Max fixed her with a level stare. "Go anyway."

As the kids trooped from the kitchen, I met Max's gaze. He closed the distance between us before I could blink, reached for my hands, and lifted me to my feet, enclosing me in a hug. The lingering crisp scent of the aftershave he'd put on that morning smelled good. For a moment, I tried to forget everything but the feel of his body against mine and his arms wrapped tightly around me.

"There is something to be said for the old days when a man could lock his wife away for safekeeping," he murmured in my hair.

"Very funny," I said into his shirt.

"I brought you something." He backed up, smiled, and went back to the counter for the bag, pulled out a little box, and handed it to me with a kiss. "I was saving this for Easter, but I know this was a hard day, so I want you to have it now."

I opened the box and found a tiny gold cross on a braided gold chain. "Oh, Max, it's beautiful." I blinked back tears.

"It's to remind you of our first date."

We had our first date after church on Easter Sunday.

"Thank you, honey," I whispered. I pulled the delicate necklace from the box, thinking how much I didn't deserve the gift.

He helped me put it on. I turned around so he could see it. Then I looked up at him.

Worry creased the brows above his green eyes. "I sent all the kids away so we could talk. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes." I tried to ignore the feeling of apprehension in my stomach. Now that Jim Bob was dead, did I really have to say anything? Perhaps the past could stay in the past. I wrapped my arms around Max again and lifted my face. He kissed me, an activity that I usually enjoy more than just about anything else in the world. I almost succeeded in forgetting my day until I heard a gagging sound.

"Eeeww. Come on, you guys. Stop it."

Max and I reluctantly parted lips and turned. Charlie stood framed in the kitchen doorway, red hair stuck out at odd angles, and he had a fierce scowl on his face.

He stalked over to stand in front of us. "Why didn't you tell me about the grocery store? Mike just told me on the phone. This is important."

Max knelt in front of Charlie. "We're not going to talk about it right now. Go with your brother and sisters and pick up the pizza. We'll discuss it later."

"But, Dada""

Max stood. "Please."

Charlie's cheeks puffed up with all the words he wanted to say. Then he whirled on his heels and left the room.

My husband watched the doorway until he heard the front door slam. "Good. They're gone." He turned to me and studied my face. "You want to tell me about today?"

"Not really. I don't feel like talking about it." I had a feeling Max wanted to do more than listen. He probably had a few things he wanted to say, as well. I braced myself for his comments, which would be something along the line of "Why can't you stay out of trouble for one week?"

He shook his head. "You're sure? It's not like you not to talk."

How well he knew mea"but I kept my lips zipped and nodded.

He sighed. "Of all the people in Four Oaks, why were you the one to find a body? In the milk case of all places?"

I'd been right. I stuck my chin in the air. "I didn't do it on purpose. And don't remind me of the milk case. I'll never be able to look at dairy products the same again."

"I'm sorry," he said.

I crossed my arms. "Well, at least I didn't get hurt. It's not as bad as when I tried to hog-tie that calf to prove I could, and then it kicked me. Or when I sprained my wrist skateboarding with Charlie, or the time I went rock climbing with Tommy and got stuck. Or. . ."

"Trish, honey," Max said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Please don't remind me. I worry about you as much as I worry about the kids."

I sighed in exasperation. "This isn't the same. It was someone else who got hurt." I paused. "Well, killed."

"You found him," he said.

"So you keep reminding me. Don't worry. It's over." I hoped.

He rubbed his temple. "Well, at least your part in this should be over, except that you might have to eventually go to trial or something to testify about what you saw. You should like that." He grinned slightly. He knows how much I enjoy drama and yelling.

But this time, I wasn't excited. I glanced at the floor. "Well, a trial could be fun." As long as I was a witness and not the accused.

He put his hands on my arms. "Baby, are you okay? You're not acting right."

"Yes." I wasn't quite truthful. Even the use of my pet name wasn't enough to make me feel better.

"Trish?" His concern was so evident in his furrowed forehead that I hugged him.

"Don't worry," I whispered in his ear. "It'll be okay. All's well that ends well. That's what my mother says."

"I hope so." He pulled me close. "I really, really hope so."

I did, too.

Chapter Three.

I woke to light shining brightly through the white miniblinds on the windows. Max's side of the bed was empty. I looked at the clock. Eight in the morning. I never sleep that late.

I flung myself from the bed and ran to the bathroom. My stomach felt queasy. I hoped it was nerves and not the stomach bug from the store employees. I brushed my teeth and jerked on my fuzzy purple robe and matching slippers. Then I yanked the bedroom door open and hurled myself down the hallwaya"straight into Max.

He grabbed my shoulders to keep me from bouncing backwards. "Hey! Take it easy."

"Why did you let me oversleep?" I gasped, frantically trying to get loose. "What about the children?"

"All taken care of," he said.

"Breakfast?" I stopped struggling, breathing heavily.

Max loosened his grip. "Fixed and finished."

"Car pool?" My heartbeat slowed.

"Took care of it. Honey, relax. Everything's under control. You needed the sleep."

I took a deep breath and tried to think of all the things I knew I had to remember. "Four Oaks Self-Storage?"

"We both took the morning off. I told you, everything's under control." He rubbed his hands up and down my arms. "You want something to eat?" He linked my arm in his and walked me downstairs to the kitchen.

"Okay." I wouldn't argue, although I didn't feel like eating. But I did want to read the paper. I wanted to see if my picture was in there and to make sure nothing had been said to incriminate me.

He went to the refrigerator. "Eggs?"

"No, thanks." I looked around for the newspaper. "My stomach feels weird this morning. How about toast and jelly?"

A note lay on the table next to the cordless phone. Abbie and George called and Grandmom got a letter from Uncle Russ were written in different scrawls.

I held it up. "What's all this?"

"Phone calls. Russ wrote his first letter from boot camp."

My little brother, in the Navy now. And inaccessible for weeks.

Max grabbed the bread from the bread box. "Abbie said she's coming over this afternoon. She's bringing coffee cake from your mother's shop."

My mother's coffee cake was famous, just like her doughnuts, and for good reason. And my heart warmed with pleasure at the thought of visiting with my best friend.

Max put bread in the toaster. "You sure this is all you want?"

"Yep." The morning paper lay folded on the chair where Max had been sitting. I reached over, grabbed it, and shook it open.

"I wish you wouldn't read that right now." Max was getting jelly from the refrigerator.

"I want to see if my name's in the paper," I mumbled.

The paper didn't have a picture of me, but there was a lengthy article about Jim Bob's murder. I had just begun to scan that when Max snatched it out from under me and placed my food on the table. I hadn't even seen him coming.

"Hey, you pushy man." I tried to grab it back.

"Pushy and overprotective. That's me." He grinned as he folded it and tucked it under his arm. "Maybe I am, but would you mind eating first? And would you consider reining in your inquisitive mind and just leaving the whole mess behind you?"

If only he knew I couldn't. But before I could accuse him of chronic bossiness, as well as chauvinism, the phone rang.

I grabbed it. "Hello?"

"Mrs. C? This is Shirl."

Shirl managed the office at Four Oaks Self-Storage. She's so good at her job she never calls us at home unless something has happened.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"That gate program isn't working again. People can't use their codes to get in. That kid Kevin who works on the weekends was having trouble, too."

I glanced at my husband, who still held the paper under his arm. "You need to talk to Max."

Smiling inwardly, I shoved the phone into Max's hand. "It's Shirl." Then I snatched the paper from him.

As I smoothed it on the table, his voice rumbled in the background. I heard him say, "Just leave the gate open for now. I need to buy a new program anyway. Thank you for calling. Listen, I've got another call beeping in."

The article didn't say any more than I already knew. That was good as far as I was concerned.

The sound of Max's voice stopped. He put the phone on the table. I looked up. He was staring at me with a frown.

"What?" I asked.

"That was Eric Scott. He needs to talk to you."

I felt my heart sink to my toes, but I couldn't avoid Max's gaze. "What does he want?"

"For you to go to the sheriff's office for an interview." Max crossed his arms. "In an hour."

I glanced at the clock, feeling the weight of shame press in on me. I might not be guilty of anything as heinous as murder, but I was certainly guilty of keeping secrets.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Max murmured as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Me, too, and guilt made me irritable. I folded the paper and slapped it on the table. "I didn't find Jim Bob in the milk case on purpose."

"I know that, honey," Max said.

"And I didn't do it to embarrass your mother." Her kind didn't shop at the Shopper's Super Saver. Fortunately, my hoity-toity in-laws had just come back from a cruise the night before. Now they were in Florida and weren't likely to hear by phone about how their hayseed daughter-in-law was in trouble again, until at least after brunch when their equally hoity-toity friends would have finished the morning papera"I hoped.

He took a couple of deep breaths. "I could care less what my mother thinks. I'm worried about you. You're so impetuous I don't know what you're going to do next."

Technically that was true, but I didn't want to admit it. "So then, it's not a big problem, right?"

"Your impulsiveness or the murder?" he asked.

"The murder," I grumbled. "I understand exactly how you feel about the other issue."

He walked over and kissed my forehead. "No, I don't think you do. One of the reasons I love you so much is your impulsive nature. For a control freak like me, it's a breath of fresh air. However, it's also frightening, especially now when there's a dead body involved."

"But finding Jim Bob Jenkins wasn't anything impulsive on my part," I said. "I didn't put him there."

"I know, I know. I just wish you weren't involved in all this." Max sighed again. "Your toast is cold. I'll make you more while you get ready to go. Then I'll drive you down there. You can eat on the way. I hope this is the last we hear about Jim Bob's murder except in the news.