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“Jesus. That’s Mr. Dagorian, isn’t it? Did you call the police?”
    I nodded. “You’d better get inside,” the guard said. “You’re going to freeze out here. I’ll wait for the cops.” He shook his head, then began playing his flashlight around the grounds, as if Joe’s killer was still lurking behind the shrubbery.
    I grabbed Rochester’s collar and dragged him across the lawn to the French doors to my office. He’d knocked open the handle, and I closed and locked it again. Fortunately the door hadn’t been open long so the office was still pretty warm. Looking down at my hands, I saw red dots on my fingers. I realized they had to be Joe’s blood.
    But how had I gotten blood on my hands? I hadn’t touched him at all.
    Then I looked at Rochester. He had a red smudge on his nose. “Oh, yuck,” I said. “Rochester, you were sniffing blood? That’s just gross.” I rummaged in my desk drawer for some moistened wipes, and cleaned up my hands and Rochester’s nose. Then I pulled a couple of tiny T-bones from the treat jar. Rochester gulped them greedily.
    I rubbed my arms, trying to warm up. “I guess I should go back out to the party, huh?”
    Rochester just sat there on his haunches staring expectantly at me. Wearily, I stood up. “Don’t go anywhere,” I said to him. I checked the lock on the French doors, then locked my office door behind me.
    Back in the ballroom, I looked for Babson, but he was nowhere in sight. The Rising Sons were just finishing another song, the audience clustered around appreciatively.
    I was still in shock and operating on automatic pilot, but I managed to climb a few steps up the dais next to the Rising Sons. Ike looked at me in surprise, and I motioned a quick slice against my throat, only too late realizing that I had probably mimed the method of Joe’s death as well as a message to stop singing.
    The audience erupted in applause for the Rising Sons. I waited a couple of beats before I said, “Ladies and gentlemen.” I had to repeat it three times before there was quiet in the room. “I’m afraid that there has been an unfortunate occurrence this evening. We would appreciate it if you would all remain here for a few minutes, until the police and the ambulance arrive.”
    The audience started buzzing as a siren sounded in the distance, a low whine that grew in intensity. “If you’d all please be patient,” I said, though it didn’t have much effect on the crowd. I looked around For Babson again but still couldn’t see him.
    The ambulance ground to a halt outside, the flashing red lights strobing the ballroom, and the tension level in the ballroom escalated another couple of notches. Women were clutching their evening bags, men talking to each other and pulling out cell phones. Everyone wanted to know what was going on.
    A pair of uniformed police stepped in door of the ballroom, followed by Tony Rinaldi. He was a detective in the Leighville police department, a chunky guy of about my age with a baby face and a head of thick black hair. I’d had some dealings with him in the past.
    The crowd began clustering around the door to the ballroom, and Tony had to fight his way through them, repeating his excuses as he tried to calm people down. By the time he made it to the dais, the crowd’s attention had shifted from the door to him.
    â€œQuiet, please.” He clapped his hands together hard and people looked up in surprise. “No one is in danger, but none of you will be allowed to leave the building until you have been interviewed by the police. Form an orderly line and we’ll get you out of here as soon as possible.”
    â€œWhat happened?” a man called from the side of the room. I recognized him as Richard Seville, Barbara’s father. He had his camel hair coat over his arm. I figured he’d been on his way out of