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Shannon could tell that they were brothers.
    Randall Carver gave Shannon a quick look, then focused on the dog, yelling at it to shut up. “Buttercup, shut the fuck up!” he warned a second time. To Shannon’s surprise, especially given the frenzy the dog had worked herself into, she listened to him, cocking her head to one side as she paid full attention to the kid. Randall looked back at Shannon. “Who are you?” he asked.
    “My name’s Bill Shannon. I’d like to talk to Eunice Carver. Is she home?”
    “What do you want to talk to my ma about?”
    Shannon walked towards the front door, stopping when he got a few feet from Randall. Up close, the younger Carver smelled like a mix of sweat and bad cheese. The kid’s eyes darted from left to right as if he were trying to make up his mind whether to stand his ground or flee.
    “I’m investigating Taylor’s murder,” Shannon said. From behind he could hear Buttercup growl.
    “Are you a cop?”
    “I’m a private detective. You’re his brother, Randall, aren’t you?” Almost as if his head were attached to some invisible string, the kid nodded. “I’d like to talk to you also,” Shannon said. “Is your mom home?”
    “Let me see.” Randall stuck his head into the house and yelled, “Ma, there’s a guy here wants to talk to you!”
    A woman’s voice yelled back, “What about?”
    “Taylor. He’s some sort of private eye.”
    There was a silence within the house. Then, “Tell him I’m busy!”
    Randall turned to Shannon and smiled, revealing teeth that were the color of chewing tobacco. “My ma’s too busy to talk with you,” he said. “And so am I.”
    “That’s too bad. I would’ve thought the two of you would want to help find the person who murdered your brother. This won’t look good when your lawsuit goes to court.”
    “How do you know about ma’s lawsuit?”
    “I’d like to tell you, but you’re too busy to talk now.” Shannon turned and started towards his car, making sure to give Buttercup a wide berth. Randall stuck his head back in the door, yelled, “He says you not talking won’t look good with the lawsuit!”
    “How does he know about that?”
    “He won’t say!”
    “Goddamn it!” There was a long silence that was broken only by Buttercup’s growling, then, “Tell him I’ll talk.”
    Randall yelled out to Shannon, “Ma says she’ll talk!”
    Shannon turned from his car and headed back towards the house. Buttercup stood with her head pushed forward as she watched Shannon, all the while growling disapprovingly. Randall, his face locked in a sullen stare, led Shannon into a small room that served as a combination living room and dining room. The same perspiration and rotten cheese smell that came off of Randall permeated the house. Shannon’s ordeal with Charlie Winters and his horrific stench of decay had left him hypersensitive to certain sickly-sweet odors. Over five years later, odors like the one in this house still physically affected him. This one brought a dull throbbing to the back of his head. Shannon tried breathing in only through his mouth to avoid the smell but it didn’t help much.
    As Shannon looked around, he was surprised at what he saw. While the room was dirty, it had newer and more expensive furniture than Shannon would’ve expected, including a large plasma TV set that covered a good part of one wall. Off to the side was a small kitchen where Eunice Carver sat at a three foot square oak table, a cigarette between two fingers and a cup of coffee to her right. As Shannon entered the kitchen, he noticed that a new stove and microwave had been installed.
    “Buttercup’s some name for a pit bull,” he said.
    “She’s a sweetheart of a dog, and only part pit bull.” Eunice Carver peered up at Shannon with glazed eyes, then looked away. “You wanted to talk?” she said.
    Shannon took a chair to her left. Like her son, Randall, she had long stringy hair that needed washing and eyes that