Catch a Falling Knife

When in Rome….
    “I’m Frank. Good, because I was just having some. Wait here while I get another cup.”
    I protested that I could get it, but by that time he had wheeled himself with surprising efficiency into the next room and disappeared around the corner. The elegance of the hardwood floor was accented by the high ceiling. A graceful archway opened in the wall between this room and the next, which appeared to be the dining room. This must have been a classy house in its time.
    Example of male humor: A colleague of Albert’s liked to point out the old and the infirm people to Albert and then state, “That’s you in three years.” I hoped that Frank Scott wasn’t me in three years.
    Mr. Scott returned, carrying a cup, spoon and a sugar container on a small tray on his lap. He transferred the tray to a low table and said, “I didn’t know whether you take sugar in your tea.”
    “I drink it straight,” I said.
    “Me too. I hope you’ll excuse the lack of furniture and the bare floor, but it makes it easier for me to get around.”
    “Do you live alone?” I asked. I was used to the multi-level support services of Silver Acres, designed to care for residents in various stages of need, and wondered how somebody considerably more physically challenged than I was could live without them.
    “A woman comes in each morning and helps me with breakfast, a shower and makes my bed. Then I get Meals on Wheels delivered to me. That takes care of lunch and dinner. I manage. Where do you live?”
“In Chapel Hill—Silver Acres.”
“I’ve heard of it. From what I’ve heard, it’s a great place to live.”
    “I like it.”
    “I wish I could afford to live there.”
    Although he grinned when he said it I suspected that wasn’t far from the truth. “Let me tell you why I came,” I said, not wanting to talk old folks’ talk. “I…I’m doing some checking into the murder of Elise Hoffman.”
    Tears welled up in Mr. Scott’s eyes. He said, “I’m sorry; I can’t help it. This happens to me, sometimes, usually for no reason. But I loved Elise like a daughter…or I guess a granddaughter would be more appropriate.”
    He found a handkerchief in the pocket of his flannel shirt, took off his glasses and dabbed at his eyes.
    I said, “I didn’t mean to bring back sad memories. It’s just that from something June told me I thought you might have seen Elise fairly often.”
    Mr. Scott regained control of his emotions and looked at me. He said, “Yes, Elise came to see me sometimes.”
    “Like maybe, in the evenings?”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Well, she had a job near here…”
    “Do you know what she did?”
    Taken by surprise, I said, “Yes.”
    “Well, I do too, so we might as well quit tiptoeing. Elise danced at Club Cavalier. She went by the name of the Shooting Star.”
    “So she told you?”
    “She practiced her routines here. With the wood floor and the high ceiling, this place was perfect. All I’m missing is a pole. I videotaped her so she could see how she looked. Would you like to see a tape?”
    “Uh…no, that’s okay.”
    “She was dressed, if that’s what you’re worried about. She usually practiced in a leotard.”
    “Well, hold on to the tapes. The police might want to see them.”
    “The police? I have nothing to say to the police.”
    “Is that why you haven’t contacted them?”
    “Look, Mrs….Lillian. I don’t know any of the people Elise knew. I have no idea who killed her. There is nothing I can tell the police that they don’t already know.”
    I didn’t want to make an enemy out of him. I said, “Uh, Frank, have you been following the story in the newspapers?”
    “Avidly. Although I have to use a magnifying glass to read it. As I said, Elise was like a granddaughter to me and I desperately want the killer brought to justice.”
    “Then you must know that until yesterday the newspapers were saying that Elise’s roommate, Donna, was the Shooting Star.”
    “But then again, you can’t believe everything you read in the paper. I figured the police knew more than they were giving out.”
    There was no point in trying to make him admit he’d made a mistake by not going to the police. I said, “You don’t live very far from Club Cavalier. Elise usually went somewhere between her shows there. I was wondering if there was any chance that she came here.”
    Frank smiled and asked, “Are you a detective?”
    “By accident, not by