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said.
    Flynn took a sip and shook his head. “Prefer to stay on my feet.”
    The unexpected arrival of a homicide detective in my kitchen probably should have thrown me into a panic, but I’d gotten to know Flynn—and his partner, Rodriguez—fairly well over the past couple of years and I knew that their chief often called one of them in to assist on less-deadly matters when the department was shorthanded. While I didn’t count the two as friends, we were cordial acquaintances.
    â€œI hear Rodriguez is back from medical leave,” I said. “How’s he doing?”
    â€œYou’ll see for yourself in a minute. He’s on his way.”
    â€œRodriguez is here, too?” I asked. All of a sudden Flynn’s presence took on a far more ominous significance. “What’s going on?”
    â€œLet’s see. Two homicide detectives and a crew of evidence technicians? Not to mention the coroner. What do you think is going on?”
    Scott’s face drained of color and he pulled Bootsie closer to his chest. “Has someone been killed?”
    Flynn held the mug in both hands as he took a sip. “Good coffee. The call came in about an hour ago.” He pointed toward the house next to mine, the opposite side from Tooney’s.
    â€œWho was it?”
    â€œRelax,” Flynn said. “Nobody we know. Well, at least nobody from around here. We’re canvassing the neighborhood. The 911 caller thought he was a drunk sleeping it off but worried he might die of exposure.”
    â€œIs that what happened?” Bruce asked.
    Flynn smirked over the rim of the mug. “Only if you count exposure to gunshots. Two.” Nodding appreciatively at our pained reactions, he took another drink of his coffee.
    Rodriguez arrived, wrapping me in a bear hug the momentI opened the door. “So good to see you, Miz Wheaton,” he said close to my ear. Stepping back to hold me at arm’s length, he grinned. “How’ve you been?” He raised a hand to my roommates. “Looks like we disturbed a comfortable morning here. My apologies. I hope you are all doing well?”
    Taken aback by his effusive greeting, I stammered, “We’re great, thanks.” A second later, I recovered conversational footing. “But you,” I said, “you look wonderful. How much weight have you lost?”
    â€œMore than I’m willing to admit.” He patted his middle. “Still a long way to go, but I’m finally on the right track.”
    Rodriguez had suffered a massive heart attack some months ago and had subsequently undergone surgery to repair a ruptured aortic valve. He’d been a large man for as long as I’d known him, but had ballooned in weight in the months before his attack.
    â€œI’m happy to hear it,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “Very proud of you.”
    â€œMy doctors and my wife have been battling me about my weight for years.” He pointed to his chest. “It wasn’t until my ticker got in on the action that I decided to listen up.”
    â€œWe’re all very glad you did.”
    Next to him, Flynn fidgeted. “Are we done with the warm and fuzzies yet? Can we get back to our homicide?”
    â€œOf course, amigo.” Rodriguez flicked a judgmental glance at the coffee mug in Flynn’s hands. “Forgive me for interrupting your expert interrogation. Pray continue.” Though his words were sharp, the amusement in Rodriguez’s eyes never dimmed.
    Flynn took a final slug of the coffee then placed the mug on the countertop next to the sink. He flipped open his notebook and pulled out a pencil. “Were any of you home yesterday between noon and three?”
    Bruce pointed to himself and then to Scott. “We were both at the wine shop.”
    I raised a hand. “I was at Lucatorto Labs, then out for lunch. Ronny Tooney was with me. We left here a little bit after