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“The Banger sisters only described it as a big, bulky—”

“I knew it was an Escalade I saw the first time I drove by the house.” We stood in silence as a night breeze ruffled my bangs.

“Guess I'll head back to the station,” he said.

“Guess I'll head back to rehearsal.” I slung my bag over my shoulder.

Bill nodded. “Between the restaurant and the theater, you're a glutton for punishment.”

“Yeah.”

“With a good nose for detection.”

I felt some heat rise in my face. “Is that a compliment?”

“I suppose so,” he said abruptly. “Don't let it go to your head.”

I
t was after ten-thirty and rehearsal was probably over, but I figured I could touch base with Chrystal and share my box-office find with Lola. Not to mention the break-in at Jerome's place.

“What's going on?” I said to Penny, who was standing at the back of the theater, so flustered she'd fogged up her glasses and misplaced her clipboard. Unlike most nights, when the cast disbursed quickly to homes or the Windjammer, where the bar would be open for another hour, actors were milling about, agitated. The rumbling level, as well as the tension level, was rising.

“Walter tried to get them into the circle of light and they refused. I've never seen that before.” Penny jiggled her head for effect. “It's like a . . . a . . .”

“Rebellion?”

Lola took a look out into the house and spotted me. She ran up the aisle. “Oh, Dodie, thank God you're here.” With a nod to Penny. “Sorry, Penny, but I think Dodie needs to handle this.”

“Walter said I was the production stage manager. That means stage managing the production.” She stomped off.

“Above her pay grade, huh?” I said.

“Where have you been? It's pandemonium around here.”

“Didn't you hear? Jerome's room was ransacked.”

“Jerome's—?”

“Someone broke into the house on Ellison. Although it looks like the door was unlocked so technically there was no break-in. But whoever it was did a number in his bedroom.”

“Whatever for?”

“He or she was looking for something. And remember that black SUV I told you about? The Banger sisters saw it on the street the hour before.”

“The Banger sisters? They're nutty old coots.”

“Maybe not this time.”

Walter was looking around. “Lola?” he whined plaintively.

“So what happened here? Besides the non-circle of light?”

“Walter is shuffling around some of the servants and Ladies-in-Waiting and didn't even get to Act II tonight so he changed the rehearsal schedule, and now he's calling the cast in on Sunday. Everyone.”

“But the ELT never rehearses on Sunday. That's the day off. I had everything arranged to maximize efficiency and minimize wasting everybody's time.”

“He's getting nervous about the text,” she whispered.

“Lola!” Walter called out.

“You're being summoned,” I said as she groaned and moved off.

“I thought your schedule worked perfectly.”

I whipped my head around. “Hi, Elliot. I thought so, too, but apparently Walter didn't.”

“He's just a little anxious. He needs to let the cast settle in. They'll be a lot fresher if they have Sunday off, but, well . . .” He shrugged.

“I hear you have a lot of experience. Maybe you should be directing
Romeo and Juliet
. It all seems to be sending Walter into a state of . . .” I searched for the right phrase.

“Panic?”

“I was thinking manic depression.”

“I don't have the patience.” He laughed warmly and ran a hand through his hair.

“And Walter does?”

Elliot peered at a small crowd that was growing more vociferous. “Say, I'm going to try to quiet a few people down before they leave. But after that, would you like to have a drink with me at the Windjammer? Unless that feels like a busman's holiday?”

“Sure. I need to stop in and check on things anyway. Just come by when you're finished pacifying ruffled feathers.”

Walter waved me over, but I pretended to be so busy in conversation that I didn't notice. It might be good for him to stew in his own juices. Maybe he should do his own rehearsal schedule in the future.

“I don't have the energy to tackle Walter tonight. He'll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“I know what you mean.” Elliot touched my arm lightly and sauntered away.

The ELT could use a few more like Elliot Schenk.

Abby flounced up the aisle and pushed her face into mine. “Walter said I should understudy the Nurse instead of Juliet.”

Now that made sense.

“Instead, he gave it to her.” She pointed to Edna, who was beaming, one of the few actors apparently not discontented.

“I don't even have any lines. All we do is stand around waiting.”

Last time I checked, that's what the Ladies-in-Waiting did. “Sorry, Abby.”

“Huh,” she said and hiked up her red velvet gown.

* * *

“You didn't miss much. It was a quiet night. Here, that is,” Benny said and wiped down the bar.

“The rumor mill is working overtime?”

“Oh yeah. One of Jerome's neighbors came in. He supposedly talked to the Banger sisters, who supposedly talked with Jerome's landlady, and I heard it all. Jerome's room, the SUV, gunfire—”

“There was no gunfire. Where do they get this stuff?”

Benny shrugged. “Maybe a car backfired?”

“Word travels fast.”

Benny started to count on his fingers. “Sure does. Between the Banger sisters, Edna, Snippets, and Ralph . . . of course he was at the crime scene. . . .”

“It must drive the chief nuts.”

“No secrets in Etonville,” he said and laughed.

“Except who murdered Jerome,” I said thoughtfully.

“Good point.” He nodded to a customer who approached the bar. “What can I get you, Elliot?”

We sat in my back booth, Elliot sipping Johnnie Walker while I relaxed into the faux leather black seat and blew on a cup of coffee to cool it off. “You and Jerome liked your whiskey neat,” I said.

“That we did,” Elliot replied and cupped his glass with both hands. “Being at the theater feels like a way to stay connected to him.”

“I know what you mean.”

“We were two lonely bachelors who spent many a night here after rehearsals and shows ... of course, that was before your time.”

“And before you left. According to Lola, the stories about your exit from Etonville were apparently very colorful.”

“Oh?”

“They involved financial shenanigans, rehab, and an abandoned child.”

His eyes twinkled. “I'm afraid my leaving was much more mundane and far less exciting.”

I waited for him to continue.

“I had a job offer in Pittsburgh. An investment banking opportunity.”

“It didn't work out?”

“I grew bored so I returned to Wall Street. Life in the Midwest is not the same as life in the big city.” He studied me over the lip of his glass. “So you see, the reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Mark Twain.”

“He's one of my favorites,” Elliot said.

“Jerome and I loved mysteries. Cindy Collins was our favorite.”

“That was an interest we didn't share. I lean more toward American classics. Twain, of course, Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Steinbeck. Jerome was enamored of crimes, detectives, and general mayhem. A retired English teacher!”

“We were always in competition to figure out whodunit,” I said.

“Who won?”

I leaned across the table. “Between you and me, I was much better at it than Jerome.”

Benny flashed the lights to indicate last call for the half dozen occupants of the restaurant.

“I assume things have cooled off at the theater?” I asked.

Elliot took out his wallet. “Somewhat.”

“I think you're good with people.” I brushed away his offer to pay.

“It's just my natural charm,” he said breezily and closed his wallet. “Thanks. I hear we missed out on some excitement this evening.”

“Right. A break-in at Jerome's former residence.”

“That's what Edna said.” Elliot's brow wrinkled. “I hope the police are on top of this. Jerome's murder might require more resources than small town law enforcement can provide.”

“Chief Thompson certainly has his hands full. By the way, did Jerome ever mention a . . . special friend?”

Elliot cocked his head. “Special friend?”

I smiled. “A woman.”

“Jerome? I don't think so. Of course we'd been out of touch for much of the last couple of years.” His eyes twinkled. “I wasn't privy to his love life.”

“Right.”

“He was much smarter than I when it came to marriage,” Elliot said ruefully.

I wondered about that.

Elliot said good-night and, once again, reminded me that the ELT remained in desperate need of my management skills. I promised to speak with Walter tomorrow.

Benny sidled over to my booth, broom in hand. “Henry was a little upset tonight. His Thai fish curry kind of bombed, and Enrico burned the grilled eggplant.”

“I think he's getting a trifle too experimental for Etonville's tastes.”

“And he was asking about the theme food for
Romeo and Juliet
. Got any ideas there?”

“I'm drawing a blank. I've given up on Italian and romance.... What's left?”

Benny thought. “Murder?”

“Good one.”

Benny resumed his work and my cell binged, telling me a text was waiting. It was my old boss inviting me back to his new restaurant for Memorial Day weekend. I closed my eyes and got a shore rush: warm sand and cool sea breezes, the screeching of sea gulls and the pungent smell of suntan lotion. I opened my eyes to reality: the faint odor of stale grease and a dirty coffee cup. I loved my job at the Windjammer and all of my Etonville friends, but how long could I stay here? Maybe I did belong below the Driscoll Bridge.

* * *

Georgette's pastry shop, to pick up some desserts for the Windjammer, was the first thing on my list this morning. Afterward, I swung by Snippets to see Carol. It was a madhouse. Besides the normal wear and tear on one's hearing there was the break-in chatter.

“Thanks for the call last night.” I appraised the salon. “I guess that's all everyone can talk about today. Jerome's room.”

“I hear they had to break down the door.”

“No, they didn't. All they had to do was walk in. Even the front door was unlocked. Have the Banger sisters been in already?”

“Rita talked with her cousin.”

“Right. Monica Jenkins. I didn't see her in the crowd last night.”

“Apparently she was in bed with the flu but through her bedroom window had a bird's-eye view of the street. Being sick didn't keep her off the telephone.”

“Or hinder her imagination,” I said.

I watched Carol's hands swirl around the stainless-steel sink as she rinsed stray hairs and a skim of shampoo down the drain. “Monica gave me a pretty good description of the woman who visited Jerome. And the Banger sisters confirmed it was a gray-haired female. But Mrs. Everly, Jerome's landlady, said she never saw anyone drop by the house to see Jerome. Of course, she was a little cranky last night.”

Carol brushed a curl out of her eyes. “I've done a couple of perms for her. I know what you mean.” She dried her hands. “How's Pauli doing with the website?”

“Great.” That reminded me I needed to check on his password progress....

* * *

Bill beat the lunch rush at the Windjammer—the place was still empty—and slid onto a stool at the bar. I poured him a cup of coffee. He looked tired and agitated.

“The town's in an uproar,” I said.

Bill frowned. “Yeah.” He unfolded a copy of the
Etonville Standard
and passed it over to me. The headline read B
REAK-
I
N AT
V
ICTIM'S
F
ORMER
H
OME
. “They stopped the presses and delayed printing to get this story in. Called me at six this morning,” he grumbled.

I scanned the story. “Who told them there was gunfire?”

“The same person who said we had to break down his door.” He spread his arms as a question mark. His walkie-talkie squawked and Bill pressed a red button. “What is it, Edna?”

“We got a 480.”

“Hit and run? Who called it in?”

“Mrs. Parker. Her car got banged up on Belvidere over by the library.”

“Okay. Did she get a plate number?”

“Nope. Just a description. A black SUV.”

Bill's eyes met mine, sending my heartbeat racing. It was either the SUV or his royal-blue orbs that absorbed my life force and took my breath away.

He grabbed his cap and bounded to his feet. “Edna, find Ralph and tell him to meet me at the scene.”

“10-4, Chief.”

I wanted to follow Bill to the hit-and-run site, but I needed to stay in the restaurant.

Enrico stuck his head out the kitchen door, his face a mesh of worry lines. “Dodie, we have a problem,” he said quickly.

I downed the last of my seltzer and hurried into the kitchen. The icemaker had experienced an electrical problem, and everything inside had melted. The water had begun to leak out and overflow a floor drain designed to keep the tiles dry.

“I'll call the plumber and an electrician. Enrico, can you handle the floor?”

Enrico grabbed a mop and I punched numbers into my cell phone. Henry kept cooking his homemade tomato soup.

I got the kitchen sorted out and helped Gillian to prep for the lunch rush. Folks scurried in the minute the doors opened, and everyone wanted to talk to me about the latest turn of events.

“Dodie, wasn't that just the most attractive picture of Jerome in the paper? It was from the Etonville High School yearbook.” One of the Banger sisters. “We're friends with Mrs. Everly. We know what goes on.”