“Every show, he was there. Apparently he sat somewhere different every night. My spy quotes him telling the girl, ‘It excites me to see you escape such a small space, Mrs. Trent, from every angle.’” Mrs. LaBelle smiled hard in thought at her unfaithful husband’s words. With a breath of disgust she put a cigarette between her ruby lips and lit it in all the same motion.

“I knew all about the affair. I didn’t nag him about it, just asked for an allowance increase. And prayed for the leather clad tramp to fall to the fate of one of her traps.” The smoke she stole from the cigarette leaked from her mouth and nose slowly. I wondered if she knew the slivers of smoke didn’t hide her age but rather caressed her wrinkles. “But it wasn’t me.”

One moment you think you’re sentenced to suburbia where nothing happens and you complain. The next moment, your average Joe LaBelle is charged with murder. As his neighbor, you feel compelled to help with the case.

I guess making a citizen’s arrest is on my list.