"Hello, Mrs. Cunningham. Please have a seat. Did Corporal Fletcher offer you something to drink?"

"Yes. I don't want anything, thank you."

He nodded at the corporal, who shut the door, leaving me alone with the detective. He motioned for me to sit in a chair.

As he sat opposite me, I pulled my notebook from my bag. "I have some thoughts for you." I flipped to the first page and ran my finger down my list. "I've been investigating."

"What?" he demanded.

I glanced up at him, meeting his frowning gaze. "I said I've been investigating. I've gathered some information for you."

His silence told me a lot. I'd startled him. That was good. I wanted to keep him off balance for a change.

"Well, I've jotted down some things that I've heard. Like, did you know that Jim Bob Jenkins was a blackmailer? He tried to blackmail George." I put the steno pad on the table and tapped it with my index finger. "And Daryl Boyd was supposedly sleeping with Stefanie. She was out for money, you know. At least that's the theory."

Detective Scott leaned toward me. "Mrs. Cunningham, you can't investigate thisa""

I waved a hand in the air. "Call me Trish, please. And I'm only collecting information to give to you. You're the detective."

His lips narrowed. "This is a murder investigation."

"Yes. I know. I'm the one who found Jim Bob, which makes me a suspect, too. I don't want to be a suspect, so I'm collecting information."

"No one is accusing you of anything," he pronounced. Again.

I snorted. "This is the third time I've been here, Detective. Max is worried. He wants to get me a lawyer." I picked up my pad of paper and brandished it like a fan. "As I see it, there aren't too many people who could be the killers." I frowned. "Except if a perfect stranger came in through the side door. Do you think that Jim Bob and Daryl left the side door open?"

I glanced at Detective Scott out of the corner of my eyes.

He leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on the table slowly. It sounded like a second hand on a clock. "Trish, when did you last speak to Jim Bob Jenkins?"

I dropped the notebook on the table. "Well, I talked to him at the Shopper's Super Saver. And you know what? As far as I can tell, there are three main suspects. Besides me, of coursea""

"Was that the last time you spoke to him?" Detective Scott's voice was low and insistent. Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The sound of his pen was worse than water torture. A suspect would talk just to get him to stop doing that.

I flipped the paper in my notebook. "Well, I told you that I saw him in the parking lot at the grocery store anda""

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Trish, where did you last speak to Jim Bob Jenkins?"

Abbie was right. Detective Scott was not distractible. I finally met his gaze. He knew. The fact that Corporal Fletcher called me Mrs. C. was my first clue. He'd probably done it on purpose to let me know they'd been to Four Oaks Self-Storage to investigate. We had cameras that recorded the office and grounds twenty-four hours a day. Not sound, just pictures. The police could have easily viewed those. If I lied, things would be much worse for me than they already were.

I bowed my head and felt tears prickling in my eyes. "Last Friday," I whispered.

I heard his breath escape in a tiny sigh as though he'd been holding it, waiting for me to tell him the truth. He put the pen down. "Can you tell me about that?"

His voice was gentle, and that was worse than anything else. Tears spilled over my lower eyelids. I swiped hard at them. I hate crying. I'd rather fight.

"Do I have to?" I sniveled and fought for control.

"It would be best if you did," he said.

"Confession is good for the soul" is a platitude that my mother used when I was young to make me tell her all the things I'd done wrong. It lost its meaning early in my life because I realized that she would use my confessions against me at some point in the future. However, in the case of me and Detective Scott, the saying held true to a degree. After spilling my guts to him, I felt a small sense of relief. Maybe that was simply because I no longer feared that deputies would show up at my door to arrest me. At least not right now. I was sure I was still on the suspect list, but telling the truth goes a long way.

So, it was with a semilighter heart that I rushed into the school auditorium on Saturday morning, trailed by Max and Tommy, who carried my stuff in boxes. That I would be in charge of a healthy-heart booth at a health fair was a little ironic, considering my mother made a living selling heart attacks. That's probably why I allowed myself to be coerced into doing it. To be fair, people needed to be warned of the dangers of consuming too much fat. Then, fairly warned, they could eat doughnuts, and I wouldn't have to feel vicariously guilty.

Max and Tommy left everything at my table and took off. Abbie was already there, dressed in an ivory pantsuit, talking with the principal of the school, Peggy Nichols, my brother's onetime girlfriend. They both turned when we arrived and greeted us. Then a bald custodian walked by. He looked like the man I'd seen at the baseball game.

"Who is that?" I asked, pointing in his direction.

"Peter Ramsey, the custodian," Peggy said. "Will you excuse me, please? I need to speak with him."

Maybe that explained his attendance at the game. Sometimes school custodians hired out to help at other functions.

"Hi, Abs," I said as I placed a box on a battered particleboard table.

"Hi, hon."

I covered the table with a pretty cloth, then Abbie and I quickly set up everything else. I glanced around the room. During the week, it served as a cafeteria. Beige-painted, cinder-block walls were the backdrop for the event. More tables filled the room this year, but I couldn't figure out which were the new ones. Although the event was called a health fair, it had evolved into much more than that. Now, in addition to the local dentist, doctor, and hospital, the sheriff's department had a table, as well as other community organizations.

As people began to arrive, Abbie sat on one stool, while I perched on the other. We surreptitiously ate doughnuts, which she'd picked up from Ma's.

"Detective Scott knows about Jim Bob, me, and Russ," I said through a mouthful of glazed doughnut. "He knew before I told him."

Abbie nodded. "That doesn't surprise me."

"He promised he would look into Lindsey's death for me. Maybe it was solved or something and Jim Bob was just using it to try to get free storage. Then he told me I have to talk to Max."

"Good. So when are you going to talk to Max?"

I bit my lip and sighed. "Well, today is shot. He's going shopping with Sammie and Charlie tonight. Sammie's getting a new hamster. I want the timing to be perfect. No chance for interruptions. Tomorrow we're eating dinner at my folks, so I'm thinking that I'll leave the little kids there, and Max and I can go out tomorrow night."

"That sounds like a good plan," she said. Then she frowned. "Frank is here. With his kids."

I followed her gaze. He was at one of the other tables. "His kids go to school here. I guess he decided not to hide out in shame. Maybe he's not guilty."

"Well, his wife kicked him out, and he's living with his parents. He's no longer employed at Shopper's Super Saver. He probably doesn't have anything else to do."

I felt a tug of sympathy for Frank. "How do you know all this stuff, Abs? You're like a walking encyclopedia of Four Oaks."

She winked. "I make it my business to know things. And I suspect Jim Bob was also hassling Peggy Nichols."

"Why?"

"Because earlier I expressed my concern that we had a murderer loose in Four Oaks. She snarled and said lots of people had reason to see Jim Bob dead, and then she clammed up."

Abbie's gaze lifted over my head, and her face grew tight. I turned and saw Detective Scott approaching the table.

"Why are you here?" I asked rudely. I'd never seen him in a uniform. Usually he wore a suit, and I found the change a bit intimidating.

"I'm taking my turn at the Sheriff's Department table." He didn't seem to take offense at my tone. "We're fingerprinting little kids." His eyes flickered over Abbie.

"Eric," she said coolly.

He nodded then looked at me. "Trish, may I have a word with you for just a moment?" I felt my stomach lurch.

"Go ahead," Abbie said. "I'll man the table."

"Thanks a lot," I mouthed to her.

Detective Scott walked me out of the auditorium and into the hallway. I imagined how this would play out later with Rumors 'R Us. We stopped in front of the school office. An appropriate location, since it's where the principal's office was, and the way he took me out of the auditorium reminded me of all the times I'd been yanked out of class when I was young and in trouble.

I looked up at him. "Are you going to arrest me now?" He shook his head. "If I were going to arrest you, I wouldn't politely walk you from the room." He paused. "I looked into Lindsey's death. The case is still open."

I felt like throwing up. "What does that mean?"

He took a deep breath. "Whoever took that sign is probably guilty of involuntary manslaughter. There's no statute of limitations on that, I'm afraid."

I swallowed. "So Russ could be arrested?"

Detective Scott shrugged. "If he's guilty. But we don't know that. Yet. I'm looking into anything that has to do with Jim Bob Jenkins and his murder." The detective paused and gazed down at me. I thought I saw some concern there. "Trish, you need to tell Max about your brother. And just as important, stay away from the murder investigation. Someone is playing for keeps."

"Does that mean I'm not a suspect?"

His expression turned blank. "I told you, you're not accused of anything. You'll know if I change my mind."

Tommy came to help clean up, then he would take me home. He, Abbie, and I carted stuff back and forth until everything was packed in the car. A group of deputies walked by, along with Detective Scott. He saluted me.

"You ready to go, Mom?" Tommy asked.

"Just about. I need to run to the bathroom real fast." I glanced at Abbie. "Thanks for helping, Abs."

"I had a good time, as usual," she said.

After she hugged me, she walked to her red Mustang, passing right by Detective Scott. She acknowledged him with a slight dip of her head and kept walking with a stiff back. He watched until she climbed into her car.

"Mom?" My son's voice pulled me from my observations. "You going to the ladies' room?"

I turned and smiled at him. "Yeah. I'll be right back."

The halls were empty when I ran into the bathroom. I used the facilities and freshened my lipstick. Then I charged back out into the hallway.

"Looking for more bodies?" I skidded to a stop and turned around. Frank stood there, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

I crossed my arms and glared at him. "That's a horrible thing to say. Why are you here?"

"To talk to you." He stared down at me, jingling change in his pocket. "Did you tell the cops about the knife?"

"What? You mean the one in Jim Bob? Of course." I stared at him. Why was he asking this?

"Did it look like a meat cutter's knife?" he asked.

"Come on, Frank. I have no idea what a meat cutter's knife looks like. Now, I'm tired of talking." I turned to leave.

"You talk enough to the cops." He said the words softly, but I sensed terrible anger in the tone.

I whirled around to face him again. "Can I help it if they keep asking me questions?"

Briefly, I felt like we were kids in grade school again, fighting on the playground. The lights flickered and went off. I heard voices in the distance, then they stopped. The only illumination came from windows in the classrooms. The twilight-like atmosphere heightened my senses. I smelled chalk and floor wax. The dim hallway loomed in both directions like an endless tunnel going nowhere. Frank's rapid breathing and the beating of my heart matched paces. I no longer felt like a kid.

I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. Frank stood at attention and backed up. I turned around. My stepson was trotting down the hall.

"Mom? Is everything okay?" he asked.

My breath whooshed out in relief. "Yes. Everything is fine." Now.

Frank said nothing, just walked past us and hurried away. I linked my arm in Tommy's as we walked down the hall. Frank had made me feel cold. I needed the comfort of human touch.

Tommy glanced down at me. "I was worried because Dad said you haven't been feeling well."

"Thank you. I'm glad you came."

We reached the foyer, and I welcomed the sunlight.

"That was Frank, right?" Tommy asked.

I nodded.

He opened the door and waited for me to pass by. "He was putting off some seriously bad vibes, Mom."

That had occurred to me, too. "I think he blames me for his problems. He's just looking for a scapegoat."

Tommy glanced at me. "If he thinks everything is your fault, he's an idiot."

I'd always thought so, despite trying hard not to. I'd just never seen his creepy side.

Chapter Ten.