Tom got to work that afternoon in time to see Detective Daniels shaking hands with Brian. To save time, they agreed to meet at Tonino’s Place, a cramped pizza joint where conversations carried to all corners, those corners visible from the kitchen hole where orders sat limp under lurid heat lamps.

Daniels followed Brian’s gaze until his eyes landed on Tom walking to their table. Tom felt the acutely uncomfortable sensation of multiple eyes on him.

“Mr. Hooper,” Daniels called as Brian walked behind the counter, eyeing Tom.

Tom reached the table and shook the detective’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, sitting down.

“Sure. So, what can you tell me about the deceased, Deborah Bollinger?”

“She’s dead,” Tom said dryly.

“Tom, relax,” Daniels replied with a disarming smile. Tom didn’d fail to notice that Daniels’ eyes didn’t smile with his mouth. “My interest in you is strictly as a potential witness. You seem like a good kid, I don’t see any reason why you can’t help us wrap this up.”

“He’s right, relax. No one would suspect you of this,” Tom thought and said, “Of course, I’m happy to help in any way. What would you like to know?”

“How about my first question?” Daniels said.

“Right. Well, I really didn’t know her. I delivered to her every so often. She tipped OK. She’s a, was a,” he corrected, “a fan of Tonino’s, I guess.”

“Your pal Brian said you delivered to her Saturday night, the night she died?”

Tom glanced at Brian, who was watching the conversation. He turned quickly and pretended to clean the counter. When Tom looked back at Daniels he noticed the detective had produced a small notebook. “That’s right, Saturday night.”

“Take notes if you need to,” he thought.

Daniels nodded,  then scribbled in his book and said, “And did you notice anyone hanging around the property? Someone who looked like they didn’t belong, maybe?”

“Someone who looked like they didn’t belong?” Tom weighed the question. “No, no, can’t say I did. I was only there for a minute.”

“Mhm, and in that minute did you murder Deborah Bollinger?” Daniels asked without looking up from his notebook.

“Is he screwing with me?” Tom thought. He wanted to find out, but Daniels’ phone began to buzz. The detective looked annoyed as he pulled it off his belt. He put a finger up to Tom to say one minute and answered. “I’m working,” he started, but his eyes went wide as he listened. “Did she have her albuterol? Well why not?” His temper flared momentarily. “No, I’m not far. Leaving now.”

“Everything ok, detective?” Tom enjoyed a chance to ask the questions.

Daniels stared at him for a long moment, smiled and said, “My kid.” He stood to leave. “We’ll be in touch.”

Tom returned the smile and thought, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He felt eyes on him from the kitchen. His boss Nick was peering at him over steaming plates. “You’re on the clock.”