I did, too. But, as my mother would say, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

Once again I was shown to an interview room, but Corporal Fletcher was nowhere in sight. As I sat down, Detective Scott arrived, alone. He sat near me, at the corner of my side of the table.

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Cunningham." He pulled a pen and notebook from his pocket.

"You can call me Trish," I said.

He nodded and met my gaze with a slight smile. "Okay, Trish. How are you today?"

"Fine." I resisted the urge to twist my hands together in my lap.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked. "A drink?"

"No, thank you." I just wanted to get this over with.

"I'd like to ask you a few more questions, if I may." He tapped his pen on the table. "How well did you know Jim Bob Jenkins?"

I shrugged, glancing at the detective, then away. "He was the pharmacist at the store. His deceased wife used to be in the garden club with my mother."

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"So, how well did you know him?" Detective Scott's body was taut.

I shrugged again. "Like I said, he was the pharmacist at the store. I mean, how well do you get to know someone like that? Of course I did hear things from my mother about his wife. She died suddenly."

He nodded and leaned toward me. "Did you have contact with him recently?"

I ground my teeth for just a second, knowing Frank had told on me. Perhaps avoidance would work. "I know what's going on. You're wondering if I've forgotten to tell you anything else."

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Yes. Like, did you have any contact with Jim Bob recently?" Detective Scott's eyes bore into mine.

He wasn't going to let this go. I finally heaved a sigh. "Oh, all right. Obviously, Dudley Do-It-All-Right already talked to you. He's the biggest pain in the whole world. I thought maybe he'd changed, but no. Not at all." I put my elbows on the table. "I went to school with him, you know."

The detective's eyes had widened. "Dudley Do-It-All-Right?"

"Yes. Frank Gaines. We called him that in school after that perfect Canadian Mountie guy. Frank always thought he was so above everyone, and he's a tattletale of the worst kind. I beat him up in first grade. And then in third and sixth. He's had it in for me ever since."

"I see." Detective Scott coughed and shifted in his chair. "Let's get back to my question. Did you have contact with Jim Bob Jenkins lately?"

I glanced down at the table. The detective wasn't going to let me out of this. "Yes," I mumbled, rubbing my fingers on my knees.

"Where?" he asked.

"At the pharmacy." I met Detective Scott's gaze. "Jim Bob messed up Sammie's prescription. When I discovered the mistake, I was furious. He could kill her by being careless like that."

"And what did you say to him?" The detective's tone was mild, but his eyes were sharp, watching me like a bird of prey.

"I told him I was going to report him and get his license taken away."

"Mmm." He kept staring at me. "And then what happened?"

"We had a fight." I absolutely did not want to tell Detective Scott about my deep, dark secret.

"Can you tell me about that fight?" he asked.

I glanced at the table again. "Well, we sort of worked it all out after that."

"Worked it out?"

"He, uh, stopped arguing."

"He stopped arguing," Detective Scott repeated, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes. And Frank butted in and offered me a discount on my purchases. It was like he was protecting Jim Bob or something." I met Detective Scott's eyes defiantly. I refused to say anything about Jim Bob's threats until I knew if they had basis in fact.

"Is that all?" the detective asked.

"Well, I don't remember what I bought that day or anything." I crossed my arms. "Except that I should own stock in the store because I'm there so much. However, after this, Ia""

"Anything else you remember? Anything you want to tell me?"

I shook my head.

Detective Scott stared at me for a moment more, then shut his notebook, tucked it in his pocket, and stood.

"Well, that will be all for today. Thank you, Trish."

I felt off balance because he'd given up too easily. As I picked up my purse, I wondered why. He opened the door for me. As I walked out to the hall, I felt his eyes on my back.

"Trish?" he said behind me.

I turned. "Yes?"

"Is this yours?" He held my cell phone in his hand.

I glanced into my purse. No phone. "Yes."

As I took it from him, he met my eyes with a slight smile and assessing gaze. "I'll be in touch."

I involuntarily shivered. That sounded a great deal like a threat.

Max and I were standing at the front door in the process of a very nice good-bye. He looked devastatingly handsome in a navy pinstripe suit that always distracted me. I ran his lapel through my fingers and wished for one whole day alone together without disruptions or the guilt I now carried.

After he thoroughly kissed me, he leaned down and picked up his briefcase. "Dad'll be home from Florida in a few days. Today I'm going to finalize plans with the architect for the new facility outside Baltimore."

Max and his father had big plans for a self-storage empire, although that was only one of their many business ventures. The fact that my in-laws were returning soon wasn't good news.

"Honey?"

I glanced up.

He brushed hair from my face. "What are you doing this afternoon?"

Was he checking up on my activities? "Well, I don't intend to find another body, if that's what you're worried about."

He inhaled. "That's not what I meant."

I relented. Inner turmoil was making me snappy. "I'm sorry. Abbie's coming over, remember? Then I'll do some bookkeeping since I didn't get to work today."

Sammie arrived as he was leaving, and they had a little powwow, apparently discussing the possible addition of another hamster to our family. She and I ate lunch together, then I got her settled in the family room, feeling guilty that I was entertaining my child with television. I could only imagine what my mother would say about that. Seemed lately that my life was one huge guilt trip.

As I made coffee in preparation for Abbie's visit, her shadow appeared at the back door, and I waved her in.

"Hi, hon." She kissed my cheek and put a bag on the table. "Your mother says she never sees you anymore."

"She always says that." I pulled two mugs from the cupboard and placed them on the table.

Abbie laughed and slipped fluidly onto a chair, crossing her long legs at the ankles. The pink of her sweater shouldn't have looked good with her red hair, but on her, the effect was stunning. In her black jeans, she looked like one of the heroines in the novels she wrote. If I hadn't known her since kindergarten and loved her so much, I'd be rabidly jealous of her good looks.

"How is the book coming along?" I pulled the bag off the coffee cake. It smelled wonderful, as do all my mother's baked goods.

She laughed. "I'm at the point where my brain is fried. I needed a break."

"I can't wait to read it." I leaned against the counter. "Are you sure working at the health fair this Saturday won't be a problem for you?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. Another mental health respite. Besides, how could I break our yearly tradition?"

As I poured coffee, she watched me closely. "You okay? You look a little pale."

"Finding a body will do that." I put the carafe back on the coffeemaker and grabbed a knife from the drawer. The blade glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the kitchen windows. My mind flashed to Jim Bob's body. I put the knife on the table and shoved it toward Abbie. "How about you cut?"

She nodded and glanced at me with narrowed eyes. "Sit, Trish. You look like you're going to fall over."

I sat down and put my chin in my hands. She served both of us and then settled back in her chair. "Okay, tell me about what happened at the store."

I shook my head. I couldn't start there. I had to start earlier. "Do you remember that rash of road-sign thefts eight years ago?"

I jabbed my fork in the coffee cake, breaking it into pieces. She raised her eyebrows. "What does that have to do with anything, especially Jim Bob's murder?"

Unwanted tears sprang into my eyes. I dropped my fork and picked up a napkin. "He was threatening me, Abbie. He said that Russ was involved in those thefts, and he was going to tell Max and his family. That gives me motive to murder Jim Bob."

She put her fork down, too. "Why in the world?"

"Because Max's wife was killed at an intersection where a stop sign had been removed."

Chapter Four.

"Oh, Trish." Abbie stared at me with wide eyes.

"Remember that big fight I had with Jim Bob at the pharmacy a week ago?" I asked.

She nodded.

"I threatened to report him to whatever board supervises pharmacists. Frank intervened, but Jim Bob told me I shouldn't throw stones." I continued to poke at my coffee cake. "I figured he was just referring to my tendency for mishaps. Well, last Friday before Shirl got in the office, Jim Bob came by Four Oaks Self-Storage. That's when he told me about the stop sign. He said if I didn't give him free storage units he was going to tell Max and his family, plus get Russ kicked out of the Navy. Involuntary manslaughter or something like that." I glanced at Abbie. "I haven't told Max yet. I need to know for sure."

She frowned. "Why can't you ask Russ?"

"Boot camp, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." She sighed. "Okay, well, do you think Russ was involved?"

"I have no idea. But I do remember when I was watching him pack I saw what could have been sheet-covered road signs in his closet." I bunched up my napkin. "You know this makes me look guilty in the cops' eyes."

She tucked her hair behind her ears. "Perhaps."

"I have a feeling that Detective Eric Scott suspects something."

She sat up straight. "So he's the lead investigator?"

I nodded. "Yeah. And this morning, I was down in the interview room for the second time. I think he knows."

Her gaze met mine. "You didn't tell him?"

I took a sip of coffee then set the cup down hard. "I sort of hoped that with Jim Bob dead no one would ever have to know."

She gazed at me with one delicate eyebrow raised. "So you're saying if they find Jim Bob's murderer today you're going to keep this a secret the rest of your life? Even from Max, and even if it's true?" She paused and tapped a finger on the table. "And if they don't find his murderer right away and you're somehow implicated in all of this, then the secret's out. Russ could be yanked out of the Navy, charged with Lindsey's death, and Max will feel like you betrayed him."

Put that way, it all sounded horrible. Was that what I was saying? Could I not tell Max for the rest of my life? And if he did find out before I told him. . .I mashed a piece of coffee cake into my plate with my fingertip. "I guess I'm just scared. Sometimes it's hard enough living with what feels like the ghost of a first wife and the kids' real mother. Being a stepmom is one of the hardest things I've ever done. But you're right. I'm not thinking clearly at all. I don't know what to do."

She leaned across the table. "Come on, Trish, it's not like you to be so helpless and obtuse."

Her words felt like a slap. I glared at her. "What exactly does that mean?"

She smiled serenely and leaned back in her chair. I could see cogs turning in her brain. "Seems to me you'd want to find out what you can yourself. And remember, if Jim Bob knew, then he had to have heard it from someone else. Besides, Eric isn't going to let up."

I hadn't thought about it all quite like that. Then I realized she'd used the detective's first name. "You know Detective Scott?"

"Know him?" She shrugged and glanced out the window. "He's the person I ended up with as a writing consultant at the sheriff's office. The other guy who was helping me retired and sent me Eric's way. Ironically, he doesn't seem to like my books."