I muttered to myself as my beeper went off. My double shift was almost over and I was drinking my sixth cup of coffee at the all night coffee shop down the street from the station to try and to stay awake. My beeper going off meant one thing and one thing only; someone had been killed and I was needed. Normally, one of the other detectives would have gotten the call, but with a name like Maria Honduras, I was the only non-Irish detective on the small force here in Gallaway, MA. All of the other detectives were off duty, happily celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. I picked up my cell phone and called the station to get the details. Nancy Zinkham had been found murdered in her dressing room at the theatre that evening. I was off at once.