He took two or three sips from the cup, set it down, then went to stand by the window. The phone rang, but he didn’t answer it. “Let the machine get it,” he said in a strained voice. “I can’t talk to anybody else right now.”

The answering machine picked up on the fourth ring. We heard Buzz’s happy-go-lucky outgoing message, then the beep, then, “This is Parker’s Garage. The part we were waiting for didn’t come in, so the Chevette won’t be ready today. Sorry about that.”

“Aw, Christ, it only needed that!”

“Look, Buzz,” I said, “if you need a ride anywhere, we’ll take you.”

“I’ve imposed enough on you. And after the last twenty-four hours, Frank has undoubtedly had his fill of Buzz Sullivan.”

“No. Not at all,” Frank said.

The phone rang again. This time he answered it.

“Hi Mack.” He swallowed hard. “Not too good. You?” After a moment he said, “Already?…Yeah, all right.”

He hung up and shook his head. “The club wants us to have our stuff out of there before tonight. They’ve already asked another band to play. Guess it’s the guys who were going to start there when we went to Europe.”

“You need a ride?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. I hate to ruin your weekend-”

“We’re with a friend,” I said. “It isn’t ruined. What time do you need to be down there?”

“Soon as possible. He said the detectives want to talk to us down there. Club owner, too-he told Mack, ‘I’m not too happy about any of this!’-like anybody is!”

Q: What’s the difference between a bull and an orchestra?

A: An orchestra has the horns in the back and the ass in front.

We arrived before the others, and found the door locked. We walked around to the narrow alley, reaching the back door just as the owner pulled up-the bartender from the night before. He looked like he wanted to give Buzz a piece of his mind, but thought better of it when he took a look at Frank. Frank is six-four, but I don’t think it’s just his height that causes this kind of reaction among certain two-legged weasels. (I asked him about it once and he told me he got straight A’s in intimidation at the police academy; I stopped trying to get a straight answer out of him after that.)

The owner grumbled under his breath as he unlocked the door and punched in the alarm code, then turned on the lights. I walked in behind him. I had only taken a couple of steps when I realized that Buzz was still outside; without being able to see him, I could hear him sobbing again. Frank stepped into the doorway, motioned me to go on in. I heard him talking in low, consoling tones to Buzz, heard Buzz talking to him.

I squelched an unattractive little flare up of jealousy I felt then; a moment’s dismay that someone who had only known Buzz for a few hours was comforting him, when I had been his friend for several years. How stupid to insist that the provision of solace would be on the basis of seniority.

My anger at myself must have shown on my face in some fierce expression, because the owner said, “Look, I’m sorry. I just didn’t get much sleep. This place don’t close itself, and now at eleven o’clock, I’ve already had a busy morning. But I really am sorry about that kid out there. He’s the nicest one of the bunch. And I think he had eyes for the little spitfire.” He shook his head. “I never would have figured her for the type to off herself, you know?”

“I didn’t really know her,” I said. “I just met her last night.”

“She had troubles,” he said. “But she had always been the type to get more mad than sad.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. She was complicated-like that music she sang.”

He started moving around the club, taking chairs off table tops. I helped him, unable to stand around while he worked. In full light, the club seemed even smaller and shabbier than it had in the dark.

Soon Buzz and Frank came in. Frank started helping Buzz to pack away his equipment. Within a few moments other people arrived: the detectives, then Mack and Gordon.

None of the band members seemed to be in great shape. The detectives recognized Frank and pulled him aside, then asked the owner if they could borrow his office.

They asked to talk to Mack first. He went with them. Gordon climbed the stage steps and began to put away his cymbals.

Frank surreptitiously positioned himself between Buzz and Gordon. They worked quietly for a while, then Gordon said, “I’m sorry, Buzz. I-I never would have said anything to her if I thought…”

“It’s not your fault,” Buzz said wearily, contradicting his earlier outburst. He finished closing the last of his cases and began helping Gordon.

Mack came out, and told the bar owner that the detectives wanted to talk to him next. By then, most of the equipment had been carried into the backstage room. All that was left was a single mike stand-Joleen’s.

I walked onto the stage and stood where she had stood during “A Fine Set of Teeth.” I thought of her voice, clear and sweet on those first notes, her smile as she listened to Buzz’s solo. I looked out and wondered how she saw that small sea of adoring faces that must have been looking back at her; wondered if she had known of Buzz’s loyalty to her; remembered the bite and figured she had. I thought of her giving the sound man hell; she had both bark and bite.

I saw Mack, standing at the bar, at about the same moment he saw me. He stared at me, making me wonder if I was causing him to see ghosts.

Feeling like an interloper, I stepped away from the empty mike stand, then paused. I had the nagging feeling that something about the stage wasn’t right. When I figured out what it was, I called my husband over to my side.

“Tell your friends in the office not to let Mack leave,” I whispered. “There’s something he needs to explain.”

“Are you going to tell me about it, or has being on this stage gone to your head?”

“Both. Where is Mack’s equipment?” I asked.

Frank looked around, then smiled. “I’ll be right back. And maybe you should try to stand close to Buzz. This will be hard on him.” He took a step away, then turned back. “How did you know it was murder?” he whispered.

“I didn’t. Not until just now. Ligature marks?”

He nodded.

I walked into the backstage room. Gordon sat on the couch. Buzz was sitting at the piano bench. I sat down next to Buzz and lifted the keyboard cover. “You play?” he asked.

“Sure.” I tapped out the melody line of “Heart and Soul.” “It’s one of two pieces I can play,” I said.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “The other being ‘Chopsticks’?”

“How did you know?”

“People just seem to know those two,” he said, reminding me about the missing sarcasm gene.

“Come on,” I said. “Play the other half.”

“Half?” he said, filling in the chords.

“Okay, three-quarters.”

Gordon laughed.

“Come on,” Buzz said, “there’s room for you, too.”

“I’ll pass,” he said, “I don’t even know ‘Chopsticks.’”

We stopped when we heard Gordon shout, “What are you doing to Mack?”

We turned to see Mack being led out in handcuffs.

“They’re arresting him,” Frank said as they left. “For Joleen’s murder.”

“So tell me again how you figured this out,” Buzz asked later, when we were back at apartment. We were sitting on the floor, around the coffee table.

“Okay,” I said. “We were the first ones at the club this morning, right?”

He nodded.

“You and Gordon both had equipment to pack up. Your equipment was still on the stage, because when you left Club Ninety-nine last night, you had every intention of coming back the next night. But one band member knew he wouldn’t be back. He packed up his equipment and took it home last night.”

“You figured that out just standing there?”

“I was thinking about that dirty trick the sound man pulled on her-making her hear her own voice a half-step off through the monitor. But the mike and monitor were gone. I knew you didn’t pack them up, neither did Gordon. You had only worked on your part of the stage, or to help Gordon. So Mack must have taken Joleen’s mike and monitor-but he hadn’t been up on the stage this morning. I looked around and noticed his equipment was gone. It’s not as elaborate as your rig, or Gordon’s kit.”