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"Who would want to kill a mandolinist?" Detective McPherson's second question hung in the air of the Mozart Room, formerly occupied by the recently deceased musician. After a pause, he continued, "That sounds like either a loaded question or a set-up in search of a punch line."

"Mack!" Polly gave Mack a worried look, then glanced toward the hall. Ethel Collins, the owner of the B & B was still being consoled by her housekeeper. Miss Collins may not have heard the comment, but Minnie was keeping an ear their way. Mack turned away from the door and lowered his voice. "Sorry, but, considering the circumstances, it is a valid question."

"Yes, Mac, I know," she whispered, "I'm just trying to think of the punch line."

"Polly, you're horrible!" Mack said, as he huddled with her by the window, as far away from the door as they could get. "Now, seriously. Tell me what you know."

"OK. Someone here is very familiar with one of the guests from the third floor."

"Who?"

With a slight tilt of her head, Polly indicated Minnie. "She was right outside my room. After she sent Johnny to the basement for the clean towels, I heard them talking. She told him not to miss his opportunity to . . ."

"Now, just a minute!" Minnie broke in. She had stopped soothing Ethel and was walking into the room, glaring at them. "Are you accusing me of something? Just because I happen to have a friend staying here, doesn't mean I had anything to do with that man dying!"

Mack held up his hand. "Now, calm down, no one is accusing you of anything. But maybe you had better tell us what you know. Who is this friend?"

"It's just my boyfriend, Bernie."

Ethel stopped crying long enough to say, "Bernie Bredelow is your boyfriend? But he just checked in today!"

"Yes, but I've known him a long time. I got him the room next to the one reserved for the head of the Richards Recording Company."

Mack jotted down a note on a small notepad as he asked, "Why?"

"To help get Bernie a recording contract."

"He plays the mandolin too?"

Minnie shook her head, "Of course not! He plays the banjo."

"Professionally?'

"Not yet, but as soon as Mr. Richards signs him, he can give up selling pesticides and be a full time, professional musician!"

Mack made another note. "And where is this Bernie now?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since . . . " Minnie stopped and looked at Polly.

Mack understood and continued his questioning. "So you did speak with him on this floor earlier today. What was he doing here?"

Polly joined in, "and why did you send Johnny to the basement? Were you afraid he'd see Bernie?"

"No. That was just a coincidence. Bernie just . . wanted to see me."

"I'm sorry, Minnie, but that's not what it sounded like to me. You knew he was up to something, and . . ."

Bernie suddenly appeared at the door of the Mozart room. "What's going on?"

Polly said, "Maybe you can tell us. Where have you been?"

"I been in my overpriced room all afternoon, miss nosy."

"Excuse me," said Mack. "I am Detective McPherson. We're trying to get a clear picture of what went on today. You were in your room all afternoon?"

Minnie took a breath and looked at her feet. "Yeah. Waiting for that record producer, who never showed up yet."

"Oh, Bernie, . . .she heard us in the hall!"

Bernie looked in amazement at Minnie. "You fool, what are you saying?"

Mack explained, "What she is saying, is that you are lying. We know that you were on this floor today. You were heard talking with Minnie."

"And that's not all that was heard," added Polly. "After Ethel called Minnie downstairs, you waited for Mr. Tremolorio to leave his room. While

he was freshening up, you slipped into his room. That must have been when you put the capsule inside his mandolin."

Ethel, amazed at what she was hearing, said, "what capsule?"

"The one Polly and I saw inside Mr. Tremolorio's mandolin when we looked in the case," explained Mack. "We think it contained a poison gas. . ."

Polly added, ". . . a gas that would somehow be released when he started playing . . ."

Ethel spoke up, " the vibrations!"

"Of course!" Polly understood.

Bernie fumed, "You think you are so smart. Even if you're right, you don't have any proof."

"Hey!" the excited voice of young Johnny Jacobson alerted the crowd to his presence. "I think there's some proof in the basement! I saw a bunch of bottles down there with a skull and crossbones on them. . . I didn't touch them, though!"

"Good snooping, son. We'll have them dusted for prints, and I can guess whose will be on them," said the detective as he grabbed hold of Bernie Bredelow. "Let's go."

"Wait!" Minnie cried out. "Why, Bernie, why did you do it?"

"I did it for you, Minnie! You wanted me to be some big shot musician.

But I never could have impressed that record producer and gotten a contract . . . not if he heard that mandolin player first."

As Mack led Bernie down the stairs, with Polly close behind, he whispered to her, "Now we know the answer. Who would want to kill a mandolinist?"

Polly whispered back, "A banjo player, of course!"

THE END