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theater,” Gerold said.
    “Any alibis?” Detective Collins asked.
    Again Gerold shrugged. “A lot of people walk. But if you’re asking whether or not I ran into anyone who can vouch for me being at the corner of Brand and Main at the time of Karen’s murder, the answer is no. I hope that the fact that my car was here doesn’t make me a suspect. Do I need an attorney?”
    Detective Collins waved away Gerold’s fears. “Just don’t leave town until we figure this whole thing out.” He returned his attention to Polly. “You mentioned a cast member who was missing.” He consulted his notebook. “A Sharon Fletcher?”

Chapter 4
    W hen Detective Collins arrived at Sharon Fletcher’s house in the upscale Los Feliz area of Los Angeles, he introduced himself through an intercom. Sharon buzzed him through the front gate. She was dressed in her flannel pajamas and a silk bathrobe, her nose and eyes red. Her famous hairstyle had mutated from the two-hundred-dollar coif that thousands of women around the country tried to copy, into a reasonable facsimile of the wig that Bette Davis wore in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? She clutched a fistful of Kleenex and sniffled a lot. “I’m not well enough to talk now,” she said and tried to close the door.
    Detective Collins wedged his foot between the door and its frame. “This is important, Miss Fletcher. I won’t take long.” Sharon heaved a sigh of resentment but stepped aside, held the door open, and led him into the sunken living room. “I’m afraid I have some sad news,” he said. “A crime was committed at the Galaxy Theatre this morning. The director of the show, Ms. Karen Richards, is…dead.”
    Sharon looked at the detective with horror. “That’s not true. She was…We were just…” Sharon let out a small wail of grief.
    “I need to ask you a few questions. Just routine stuff.” Collins withdrew his notebook.
    Sharon nodded her head.
    “You didn’t show up for rehearsals today. Where were you from approximately eight to eight thirty this morning?”
    “Here. I was sick as a dog all night. I knew I wouldn’t make it to rehearsal, so I called Karen. She told me to stay home. She didn’t want me spreading germs among the other cast members. I can’t believe that she’s dead.” Sharon sneezed and blew her nose.
    Detective Collins nodded his head. “What time did you two talk?”
    Sharon thought for a moment. “I was awake half the night, but I waited until I thought it was a reasonable hour to call. Around seven, I guess.”
    Again, Detective Collins nodded. “Did you call from your cell phone or the landline?”
    “Um, the cell.”
    “Mind if I see your phone? I’d like to get your call history. Just routine. We need to establish the exact time of the call so we can get a better idea of precisely when Ms. Richards died.”
    Sharon shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, sorry. I called from the phone beside my bed. The cold medicine, plus the news of Karen’s death…I’m not thinking clearly.”
    Detective Collins nodded again. “If it’s all the same to you, may I see the cell phone anyway? With your permission, we’d like to look at your phone log.”
    “Don’t you need a warrant or something?”
    “If we have to, but we’re hoping you can help us out.”
    Sharon reluctantly left the living room to retrieve her mobile phone. She sneezed again and wandered into her bedroom. A few moments later she returned with her purse in hand. “It’s not here. I always keep it in my purse. I tend to easily misplace it, so I make a point of always putting it in this particular compartment.” She showed Detective Collins the interior space of her bag with a zippered pocket, which was empty. “I must have left it at Pepper Plantation—that’s the home of our star Polly Pepper. I had dinner there last night.”
    The detective sighed. “Is there any other place you might have left it? Think hard, because it’s not at Pepper Plantation.”
    Sharon