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drink on a coaster.
    â€œHere you go, Jerome.” Benny smiled at the older man and sauntered back to the bar.
    Jerome took a long swallow. He looked frazzled.
    â€œTough day in show business?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s Walter. He’s been on everybody’s case. Especially mine.”
    â€œHe’s probably just anxious about auditions next week. Shakespeare. . . you know?”
    â€œMaybe, but I think there’s something going on.”
    â€œOh?”
    Jerome lowered his voice. “Money’s been disappearing from the safe.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œWhenever I’ve been in the safe, I leave an accounting of what I take out for petty cash for the costume shop or whatever. Lately there’ve been some . . . irregularities.”
    I knew about the business practices at the ELT from Lola. My Accounting 101 professor would have yanked the few stray hairs on his head out by the roots. Walter kept Post-its scattered around his desk with notes on bank deposits and withdrawals and the petty cash account in the safe. I had hinted to Lola more than once that Walter needed to keep a better eye on the financial status of the theater. She agreed, but said Walter was testy about management suggestions. He liked to run all aspects of the show his way.
    My management mind was racing to create a to-do list for Jerome: talk to theater folks to see if anyone else was in the safe; check all of the Post-it notes for an accounting error; confirm who had keys to the theater and knew the combination to the safe.
    â€œHave you approached him with it?”
    Jerome nodded. “In a roundabout way.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œHe said that I was the one responsible for petty cash accounting.”
    â€œIs he accusing you of stealing from the theater? He can’t think you would do such a thing. What are we talking here, fifty bucks? A hundred?”
    Jerome emptied his glass and returned it carefully to the coaster. “More. Lots more.”
    â€œLike how much more?” I asked carefully.
    â€œOver the past month or so, more like a thousand.”
    My jaw hung loosely on its hinge, my mouth forming an O. “In cash?”
    Jerome nodded.
    â€œNo wonder Walter’s on edge. Did he call the police?”
    â€œI told him he should, but he just waved me away.” Jerome took a swipe at the air in imitation of Walter’s dismissive gesture.
    Funny that Lola hadn’t mentioned anything about this. Did she know? It seemed that she and Walter were getting closer these days, but maybe—
    â€œDon’t tell anyone I told you, okay? Walter is short-tempered enough, and I wouldn’t want to aggravate him further.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    â€œTake care, Dodie,” Jerome said and saluted. It was his standard way of saying good-night.
    â€œâ€™Night, Jerome. And don’t let this get you down. I’m sure it will all work out.”
    I knew better than that. Walter was a smooth operator in front of an audience or when hosting post-show wine and cheese parties. But I’d had occasion to see his wrath in full bloom when the dinner-then-theater program hit a few bumps. There were two sides to his personality.
    A thousand dollars, I mused. Walter was the one having some post-marital financial difficulties at the moment.
    â€œGo home. I’ll finish up,” I called to Benny, who was about to take a wet mop to the tile floor. He nodded with appreciation. Benny had a four-year-old daughter, a working wife, and a mortgage. Besides waiting tables at the Windjammer, he drove a UPS delivery truck part-time and always looked tired.
    â€œThanks.” He practically ran out the door.
    * * *
    By eleven-thirty, I had shooed Henry out the door, too. I could close up more efficiently by myself; straightening up the dining room, closing out the register, doing a last bar inventory and freezer check to see what needed to be ordered for the weekend. Henry had