At 9:15, I called Dolan's house. Stacey picked up. I told him my concern that someone had entered my room and had taken a long hard look at my notes. He told me to change rooms, which I told him I'd done. He told me Dolan had left for an appointment with the cardiologist. I told him about Medora's house, the note, and Frankie's late-night visit. He told me I better watch my step and I said I would. Then he said, "What have we picked up in the way of elimination prints?"

"We're not doing so well. Last I heard Edna had gone in, but none of the other four."

"What's up with that? I don't like them thinking they can bypass us. Go back and threaten. Tell them it looks bad, like maybe one of them has something to hide."

"So how's Dolan doing?"

"He's good. I'd say good. Doing better than I thought."

"You think the living arrangements are going to work?"

"Jury's still out on that. I could probably do worse-though, frankly, the guy's a colossal pain in the ass. Of course, he says the same thing about me."

"Makes you the perfect pair," I said. "Better than some of the marriages I've seen."

"Amen to that. What's the latest down there?"

"I haven't heard anything since I was at the Tuley-Belle last night, but I can stop by the sheriffs office and talk to Lassiter."

"Do that and call me back. I've been trying to get in touch with him, but so far no luck. Meantime, we'll see what we can find out about Frankie's whereabouts on Friday night."

"Great. Tell Dolan I said hi. I really miss you guys." Stacey said.

"Ditto. And you take care of yourself."

I retrieved Dolan's car and drove the few short blocks to the Sheriffs Department. Todd Chilton and a civilian clerk seemed to be the only ones in. He was chatting with one of the church ladies I'd seen at Edna's. She was in her seventies, wearing a pale green leisure suit. Her hair had just been done and it puffed out as nicely as a dandelion. She'd placed a parking ticket on the counter, and I waited politely while she wrote out a check and tore it from her register. I flicked a quick look at the name printed on the face of the check: Adele Opdyke.

"How are you, Adele? We met at Edna's on Saturday. Nice seeing you again.

"Nice seeing you, too." She seemed flustered to realize I was standing close enough to see what she was doing. "Don't go thinking this ticket's mine. It's my husband's. He parked in a fire lane Friday night, late going to a movie. He's always doing that. Doesn't matter how many times I tell him not to."

Deputy Chilton said, "Why are you the one paying? He'll never learn this way."