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“I just don’t think James would have killed himself.”

“We’re all thinking that way,” Sara assured him. “Do you think Joy could have done it?”

Brian rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. I guess she’s capable of anything, really. She both loved and hated James. They fought constantly. She’s the whole reason he had pendingdomestic charges against him. She was always drinking and then attacking him. Last time it was a pair of scissors. Got him in the arm. But then James would push her away and she’d call the cops and they’d both get arrested. He wasn’t even supposed to see her because of the charges but they couldn’t stay away from each other.”

“Classic,” Sara said, with a nod. “Addicted to the drama.”

“So you found out he passed away, got a tattoo, and didn’t tell your girlfriend or Joy?”

Brian nodded. He was a nodder. “I guess it doesn’t even matter how he died. He’s dead.” He lifted his beer bottle.

“I don’t think anyone should be allowed to get away with murder,” Sara said.

“I agree.”

But I wasn’t sure what any of us could do about it.

The police hadn't deemed it suspicious and the medical examiner had labeled the manner of death undetermined. I doubted the medical examiner was going to let me waltz into his office and give an argument as to why it should be homicide. I had no proof. I actually had no reason to even think it was homicide.

Other than James’s ghost, who couldn’t even interact with me.

“Sometimes it’s just better to leave things alone,” Brian said. “No good ever came from stirring the pot. That’s what my mother always says.”

“My mother says we should leave it to the proper authorities,” Sars said.

“My mother says we have to speak for those who can’t speak for themselves,” I said. “And that mandatory sentencing for drug related convictions is stupid.” I shrugged. “She’s a prosecutor.”

Brian’s demeanor immediately changed. His expression became guarded. “I’ll let you two catch up,” he said, and slipped off of his stool and returned to the men at the bar.

Heads swiveled and I got a bad feeling.

Now they were all eyeing me with the same suspicion. “Time to go!” I told Sara with forced cheerfulness. “You’ll be at the play, right?”

The seniors kept referring to it as opening night, but they were only performing the play once so I wasn’t sure if that was meant to be ironic or just elderly confusion. At any rate, our rehearsals had been going about as well as expected—muddled and ineffective.

Sara had sworn she wouldn’t step foot back in the senior center until there was a whole crowd there for the play. I found it hard to believe she actually considered herself in danger. It seemed like a convenient excuse to just dip out on being the play’s director.

I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m not sure I can make it,” she said noncommittally, before sipping her soda water. “I’ll look at my schedule.”

“It’s in four days.”

“Hmm.”

One of the men had gotten up off of his stool and was coming our way.

“Bye,” I said, gave a wave, and got the heck out of there.

The house was quiet when I got back and I made myself a makeshift bed on the sofa in the den with some blankets and throw pillows. A cat appeared out of nowhere and jumped on my lap.

“You scared me,” I whispered to him.

It was a tabby, chubby and purring as he kneaded the fabric of the blanket.

“Do you belong to Nancy?”

Dad had never been a cat lover, but Nancy had clearly opened up his eyes to a whole new world of shark coochie and cats.