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Guess she was gettin’ on at that.”
    Chad stood at his seat and called up: “Grandmother has been awfully forgetful lately.”
    Rudder moved to the edge of the stage and stared down at the young man. “You know what heart medication she’d been taking?”
    Chad shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s not something we ever discussed. But they’re these little pink pills she keeps in her purse.” He gestured behind him. “Her purse in the office—do you want me to . . . ?”
    â€œNo, I’ll collect it later. Stay put, if you would. Thank you.”
    Chad nodded, shrugged. “Okay. But I did see her take one of those pills, just this morning.”
    â€œWhat time?”
    â€œAh . . . around ten, I think.”
    Rudder’s eyes narrowed. “Have you notified any other family members yet about your grandmother?”
    Chad shook his head. “No one to notify. I’m her only living relative.”
    I found that of interest; Mother did, too, judging by her slightly raised eyebrows.
    Rudder turned toward Mother. “You and Brandy can go.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Mother’s expression was that of a woman who’d had water splashed in her face.
    â€œI said,” he spoke tightly, “you both can go. Thank you for the call, Vivian. That will be all.”
    Mother planted her feet. “Are you quite sure, Sheriff Rudder? Because, let me tell you—”
    â€œLet me tell you , Vivian. Leave.”
    Now she put her fists on her hips, Superman style. “Can you at least assure me that there will be an autopsy?”
    The sheriff’s endless arm stretched out as he pointed toward the rear of the theater, in a don’t-darken-my-door-again manner.
    She sighed, her body relaxing into defeat. “Very well. We’re at the Horse and Groom Inn if you need us.”
    Which garnered only a grunt.
    Banished, Mother and I, with Sushi still in my arms, made our exit down the steps, up the center aisle, through the lobby and toward the front doors. That was when Mother made a sudden detour down the hallway where the vending machines lined a wall like suspects in a police lineup.
    I figured she’d worked up a thirst telling the sheriff how to do his job, but then Mother veered into the office that was just before the vending machines and behind the box office.
    Catching up to her, I whispered, “What are you doing ? The sheriff has taken over, and this isn’t even vaguely our business.”
    â€œOf course it’s our business, dear.”
    The office was a glorified cubbyhole with a single metal desk with swivel chair, a few filing cabinets, a couple of metal chairs, and plaster walls hung with framed posters of past New Vic productions.
    Mother had found Millie’s purse on the cluttered desktop and was opening it.
    â€œDear,” Mother said, “if you don’t want to be a party to what I’m about to do, you should leave.”
    I stayed.
    You may question my sanity—I certainly do, often enough—but allowing Mother to conduct a criminal investigation unsupervised is like opening the cabinets under the kitchen sink and setting down your two-year-old with a jaunty, “Have fun!”
    Using a tissue from her pocket, Mother pulled out the prescription bottle, studied the information label for a moment, then removed the cap. She poured the round pink pills into a palm, counted them, then returned the pills to the bottle and the bottle to the purse, and the purse to where she’d found it on the desk.
    Then we skedaddled.
    â€œWell?” I asked, once we were in our car in the side lot. I was leaning on the wheel and I had not turned the key.
    â€œThe medication Millie was taking is indeed a blood thinner,” Mother said, “generally given to someone who has suffered a heart attack.”
    â€œSo Millie may have died from another heart attack.”
    â€œI doubt that very