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considered my last conversation with Jerome. Who in the world would want to hurt him? Jerome was a real gentleman, in the old-fashioned sense.
    I stopped my Metro a few doors down from the theater as the spaces in front were occupied: two Etonville black-and-white police vehicles, a police van, and an ambulance. A small group of townspeople had gathered to check out the excitement. I made my way through the crowd and approached an officer who was working security.
    â€œI need to go in,” I said.
    â€œSorry. This is a crime scene,” Officer Suki Shung said, putting up one hand to prevent me from entering the theater. I knew Suki was new, the first woman to join the force.
    â€œI spoke with him last night. I saw him a few days ago.” I gulped fresh air. “I was a friend of his. I’m part of the theater group.”
    She studied me some more, asked me my name, then spoke into a walkie-talkie. Within seconds, Lola burst out the front door and threw her arms around my neck. We hugged tightly.
    â€œDodie knew Jerome. She needs to speak to the chief.”
    Officer Shung’s walkie-talkie crackled, and she turned her back on us. She listened, then nodded. “Go ahead.”
    We scuttled past her, opened the door to the theater, and had barely taken a step into the building when we were accosted by Penny. “Can you believe it? Jerome? “I’ll be in the theater if anybody needs me.”
    â€œHow did Penny get here so soon?” I asked as she scooted away. Penny had a way of always being where the action was, like a GPS system that tracked trouble.
    â€œWalter must have called her.”
    I knocked on Walter’s office door, and we slowly pushed it open.
    Two desks, piled high with papers, scripts, assorted props, and a few costumes, sat facing each other like boxers squaring off for a match. One was Walter’s; the other was generally occupied by Penny or Lola. A fax machine hummed, then spat out a sheet of paper. Birds’ nattering floated in through an open window, but otherwise, stillness.
    Lola joined Walter on the sofa, next to a box of Kleenex. His head was in his hands as he faced an officer, apparently answering questions.
    â€œExcuse me. Officer Shung told me it was okay—”
    The officer pulled out a desk chair and offered me a seat. “Chief Thompson,” he said abruptly.
    Chief Bill Thompson was new to Etonville, having arrived only three months ago. I’d met him briefly when he’d stopped by the Windjammer a few times for lunch. His predecessor, Chief Angus “Bull” Bennett, had died with his boots on—literally. At sixty-eight, he had dropped over dead while fishing, knee deep in waders, in the old Ridgewood Reservoir. Bull had been well-loved. Of course, the worst things he’d had to handle were wrangling a few rowdy kids from the high school on Saturday night as they trolled through town looking for fun or keeping Etonville’s two meter maids from killing each other over territorial disputes or investigating the odd accident down on the highway.
    â€œShe said you knew the victim, Ms. O’Donnell, right?”
    â€œO’Dell. Yes, I did.”
    I sized up the new chief: a ruddy complexion with a golden brush cut and tight-fitting uniform. He was attractive and built like a running back. In fact, I’d heard that he had had a short-lived career as a professional football player before he entered law enforcement in Philadelphia.
    â€œWe all did.” Lola nodded. Walter was now resting his head on the back of the sofa, eyes closed.
    â€œI understand he was here last night at auditions. Can you tell me what time he came and when he left?” His deep blue eyes looked right through me. I had to blink a few times.
    Penny’s explanation of theater time versus life time sprang into my head. “He arrived a little late, about eight-thirty. I didn’t see him leave.”
    â€œDid he speak to