Dead Boyfriends by David Housewright Page A

People kept calling them because of the loud music, the loud arguments—it was always so loud. Merodie and Richard were fightingall the time, fighting and drinking, drinking and fighting. I even called my real estate agent and said, ‘Hey, you told me this was a quiet neighborhood.’ It was crazy.”
    I took out my notebook.
    â€œTell me about Richard,” I said.
    There’s no special trick to conducting an interview. All it requires is a little patience, an ear for the important utterance, and the simple knowledge that to most people the sweetest possible music is the sound of their own voice.
    â€œRichard was Merodie’s boyfriend,” Mollie said. “That’s all I really know about him. I don’t think he had a job. He was always around, always entertaining friends. Must have been a million people in and out of his driveway. My ex, the prick, he figured Richard was dealing drugs. Sure, dealing drugs out of a split-level in Anoka. What a laugh.”
    â€œHysterical.”
    Mollie’s eyes grew wide. “You think?”
    â€œIt’s certainly possible.”
    Mollie didn’t like the sound of that at all. She left her chair and limped to the window, fighting her cast all the way. She gazed out at Merodie’s empty driveway. “You think he might have been a drug dealer?”
    â€œYou said a year?”
    After a brief pause, Mollie answered, “Huh? A year? Yeah. Richard left after about a year. I didn’t see him no more. Things got real quiet. You wouldn’t have known anyone was even living next door.”
    â€œWhere did Richard go?”
    Mollie shrugged her ignorance.
    â€œDo you know his last name?”
    Mollie shook her head.
    â€œRichard is all I know,” she said. “I only heard it during the arguments.”
    â€œDid you have any contact with Merodie after Richard left?”
    â€œI never had any contact with Merodie before Richard left. Not really. It was like, ‘Hi, how you doing?’ when we met on the street, which wasn’t often. We didn’t sit around the kitchen table drinking coffee or anything.”
    â€œYou saw her come and go.”
    â€œNot lately. As near as I can tell, she was always in her house. She never left it.”
    â€œNot to go shopping?”
    â€œWell, she must go shopping, for food and stuff, you know? I just never see her.”
    â€œThe mail gets picked up.”
    Mollie didn’t know what to say to that.
    â€œThe lawn gets cut.”
    â€œShe must do that stuff when I’m at work. Truth is, I don’t remember the last time I saw Merodie. Or Eli.”
    â€œEli Jefferson? The deceased?”
    â€œYeah. I was really bummed when I heard he died. He seemed like a nice enough guy.”
    â€œYou knew him?”
    â€œI’ll say. He hit on me. Couple of times.” Mollie smiled at the memory. “The first time was in winter. He helped me shovel the driveway, then invited himself in for hot chocolate, and then tried to invite himself into my bed. I’m saying, ‘What about Merodie,’ and he’s saying real dumb-ass things like, ‘What Merodie doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’ Guy was a jerk. Charming, though. Real charming. The next time, I’m in the backyard working on my tan. I look up and there he is, grinning. He starts talking about Minnesota’s scenic wonders, meaning me, right? He asks if I’ve seen the Split Rock Lighthouse. I say, ‘You mean up by Duluth?’ He says, ‘Oh, it’s much closer than that,’ and then looks down at himself. I say it now and I think, God, what a jerk.Only at the time it made me laugh. I’ll tell you, though. Something I learned from my ex-husband, the prick. For some people, charm is a weapon.”
    â€œHow long did Jefferson live with Merodie?”
    â€œI don’t know. Six months?”
    â€œHave you seen any activity at the house in the past