a peevish mood. “What do you think I got to say about ’em? What do you think I am? I’m a woman that minds her own business! Nobody can’t say that I don’t run a respectable—”
This was getting us nowhere.
“Who lives in number one?” I asked.
“The Auds—two old folks and their grandchildren. If you know anything against them, it’s more’n them that has lived with ’em for ten years does!”
“Who lives in number two?”
“ Mrs. Codman and her boys, Frank and Fred. They been here three years, and—”
I carried her from apartment to apartment, until finally we reached a second-floor one that didn’t bring quite so harsh an indictment of my stupidity for suspecting its occupants of whatever it was that I suspected them of.
“The Quirks live there.” She merely glowered now, whereas she had had a snippy manner before. “And they’re decent people, if you ask me!”
“How long have they been here?”