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coast was clear so I pushed at the swing top with one finger and peered inside the can with no shortage of apprehension. I hoped that the trash hadn’t been taken away in the past twelve hours so I could retrieve the paper, but, at the same time, I didn’t want to have to poke through anything disgusting to find it. Luck was with me, however. The hallway trash can was clearly not a frequently used one, as there wasn’t much inside of it. There at the bottom, resting on two pop cans, was a crumpled piece of paper.
    Jackpot!
    I checked my surroundings once more to make sure that I was still unobserved. I was. Wrinkling my nose, I reached one arm into the trash can. Down, down, down, until my fingers brushed against paper. I snatched up the thin bit of trash and pulled my arm out of the garbage receptacle. Triumphant, I uncrumpled the paper to reveal its secret.
    It took me several seconds to register what was before my eyes. Someone—­presumably Ernest—­had cut out letters from magazines and pasted them into a startling message.
    Archibald Major, you are scum. May you rot in hell.
    I swallowed as an unpleasant sensation rolled through my stomach. Talk about disturbing. Prior to last night I would have had trouble picturing quiet, unassuming Ernest authoring the note. But after seeing the anger on his face as he glared at the elderly man at the reception, I could picture it all too easily.
    Shuddering, I folded up the paper, hiding the ugly message from my eyes. I wanted to get rid of it, to toss it back in the garbage can where I’d found it, but I slipped it into my purse instead. Something told me I should hold on to it for the moment.
    Wrinkling my nose again, I reached back into the trash can and retrieved the two pop cans. My hands were already dirty so I figured I might as well put the cans in the recycling bin where they belonged.
    I tossed the cans into the bin located next to the garbage receptacle and slipped into the ladies’ restroom down the hall to wash my hands. Free of icky trash can germs, I returned to the corridor and headed for the exit.
    â€œMs. Bishop?”
    I turned back at the sound of the female voice. A woman in a navy blue business suit stood outside the door leading to the reception room. She wore her honey blond hair tied back, as she had every other time I’d seen her.
    â€œDetective Salnikova? What are you doing here?” I hadn’t seen the police detective since I’d helped solve the murder of a cellist several months earlier, and she was pretty much the last person I would have expected to encounter in the back corridors of the theater on a Saturday morning.
    â€œWorking, I’m afraid.” She came a few steps closer. “How about you? It was my understanding that the orchestra wasn’t rehearsing today.”
    â€œNo, I’m not here for a rehearsal.” I clutched my purse closer to me. I didn’t have anything to feel guilty about, but somehow having Ernest’s evil note in my possession left me feeling distinctly uneasy in the face of the police detective’s gaze. “I came to pick something up.”
    â€œWere you at the reception last night?”
    â€œYes.” As I recovered from the surprise of meeting Salnikova at the theater, I finally registered everything she’d said over the last half minute. “Wait. Are you here because of Mr. Major?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œBut you’re a homicide detective.”
    A hint of a smile appeared on her face for a fleeting second. “I am.”
    Okay, so maybe she thought I was stating the obvious, but there was something that definitely wasn’t obvious to me.
    â€œThen why are you here? Mr. Major was old. Didn’t he die of a stroke or something?”
    All traces of amusement disappeared from the detective’s face as she replied, “Not a stroke, no. We believe there could be foul play involved.”
    I stared