"Nana must have said something important. You were taking notes."

He held up the notepad for me to see. At the top of the page was written a word in a foreign language. Beneath it appeared two more equally mysterious words. "I don't know what those words mean," I said.

"My grocery list." He shrugged. "Power of suggestion. I just remembered that my refrigerator's empty."

My refrigerator was empty most of the time, too. We already had something in common.

In the next instant he was back in detective mode. "How well did you know the deceased, Miss Andrew?"

"We were in a couple of community theater plays together in Windsor City. But we didn't hang out together. I spent my time memorizing lines. He spent his charming all the bosomy blondes."

"Was he successful?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He'd scope out the prospects at rehearsal, target one of them, then woo her with attention, phone calls, dates to rehearse lines, intimate E-mails. He was big into romancing over the Internet. He'd tell her they were soul mates, that they shared a bond that transcended space and time. He'd make a woman feel so special, she'd fall into bed with him before the end of rehearsal for scene one."

"Ah, yes. We have a saying in Switzerland. 'Men fall in love through their eyes. Women fall in love through their ears.' You were a witness to all this?"

"When you're in a community theater production, the cast becomes your family. And the ladies talked. About everything. Including Andy."

"How often did Mr. Simon exhibit this kind of behavior?"

"He had a short attention span, so when auditions would begin for the next play, he'd pick out a new victim, end the affair with his current lover, and start the pattern all over again. It was really insidious because he always hooked up with women who had no self-esteem--the ones he could brainwash into believing their lives were worthless without him. Poor things would be completely devastated when he dumped them. Last spring, one of them overdosed on sleeping pills afterward and had to be rushed to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. But Andy didn't care. As long as he was getting his ego stroked, it didn't matter who suffered."

"He never tried to woo you?"

"I'm not suffering from low self-esteem." I grabbed a hunk of my hair and held it out. "And I'm not blonde."

Miceli scribbled something furiously onto his pad.

"What are you writing?"

"I'm reminding myself to invite you to dinner while you're here. I happen to be enchanted by women from your Midwest. I find your accents quite charming."

Men usually asked me out because they said I was friendly, or had a great smile, or a good personality. My brother told me that was a guy's way of saying he liked my breasts and was hoping I'd take my blouse off. No one had ever asked me out because he liked the way I pronounced my vowels. I didn't know whether to be flattered or disappointed. "You're not married, are you?"