“He always hangs around the common. He’s sort of the town mascot.”

Muriel unlocked her car and hustled Rose in. Wallace had stopped a few yards away and was staring intendy. Ignoring him, Muriel got in quickly, slammed the door and turned the key in the ignition. “I don’t know what he wants from me.

“He asks everybody for money.”

She shrugged. “He always looks so stricken. The other day he came right up to me. His mouth was going a mile a minute but nothing came out. It was disgusting.”

It was obvious that Muriel didn’t like Wallace, so Rose didn’t try to explain how Wallace had a hard time making himself understood, how he couldn’t always talk properly to people. They drove on making small talk until reaching Rose’s house. Muriel touched her arm. “I shouldn’t say this. But maybe you need it tonight.” She laughed a little nervously. “Or maybe it’s just what you don’t need. Anyway, I’m going to ask a … friend to come up for the recital. Someone who knows dance. He might be able to help you.”

“From New York?”

She put a finger to her lips. “Mum’s the word for now.”

Rose felt energized. A dance person from New York .. . which company? Was it a chance? A scholarship? She jumped out of the car.

“ ’Bye, Rose. And calm down! Too much excitement can give you leg cramps.”

A bright oblong of light broke the darkness on the front path as Mom opened the door. “Rosecleer. I’m glad you got a ride home. I was waiting for your call.”

Rose had forgotten all about it.

“Sorry. Muriel drove me; nothing to worry about.”

Mom shut the front door, looking grim.

“Lots to worry about,” she said. “The police have been to see Grace. What did you girls say at the police station last week? What did you think you were doing?”

“We didn’t do anything. …”

“They’ll probably be here next. They think you and Grace know something about Nancy’s murder. They asked her all kinds of questions about Wallace Romola. Rose, did you see Wallace and Nancy that night?”

“No, Wallace has nothing to do with it!” She stopped. “Mom, what did you say?”

“You heard me. You implicated Wallace Romola.”

“Not that, before that. Nancy’s murder?”

Her mother sat down on the old church pew they kept in the hall. She had to push all the books and scarves and gloves aside to make space. She leaned over and put her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in her hands. She looked up at Rose with despairing eyes.

“They found her body. She’d been stabbed to death.”

Rose’s heart thudded. She heard her voice coming out through layers and layers of wool. “Where?”

“It doesn’t matter where. They found her, that’s all.”

“Where, Mom?”