32When I pulled up in front of Polka Central, there was nowhere to park. The street was lined with cars on both sides, expensive models and economy cars wedged bumper to bumper along the curbs.
I had to drive around the corner and pull in half a block away. As I walked back to the building, a TV truck from the local station, WNKK, rolled slowly past. A cameraman with shaggy black hair and beard was at the wheel, and a cute brunette reporter in a dressy blue jacket sat beside him. She looked right at me and said something to the cameraman as they passed.
The front door of Polka Central was wide open. I could hear voices inside as I approached.
Just as I reached the front steps, Glynne slipped through the doorway, looking over her shoulder. When she faced forward, she saw me waiting
