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two shots. But that was it. Entrance and exit wounds.”
    “Couldn’t have been two different shots?”
    She shrugged unhappily. “Then why both at her waist? Why a powder burn on the front of that light cape and none on the back? It was close range, Nick.”
    “Maybe she was struggling.”
    “You don’t struggle if the other guy has a gun!”
    “Ramona’s feisty.”
    “Okay. Here’s another problem then. Why that street? Lots of other places are more deserted.”
    He rinsed his dishcloth and tossed it to her to add to the laundry. “Maybe he didn’t want to wait too long for a victim to happen by. And maybe with construction scaffolds on both streets he thought it was a good setup to escape. Somebody pried off that hasp, after all, and broke down the plywood, and I doubt if it was the building’s legal owner.”
    “Maybe.”
    “There’s something else, though,” Nick admitted reluctantly.
    “What?”
    “Well, you remember the mood she was in. How we kidded her out of it? She had us all fuming.”
    Maggie considered. “But even supposing it was one of you people, that doesn’t explain any of the problems we’ve been talking about.”
    “I know. And besides, no matter how nasty she might be, every one of us wants her to be wildly successful in this play. We’re part of the show. We aren’t going anywhere without her.”
    “Yeah. And none of you are black kids, either.”
    “Well—”
    “What?”
    “There’s Callie. Daphne’s niece. Expelled from school for the day, just visiting. She watched very politely, but Ramona lit into her too.”
    “A kid?”
    “This particular kid has a tongue as rough as Ramona’s. But she shut up when Daphne told her to.”
    “Daphne seemed to have control?”
    “I thought so.”
    “Well—hell, it’s just that nothing quite fits. Guess I’ll let the police worry about it.” Maggie added the soap and started the washer. “Is Sarah sleeping?”
    “Like a baby.” Nick followed her upstairs to the bedroom floor. Sarah’s nursery and the kitchen were the only two finished rooms in the house. If Ramona recovered and he got his promised pay, they might get two more painted this year. Damn, this was not the profession for home and family. Ninety-five percent unemployment, and that was among actors good enough to belong to Equity. He’d been lucky so far, a couple of jobs a year, waiting tables or janitoring in between. This risky, up-and-down life had seemed full of freedom and joy when shared with an eagerly adventurous companion like Maggie. But his choice of profession felt rash and irresponsible now as he looked down into the crib at Sarah, tiny and defenseless.
    Maggie adjusted the cotton blanket over her, smiling, then met Nick’s eyes and grew serious again. “You’re worried about Ramona,” she said.
    “Yeah. Not just because she’s a friend. Goddamn it, Maggie, in most businesses if the boss has an accident, you don’t lose your job!”
    “There are two of us, Nick.” Her blue eyes were troubled. He threw an arm around her shoulder.
    “Hell, Maggie, maybe it’ll all work out. But somehow, now that Sarah’s here, the future counts. I’m not quite as carefree and liberated as I thought I was.”
    He half expected her to argue that she could provide for them all, that his own career was surprisingly dependable, that their successes to date were more than freak good luck—all true observations. But instead she burrowed her nose into his neck and murmured, “Neither am I, Nick. Neither am I,” and somehow he was more comforted than if she had said all those other true things.

    III
    Wednesday
    March 7, 1973
     
    By the time Nick arrived at the loft on the drizzly Wednesday, Derek was mounting the platform to call the rehearsal to order. Nick was struck at the alteration in the mild little Englishman. Today the pale twinkling eyes were feverish and worried, the genial optimism converted to anxiety. The subdued actors quieted instantly. Most