I was getting closer to the truth-and someone was worried.

At this time of night-or morning-the house was so still, so quiet, you could hear the whir of the heat pump as it cycled on, and the ka-chunk of cubes dropping from the ice maker. I wasn’t afraid-not exactly-but I was glad I wasn’t alone. I had Krystal nearby; Krystal and that darn cat.

For a long while, I lay staring at the ceiling, wishing I had a nice cold beer to lull me back to sleep.

Ticket sales were scheduled to begin at ten o’clock sharp. After last night’s-I mean this morning’s-phone call, I felt bleary-eyed and sluggish. Over coffee and a bagel, I pondered what to do. I thought about reporting the call to Sheriff Wiggins, but changed my mind. What could he do except tell me to mind my own business? No, thank you. I’d already heard that sermon one time too many. And what if the call had been a wrong number? Surely I wasn’t the only busybody in town.

I loaded my breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and went to get showered and dressed. Not even my hair cooperated; one side wanted to curl and the other mutinied. I finally gave up. That’s when I noticed there was a spot on my blouse. I hurried to find another, but the one I picked didn’t match my slacks, so I had to change them, too. About this time, I realized I’d have to exchange black loafers for a pair of brown. This meant my purse didn’t match my shoes-a big fashion faux pas. With all the changing and switching, there was no time left to excavate my favorite necklace from the morass of costume jewelry in a drawer, so I clipped on a bracelet instead and-whew!-was good to go.

Diane and Connie Sue were waiting for me in one of the meeting rooms adjacent to the auditorium, which had been designated for ticket sales. I arrived ten minutes late, disheveled and out of sorts. Parking had been practically impossible. I had to content myself with a spot at the far end of the lot in a space reserved for staff. Next, I had to weave my way through a throng of people sporting travel mugs of coffee and morning newspapers. Thankfully no one paid much attention to a frazzled, frumpy blonde having a bad hair day.

Connie Sue, not a single strand of hair awry and looking like a model from a Talbots ad, eyed me up and down. “Honey lamb,” she drawled, “who put you through the wringer?”

“Don’t even go there.” I knew I sounded churlish but didn’t care. I plunked myself down behind the table in the only remaining chair and shoved my purse under the table where no one could see that it didn’t match my shoes. “As soon as the last dad-blamed ticket’s sold, I’m heading out for the Piggly Wiggly and stocking up on Bud Light.”

Connie Sue raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow but wisely kept silent.

Diane slid a stack of preprinted yellow tickets over to me. “Your job is easy. All you have to do is ask how many tickets each person wants, mark it on this sheet, then turn them over to Connie Sue for seat assignments. I’ll collect the money. Think you can handle that?”

“Piece of cake,” I replied sourly.

“This oughta perk you up.” Diane leaned closer, her hazel eyes alight with anticipation. “Wait’ll you hear what I found out.”

I felt my crankiness begin to dissipate. “Out with it, girlfriend. We don’t have all day. The hordes are about to descend.”

“Well,” she said, her mouth curving into a wicked smile as she lowered her voice, “I’ve been surfing the Net, trying to find out more about Lance Ledeaux.”

I glanced at the closed door, expecting it to burst open any second and be inundated with eager ticket buyers.

“Hurry up, Diane,” Connie Sue wailed. “I’ve got news, too.”

“OK, OK,” Diane said. “Remember Krystal’s telling us she’d played Marty Maraschino in a revival of Grease in Atlanta? What she failed to mention is that Lance Ledeaux was in that very same production.” Diane dropped her voice even lower. “Lance was-get ready-the Teen Angel.” Arms crossed, she leaned back, obviously relishing the effect of her little bombshell.

Recovering first, Connie Sue splayed a hand over her heart. “Teen Angel?” she squealed. “No way! Surely you’re joshin’!”

“Krystal and Lance in the same play? Are you sure?”

Diane smiled smugly. “Positive.”

I looked from Diane to Connie Sue, then back again. “You know what this means, don’t you? That means they knew each other, were friends.”

Grinning widely, Connie Sue gave me a playful nudge. “Maybe more than friends.”

It took a second for the full import of her insinuation to sink in. I’m also a little slow on occasion getting punch lines to certain jokes, but that doesn’t make me a bad person, does it? “You aren’t suggesting…”

“Don’t be naive, sugar,” Connie Sue chided. “Think about it. Lance could very well be the daddy of Krystal’s baby. That would explain why she tracked him down. Maybe when he refused to fess up, she decided to teach him a lesson. Hormones do crazy things when you’re preggers.”

A rap on the door abruptly halted conversation. Nancy Walker poked her head in the door. “You ladies going to sell tickets or not? The natives are getting restless. Much longer, and I’m going to have to send for crowd control.”

“Sorry, Nancy,” I apologized. “Can you fend ’em off another couple minutes?”

“Tell ’em we’re in the middle of an important meetin’. We’ll be finished shortly,” Connie Sue added.

“Five minutes,” Nancy agreed with a grin. “More ’n that, I’m not responsible.”

“Now for my news.” Connie Sue wore a sly, cat-with-a-canary expression on her beauty queen face. “Y’all never guess what I found out when I ran into Marietta Perkins at the nail salon.”

“C’mon, Connie Sue,” Diane wheedled. “The suspense is killing us.”

“Oh, all right, y’all talked me into it,” Connie Sue acquiesced prettily. “The two of us got to talkin’ about the night Lance was killed. Marietta, as y’all know, might be short on personality, but she’s long on memory. She remembers a couple newcomers at the rec center that night askin’ about the facilities. One happened to be none other than Nadine Peterson. The second person she swears was Krystal Gold. Afterward she got real busy at the desk. Claims she doesn’t recall seein’ either one leave. Couldn’t swear if it was before or after the shootin’.”

Wow! This wasn’t just big. It was huge. Gigantic. Marietta with her fabulous memory placed not one but two persons of interest at the scene of the crime.

A banging on the door warned us our fortress was about to be stormed by a mob of irate customers. A chorus of angry voices added to the din.

“Open up. I’ve been waiting almost two hours.”

“Yeah?” another voice chimed. “I drove all the way from Augusta.”

“Big deal! I came from Aiken.”

“That’s a wrap,” I announced an hour later.

Forever, My Darling was a sell-out. From all appearances, we had a surefire hit on our hands. There had been a few disgruntled customers, but for the most part, people seemed excited at the prospect of viewing a play where a man was actually killed. There was nothing like bloodshed to get the juices flowing. Nero probably observed that same human foible the first time he fed Christians to a bunch of hungry lions.

“It’s been fun, y’all,” Connie Sue said, gathering her things. “Hate to rush off like this, but don’t want to be late for my massage.”

Diane finished totaling cash and checks and put the proceeds in a locked box. “I’ll deposit this and give Janine the receipt. Good thing I’m working noon to closing at the library. If I hurry, I might even have time to grab a quick lunch.”

That made me the last of the ticket sellers. I’d just slung the strap of my purse over my shoulder when Bill popped by. “I was hoping to catch you. Can I interest you in lunch? The Cove Café is running a special.”

Suddenly I was ravenous. “Sounds great. Give me a sec to freshen up.”