We stepped onto the linoleum.

Four people sat around the kitchen island beside three empty wine bottles and a half-eaten charcuterie board.

In the living room past them, another five or six were sprawled across my late husband’s recliner and the sectional sofa.

Officer Vance took out his notebook again.

“Who shut off the music?”

A young man in a flannel shirt sitting at the counter slowly raised his hand.

“I did, man.