“I saw there was crime-scene tape across the path going into the park,” I commented in as neutral a voice as I could manage. No true Shakespearean would call Estes Arboretum anything but “the park.” I’m finally getting the hang of being a true Shakespearean after four years.

“Didn’t you hear all the commotion, girl?”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” I answered truthfully. “I slept real heavy last night.” I went down the hall to Mrs. Hofstettler’s bedroom to fetch the wash from the hamper.

“Then you are an amazing sleeper,” Mrs. Hofstettler called after me. “Honey, there were police cars up and down the street, and people coming and going, and an ambulance, too.”

“And I don’t know anything about it to tell you,” I said, trying to sound regretful. I’m not normally chatty with clients, but I admire Marie Hofstettler; she doesn’t whine and she isn’t clingy.

“Let’s turn on the radio,” Mrs. Hofstettler said eagerly. “Maybe we can find out what happened. If that don’t work, Pm calling Deedra at the courthouse. She always knows what’s going on.”

I started the washing machine. All eight apartments, of course, have the same layout, with the east apartments mirroring the west. There are four units upstairs and four downstairs. The building’s front door and back door are locked at eleven, and residents aren’t supposed to give anyone a key. Marie’s apartment is a ground-floor front apartment on the north side. She’s had it since the building was erected ten years ago; Marie and Pardon Albee are the only original tenants. In Marie’s apartment, as in all of them, the common hallway door opens directly into a living room, with an area to the rear used for dining.