At 5:00, I tossed the pack of index cards in the drawer on top of the murder book, stacked the pages of my typed report, tucked them in a folder, and drove them to the local print shop, where I had two copies made. On my way back to the motel, driving east on Main Street, I caught a glimpse of Adrianne Richards heading for the local supermarket. She'd just parked her car and was walking from the side lot to the front entrance. I braked, glancing belatedly in the rearview mirror in hopes the car behind me wouldn't climb up my tailpipe. I made a hard left-hand turn to the annoyance of several motorists, one of whom shook his fist at me and mouthed a naughty word. I made a sheepish gesture and blew him a kiss.

I parked and went in. I did a quick walking survey, canvassing the store aisle by aisle. I finally spotted her in the produce section, grocery list between her teeth while she picked through a display of cantaloupes. In her cart, she had a plastic basket of cherry tomatoes, two bunches of green onions, and a cauliflower that looked like a brain wrapped in cellophane.

I said, "Hi. I've been hoping to talk to you, but I didn't know how to get in touch. What's your husband's first name?"

"Peter. We're divorced. He's in Reno."

"Mind if I tag along?"

"Fine with me," she said. She was wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a twin set of smoky blue cashmere. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, secured with a barrette. She selected a cantaloupe, sniffed it, and then tucked it in her cart. She moved on, pausing at the dairy case to check the expiration date on a carton of skim milk, which she then placed in her cart. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I'm curious. When I showed up in the office at Quorum High, didn't it occur to you I might have been talking about Charisse?"

"Not at all. Why would it? She's been gone for years."

"I heard you were good friends."

"I don't know about 'good' friends. We hung out together some."

"Did she say anything to you about leaving town?"

"I didn't even know she was gone. It's not like I saw her every day."

"But once you figured it out, didn't you worry about her?"

"Not particularly. I figured she could take care of herself."

"Did you ever hear from her again?"

"No, but I didn't expect to. That's not how it was. I was a couple of years younger and we didn't have much in common. I've lost touch with a lot of classmates I was closer to than her. Such is life."

"You don't seem upset about the murder. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Look, I'll be honest. I'm sorry for what happened, but I'm not sad. Why would I be? I knew her four months at best."