“It could’ve been anyone at rehearsal. Everyone heard Lance announce he was going to take Bernie’s place after our break. It was his idea that Claudia use the gun to make the scene more realistic.”

“Who else wanted him dead?” He tapped his pen against the table and regarded me thoughtfully.

“Lance wouldn’t have won a congeniality award if he was the only contestant. Why, that very afternoon, I saw him having what appeared to be an argument with a dark-haired woman behind the Piggly Wiggly. I think the woman happens to be my new neighbor, Nadine Peterson. And my friend Polly saw Lance chummy with a dark-haired woman she swears is my houseguest, Krystal Gold. So you see, Sheriff, there are plenty of persons of interest.”

I strode toward the door, pleased with myself for having fired an answering salvo. One problem lingered, however. I paused, my hand on the knob. “Are you certain your source had his facts straight when he told you Lance bet ten thousand on the Super Bowl?”

The sheriff stopped jotting notes and looked up. “Yeah, why?”

“If you check bank records, you’ll find Lance made a withdrawal for thirty thousand, not ten.”

He shuffled through a pile of papers until he found the one he wanted. He ran his finger over the page until he found the entry he searched for. “Says here, ten grand to the bookie; another ten grand found on the body.”

“I’m no math whiz, but ten and ten add up to twenty. That leaves another ten thousand unaccounted for.” I hitched my purse higher. “Follow the money, Sheriff. Follow the money.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You still watchin’ those cop shows on TV?”

“Never miss Law & Order. That bit of advice courtesy of Cyrus Lupo, homicide division.” I smiled for the first time since entering. “Good detective, but the man needs a shave.”

As I left the office, I gave a fleeting glance out of habit to the Most Wanted posters tacked near the door. I’m always on the lookout for a familiar face. A woman living alone can’t be too careful.

It was rather nice having the house to myself for a change-not that Krystal was a nuisance; just the opposite. She kept pretty much holed up in her room along with Tang, that darn orange cat forever following her. The two seemed to have formed a connection of some sort over my albacore tuna. Tonight Janine had picked Krystal up after dinner and the two headed for rehearsal. Apparently my services weren’t required. Janine said she wanted to concentrate on the scenes involving Krystal’s and Gus’s characters and bring them up to speed. She wanted them to get into the space, whatever that meant.

I decided to make the most of my solitude. I settled on the sofa with a dish of rocky road ice cream in one hand, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating in the other. I hoped to glean a shred or two of wisdom from the book. Sheriff Wiggins clearly needed all the help he could get-whether he admitted it or not. At times the man couldn’t see past the end of his nose. He was so set on Claudia’s being guilty, he wasn’t even trying to apprehend the real culprit. Fortunately, he had the help of the Babes.

Leafing through the book, I wondered if perhaps the situation warranted an emergency bunco session. Maybe if all of us put our heads together we could find out who really killed Lance. With all the hullabaloo about the play and rehearsals, bunco had been shoved to a back burner. We needed to bring it forward and crank up the heat.

The phone rang just as I finished scraping the last spoonful of ice cream from the bottom of the bowl. After the day I’d had, I really wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but I quickly changed my mind when I heard the caller’s voice.

“Steven!”

“Hi, Mom.”

Jim always liked to boast that our son inherited his brains and my looks. I’d have been happier if he’d inherited an urge to call his poor widowed mother more often. Steven’s calls are sporadic at best. I know, I know. He’s busy. But I ask you, how many times do I have to remind the boy of how long I was in labor?

“Great to hear your voice, honey. Where are you this time?” Steven has an important job buying do-dads and gizmos for a well-known chain based in New York City. His work takes him all over the globe-to places only a few can locate without the help of Google.

“I’m still at the office,” he said. “I was about to meet some friends for a drink, but I wanted to call first.”

“Any special reason for the call, dear?” Hope springs eternal for the mother of a son who’s still single at thirty-something. I keep wishing he’d meet a nice girl, someone like Tara, perhaps, settle down, raise a family. So far he’s married to his job. Occasionally I hear references to friends-friends named Sam or Joe. I’d rather hear about friends named Kimberly or Ashley. But what’s a mother to do?

“I’ll get right to the point, Mom. I talked to Jen last week.”

I mentally tried to recall the gist of my conversation with my daughter. No red flags waved in the breeze. I was home free. “It’s nice to know you and your sister keep in touch.”

“Jen’s worried about you, and so am I.”

“Whatever for? I’m perfectly fine.” Or at least I thought I was before picking up the phone. Now I was starting to have doubts.

“Jen told me you were involved with some man out for your money, your pension.”

I blinked. Man, what man? Did Lance have an evil twin? “Steven, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Jen said you’re seeing some gigolo by the name of Bill Lewis. She asked me to check up on him. See if he was on the up-and-up.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Bill, a gigolo? If I weren’t so angry, I would have laughed. “Steven James McCall, shame on you!”

Using my son’s middle name never had the same effect on him as it had on our daughter, but it had been worth a try. Maybe instead of James it should’ve been Louise.

“Jen and I are only looking out for your best interests, Mom. One can’t be too careful these days. There are a lot of guys looking for a free ride.”

I thought of Lance and kept my mouth shut.

“So,” Steven said, “I did what any concerned son would do. I did a background check.”

“You what! Please, tell me you did no such thing.”

“It’s no big deal, Mom. You don’t have to thank me.”

“Thank? Spank would be more like it.”

“No need to get upset. It’s not good for your blood pressure.”

“You had no right to pry into my personal affairs.” Oops! Wrong choice of words. I wasn’t having an affair. “I meant my personal business.”

“You’re being emotional. Background checks are commonplace these days.”

I drew a deep, calming breath. And then another. “Steven, dear, with an attitude such as yours, it’s no wonder you can’t find a wife. Where’s your spirit of romance? What about love and trust?”

“The gang’s waiting for me, Mom. I don’t have time for a lecture. Getting back to the subject-”

“By all means,” I cut in. “Let’s get back to your snooping into my privacy.”

“You’ll be pleased to know this Bill Lewis is who he says he is. His credit rating is good. Other than a mortgage, he has no outstanding debts. He was married only once. His wife, Margaret, is deceased. He has one child, a son living in Ohio. Records show no lawsuits or criminal record. He has never filed for bankruptcy, and there are no liens against his property. Seems like he lived most of his life in Battle Creek, Michigan, which, by the way, is where they make breakfast cereal. And one last thing-he isn’t listed on either the terrorist watch list or as a sex offender.”

“Well,” I said when he finally ran out of breath, “that’s certainly very comforting, but much more than I needed to know.” Whatever happened to the concept of invasion of privacy?

“If you want, Jen or I could fly out, look this guy over, give you our opinion.”