The first call was from Elaine, checking in. The other was from a woman Andi knew in town who wanted to make sure they were okay—and to give updates. Andi reached for Dennis’s hand and squeezed it, then said that Lisa and Ritchie Bennett were dead. She and Dennis first met the Bennetts through mutual acquaintances, and had been to their house a few times. Casual get-togethers, with wine and finger food and modern jazz playing quietly. Ritchie was small, bald, and muscular, with a goatee and a gravelly voice. He had more energy than a roadrunner and a delightfully childish sense of humor. Lisa, tall and thin with silky black hair, was his female equivalent, in direct violation of the “opposites attract” rule. She had a sharp, vivacious wit and seemed unable to go more than five minutes without laughing about something. The last time Dennis and Andi were at their house, about a month ago, they found Ritchie wearing a maroon fez he’d bought on eBay. There was no reason for the purchase other than giddy impulse.
