He clicked off before I could agree or not.

In too few years, David Bridges had gone from BMOC to “the body.”

What reason could the LPPD possibly have to suspect Rosie? Surely she hadn’t broadcast her severe disappointment last night-who else could have known besides me, Cheryl, and David? Skip wouldn’t have zeroed in on her without some evidence, however.

There I went, leaping ahead unjustifiably. Skip had simply asked where Rosie was, hadn’t he?

I thought back to Maddie’s observation, quoting her father. Had Rosie’s disappointment been life-threatening after all?

ALHS principal Frank Thayer stepped up to the podium in the nick of time, before I had to make polite conversation with Henry and Taylor, who’d just taken their seats next to Maddie. I gave them each a wave and as friendly a smile as I could manage in my state of distress over David and over Rosie.

Frank tapped the microphone on the makeshift stage. “Testing, testing” came out, along with static.

Among the dignitaries on folding chairs behind him were his wife, Paula, and key people in Lincoln Point administration. At this distance I could still recognize members of the Faculty Senate, some of whom were first-year teachers during the end of my career, and others of whom I’d known for many years. They all seemed unaffected by the extreme noontime heat, not even waving their programs in front of their faces as Maddie and I were.

I pretended to be listening with rapt attention to Frank’s uttering of the fascinating, “One, two, three. One, two, three.”

Frank’s voice carried all the way back to those of us at the edge of the high school property, where the parking lot ended at Civic Drive. Skip’s office was in the building complex in front of us; Rosie’s Books stood across Springfield Boulevard to our left. Understanding the connection between the two locations at the moment made me dizzy. Given the urgency in Skip’s tone, I couldn’t shake the conclusion that my friend Rosie was suspected of killing David Bridges.

Rosie was high on my list of babysitters for Maddie, and one of the first people I called when I finished a book and wanted to discuss it.

She couldn’t have done it. That was that.

Rosie’s behavior so far this weekend seemed uncharacteristically immature and dramatic, to be sure, but that was a long way from having murderous intentions. Just for drill, I indulged in a worst-case scenario-if Rosie Norman were going to kill anyone, the victim would have been Cheryl Mellace. Poor David had been much more civil to Rosie in the doorway of his hotel room, even inviting her in for a drink. It was the petite, popular Cheryl who’d mocked her so mercilessly.

Frank called us to order, his voice booming over the PA system. The crowd quieted, and I knew it would grow even quieter in a moment.

“Welcome to the future site of our new athletic field and modern stadium. It’s great to see so many Lincoln Point residents and friends. I want to extend a special welcome and thank-you to the alumni of the thirty-year reunion class. Your fund-raising drive gave us the largest single contribution to the project.”

Loud applause, whistling, and the cheering appropriate to a stadium erupted. I tried to imagine my tutoring sessions in the library with an even better PA system at full volume like this at game time.

When the noise died down, Frank began what must have been one of the most difficult addresses of his career-announcing the death of a classmate. “And now I have a very sad duty. I’ve just learned that one of our most illustrious alumni and a friend to all of us, David Bridges, who was to address us today, has passed away unexpectedly.” Frank stepped away from the mike. I imagined how shaken he must be. “That’s all we know at the moment,” he continued, with a shaky voice.

A mixture of gasps and groans rippled through the crowd. I hadn’t looked at the program carefully, finding it more useful as a fan, so this was the first I’d realized that David was to speak. I wasn’t surprised, however. I knew that more than just his own classmates had appreciated David’s fame as a football star. I thought of the large number of glassed-in cases in the ALHS hallways that were dedicated to displays of sports trophies and photographs of teams in action. Even all these years later, top athletes like David were embedded in the school’s memory and credited with giving the school status in the county.

How would his fans and friends react if they knew that David didn’t just pass quietly away, but died at the hands of a murderer?

Maddie tugged my arm. “Grandma? Do you know that man? Isn’t that the one Mrs. Norman talks about on crafts night?”

“Yes, sweetheart, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Maddie looked up at me, squinting into the sunny sky. “I heard you say Uncle Skip’s name, you know, on that phone call. Was it about the man’s death? Did he call you for help investigating? You know how helpful I can be,” she said.

Maddie had adopted the perfect combination of techniques used by her father and his cousin at that age. My son, Richard, used intimidation, drilling us with questions that demanded straight answers. Ken and I were sure he was going to be a prosecuting attorney some day, not the orthopedic surgeon he became. His cousin, Skip, took the calm road to getting what he wanted. He remained soft-spoken, teasing, and charming, your best friend-who ended up a cop. Go figure.

I had to remain strong in the face of a young opponent who’d mastered both approaches.

“There’s nothing for us to do, Maddie. All we know is that the man passed away.”

She sank back in her chair and picked up her fanning, appeased for now.

I caught Henry’s eye. He seemed to be aware of my conversation with Maddie. We shared looks of sadness and confusion. He stroked Taylor’s head, his fingers reaching to her ears, as if to protect her from any further unpleasant news.

But there was no more information coming from the stage. Frank closed by asking us all to take a moment of silence to think of David and to pray for his family and loved ones. While we reflected, the high school band played a few somber notes, sounding like a modified “Taps.”

Barry Cannon, class president and Rosie’s current best friend among her classmates, it seemed, stepped to the mike. “We’re all stunned and very sad. Frank-Principal Thayer-gave us the word only a couple of minutes ago.” Murmurings continued to ripple through the crowd as Barry’s voice cracked, then recovered. “The officers of the thirty-year reunion class have decided to hold the banquet tonight as planned, because we think David would want us to be together.” Barry had a stentorian voice, for someone so small in stature. He seemed to break down, but rallied and went on for a few more minutes, his closing remarks advising us to take every opportunity to enjoy life, since “you never know.”

Several other speakers stepped up to the podium, expressing gratitude to the chief donors and predicting great victories for the teams of ALHS in the new facility, but all in very moderate tones, more befitting a memorial service than a happy groundbreaking ceremony.

I tuned out most of the rhetoric, my mind on Rosie and the investigation. Usually I’d be bothered by the oppressive heat, but today that was a distant second to the discomfort I felt over David’s murder and Rosie’s situation.

I wondered if the LPPD was ready to arrest Rosie or if they simply wanted to question her. I was itching to know how Skip had glommed on to her in the first place? Had the police interviewed David’s reunion classmates already? I tried again to think if there was something untoward about her behavior at the cocktail party, something that would have been picked up by her party-going peers. When I’d literally bumped into David, all had been cordial. The only ones who were aware of Rosie’s unhealthy obsession were the members of the crafts group and Cheryl. I didn’t know all of Rosie’s other friends, but I doubted she’d advertised her wishful thinking far and wide.