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can’t possibly …” She glanced from Molly to Michael and back again. “You do, don’t you? You think I did it.”
    “I don’t,” Molly said stoutly. “I’m convinced it had to have happened while you were with me.”
    Veronica watched Michael, then asked, “Do you believe her?”
    “It’s not my case,” Michael replied. “I’d have to say, though, that Molly does have pretty decent instincts when it comes to people. I think I know her well enough to say that I doubt she’d lie just to protect you. Unfortunately, her word may not be enough. From what I understand, there are a few minutes unaccounted for when Molly left you to go look for Greg.”
    “But I could see the trailer,” Molly argued.
    “The whole time? You told me you went inside the production trailer to ask for Kinsey.”
    She hadn’t considered that as a flaw in her defense of Veronica, but she could see now that it might be. “That took thirty seconds, a minute tops,” she argued. “That’s hardly enough time for Veronica to leave the café, shoot Greg, and escape without me or anyone else seeing her. He had to have been killed before that, during the fifteen or so minutes Veronica and I were together. What I can’t figure out is why no one heard a shot.”
    “With all that music blaring from every café on Ocean, I doubt you could hear a bomb drop over it,” Michael reminded her.
    “But …”
    Veronica held up one perfectly manicured hand. “Molly, dear, if you will slow down for just one minute, I believe I can end all this absurd speculation about my role in Greg’s death. I know for a fact that I was not the last person to see him alive, at least if we assume that your theory about the time period in which he was shot is accurate.”
    “What?” Michael and Molly said in unison.
    “It’s true. Just as I left the trailer Greg’s latest conquest arrived. Surely you’ve seen her around the set, Molly. The tall, angular brunette with the kind of bone structure the camera loves. She doesn’t speak much English, but I doubt Greg was interested in her conversational skills.”
    “Of course, that’s it,” Molly said as the elusive detail clicked into place. She had heard raised voices —plural, not just Greg’s—even after she’d spottedVeronica crossing the street. She hadn’t readily linked the exchange to Greg because the shouts hadn’t been in English. “She’s Cuban, isn’t she?”
    “No. She’s European,” Veronica said with certainty.
    “Italian, then?” To Molly’s ear most of the Romance languages sounded pretty much the same at top volume. She understood Spanish only if someone spoke it very slowly and gestured at the same time. She’d taken French in school, which came in handy in Miami only when she had to deal with the occasional Canadian tourist or the Haitian immigrants whose Creole language owed its roots to French.
    Veronica beamed. “Yes, of course. I remember now. She is a fashion model. She is here for a photo shoot for some European magazine. Greg met her at one of the cafés along Ocean Drive, two, maybe three days ago. You know how he falls in love with a gorgeous face. They’ve been inseparable ever since.”
    “I thought he was romancing Laura Crain,” Molly said.
    “Who’s that?” Michael asked.
    “The producer for the film. Greg was executive producer and director. Laura was the line producer. She handled the details with the studio in L.A. that’s backing the film, saw to it that the budget was in line. She came here even before Greg to negotiate some of the contracts with the local unions, finalize housing for the cast and crew, that sort of thing. I worked with her quite a bit.”
    Michael nodded and turned back to Veronica. “Had Kinsey dumped her for this model?”
    “I doubt it. The model was here only through tomorrow, according to what I heard. Greg probably intended to go right back to Laura the minute she’d gone. Besides, he was a very practical man. He