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your place?” asked the detective.
    “I don’t know — Evan, my son. He has one. Julie do you have a key?”
    “No.”
    “Does your building have a superintendent?” asked the detective.
    “No — we’re only eight condos.”
    “So just you and your son?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And where is he?”
    “He lives in the West End. He’s a dental student at U of T.”
    “Any reason he might have dropped by last night?”
    “No,” I said. “He knew I had the office party.” Wait a minute. Why was he asking about Evan?
    “What are you asking?” I demanded. “You think my son dropped by and stabbed Mr. Potter?”
    “I’ll need to speak with him,” replied the detective, unfazed by the affront to my maternal instincts. “Can you give me his number?”
    I gave the detective Evan’s number while Julie paced around the living room, seemingly deep in thought.
    “What about a master key?” asked Julie. “Doesn’t someone on your condo board have a master key to all the condos?”
    Good thinking Julie. “That’s right,” I said. “Someone could have got hold of the master key. Anybody — the skies the limit!”
    “Do you happen to know who would have this key?” asked Det. Crowley.
    Who was on the condo board? Besides me that is, because I certainly didn’t have any master keys. I pondered this for a moment, while the detective tapped the pen against his teeth. It suddenly hit me. “Rose. Rose Canning. She’s on the board. She lives on the first floor.”
    The detective snapped his notebook shut and snorted. “Make sure we can reach you,” he said.
    “She’ll need clothes,” said Julie. “They’re in her bedroom.”
    “You’ll have to make do,” he said to me as he headed toward the door. “Officer Sobey over there will see you out.”
    “He has to get to the grocery store,” said Julie in a low voice. “And I don’t believe Julia Child drank whole milk. 2% maybe.”
    I sat down on the couch and hugged a throw pillow to my chest. “I am in deep shit. They really think I did it.”
    Julie sat down beside me. “Val. Of course they think you did it.”
    There were times when I enjoyed Julie’s brutal honesty. You always knew where you stood with her. But as I sat on the couch, contemplating my predicament, it occurred to me that a friend who was a little softer around the edges, a friend who knew how to sugarcoat a situation would be a comforting friend to have. Unfortunately, Julie was what I had.
    “Do you think I did it?”
    Julie looked me right in the eye. “Val, I can’t figure this. A knife-wielding intruder who breaks in, stabs your boss, doesn’t touch you and leaves without taking anything. It doesn’t compute.”
    I sank back into the couch and shut my eyes. Maybe I did do it. Maybe I lured Mr. Potter to my condo, plied him with wine and snacks and then staggered into my bedroom and stabbed the poor man to death while he slept. What other answer could there be?

CHAPTER 5
    Julie touched my arm. “Let’s get going. We’ll get you settled in and then figure out a lawyer. There may even be clean sheets on the spare bed.”
    I looked over at the officer guarding the bedroom door. “Do you think he’ll let me in for just a minute?”
    “No.”
    “My luggage is in the closet.”
    “You can’t get your clothes. Just grab your bag and let’s get out of here. I’m going to give Andrew a quick call.”
    Andrew is Julie’s wonderful husband. Her high school sweetheart. They both think that the smartest thing Andrew ever did was to marry Julie, and it works for them.
    “I’m just going to get my purse,” I called to the policeman hovering by the kitchen.
    Under the watchful eye of the officer, I grabbed my reading glasses and wallet and stuffed them into my gorgeous Roots tote bag, a present from my sister when I turned forty-five. “Forty-five is a big one,” she told me. “An epoch. The end of an era. You’re officially middle-aged at forty-five.”
    There