“Yes?” she asked.
Peggy put on her most pleasant smile and moved forward. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I’m looking for someone. A Mr. Tom Agate. Does he live here?”
“Agate?” The woman said. She shook her head slowly. “Nobody by that name here.”
“I know he lived here four years ago,” Peggy said hopefully. “He was an elderly gentleman.”
“Retired?”
Peggy’s heart leaped. “Yes. He was retired.”
The woman opened the door all the way and motioned Peggy inside. “There was a retired gentleman living with us. He rented the rear bedroom. But his name was Anderson.”
Peggy reached for the photograph. “I wonder if you’d recognize him if you saw his picture?”
The lady of the house nodded unhesitatingly. “Oh, yes, I’d know him.” She squinted at the photograph, took a closer look and blinked. “Let me get my glasses,” she said, turning away to go into the living room. “And shut the front door. It’s getting chilly.”
Peggy did as she was told and waited for the woman’s return. The tiny front hall was spotlessly clean and cheerily decorated with flowered prints and a single gold-framed mirror over a mahogany console table. Both furniture and floors were polished to a high gloss. Peggy sensed that this was a home where everything was dusted twice a day and where nothing was allowed to disturb a well-established routine.