my own mental chorus of mind-voices asked. Surely, he couldn’t be that dumb, or assume I am. “So, he never indicated any problem with anyone from the chorus?” He shook his head. “Other than Roger, no. I’m sure some of the members were jealous of Grant’s talent, but I still can’t conceive of that possibly relating in any way to his murder.” Okay, enough pussyfooting, I decided. “And what about Jim Bowers?” He managed a puzzled look. “A tragic accident, but what has that to do with anything?” “Other than that Jim had a solo part Grant wanted, that Jim was the victim of a hit-and-run, that you visited him immediately after he regained consciousness, that he was subsequently unable to remember details of the accident, that a baby-blue Porsche came into your repair shop that same night for ‘emergency repairs’ and that the mechanic who worked on it has suddenly moved to Tulsa—nothing.” From the flickers of expression sparking across his face, he was deciding whether to play injured or offended.
