Show Time by Suzanne Trauth

thick-necked man with powerful shoulders.
    I caught my breath. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”
    He brushed past us without a word.
    * * *
    The Windjammer was packed for lunch. Many folks simply trotted over to the restaurant from Jerome’s funeral. Henry’s homemade tomato basil soup sold out. I had one eye on the few remaining customers and one eye on my watch. Henry was busy in the kitchen experimenting with a parmesan cream sauce for the broccoli on the dinner menu, and it was nearing my three o’clock break. I had already decided how I was going to spend the next hour or so.
    â€œBenny, I’ll be back soon.” I searched my purse for my car keys.
    He looked up from behind the bar, where he was ensconced cleaning the fountain taps, and eyed me thoughtfully. “You’re doing a lot of running around these days,” he said. “You’re not applying for other jobs, are you?” There was a hint of panic in his voice.
    I laughed. “And leave you and Henry? Nah. It’s like a marriage here. More trouble to get out of than to get into.”
    Benny nodded. “I know what you mean.”
    There had to be a way to find out whom Jerome was seeing, in whom he had invested a decent chunk of money. He was retired and, I assumed, living on a fixed income so where had he gotten the funds for a diamond ring? If I could speak with the person who’d sold him the ring, maybe he or she would remember something he’d said or done that would give me a clue. I intended to turn the ring over to Chief Thompson, but first I needed to satisfy my curiosity about its purchase.
    The inside cover of the ring box was gold-stamped with Sadlers Fine Jewelry , which was located in Creston. Last year, I bought my mother birthstone earrings there, and she loved them. Creston was four miles away but seemed like a different universe. Population twenty thousand, it lacked the charm of Etonville but had all of the features that made it a necessity from time to time: a big-box store, doctors who specialized in various body parts, and fast food places.
    I stepped on the gas pedal of my Metro and eased out onto State Route 53. On the seat next to me was the Etonville Standard with Jerome’s picture on the front page. I hadn’t gone a mile when large beads of rain, like teardrops, splashed down on my windshield. The beautiful morning had turned into a damp and depressing afternoon. I flipped on the wipers, and the monotonous flap-flap of their rhythm was soothing.
    On the periphery of Creston, I slowed to twenty-five and turned onto the main drag. I dashed from my parking space to the sidewalk and shop awning to shop awning to keep dry. As I reached the entrance to Sadlers, a flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. I scooted inside and brushed moisture off my jacket.
    A clerk, thirtyish and very neat, wearing a dress shirt, creased jeans, and a rust-colored sweater tied around his shoulders, was busy with a customer, so I sauntered around sizing up earrings and necklaces and matching bracelets. Gold was going for nearly a thousand dollars an ounce these days, so trinkets were on the expensive side. I computed the cost of a diamond ring.
    â€œCan I help you?” The clerk hovered at my elbow.
    â€œI hope so. May I speak with the manager?”
    â€œI’m the manager,” he said.
    I pulled the newspaper from my bag and produced the front page. “I’m trying to get some information about this man.”
    He examined the photo, then scanned the headlines. “I heard about this. Terrible,” he said, genuinely concerned.
    â€œDo you recognize him? He might have made a purchase here recently.”
    The manager took off his glasses and stared at the picture. “Yes. I’ve seen this man,” he said cautiously.
    â€œJerome? You recognize Jerome?” I could feel an adrenaline rush. Never mind that that meant almost nothing, only that