Who could not like Abbie's books? "Maybe he just doesn't like to read."

"Who knows? But he's nothing if not persistent." She nibbled on a piece of coffee cake and then put her fork down, meeting my gaze with a grin. "Do you remember when we were in sixth grade and decided we were going to be the Hardy Boysa"only we were girls?"

I nodded. We'd called ourselves the Hardier Girls and ordered fingerprint powder and other detective stuff from mail-order places. We spent that summer following people around, looking for crimes. My mother finally banned the two of us from using the powder in the house because it was so messy.

I frowned. "So you're saying I need to investigate?"

"You have to tell Max, Trisha"sooner than later. But it would be nice if you knew the facts. We need to look into this further. Find some answers."

"You know what?" I sat up straight. "Maybe I could find out who killed Jim Bob. Then Detective Scott would leave me and my family alone."

One corner of her mouth turned up. "That's my girl. Tell you what. I'll go to the library, look through old newspapers, and see what the articles say about Lindsey's accident. I have to go there anyway."

I nodded. Abbie took another bite of coffee cake. I didn't feel well, so I left mine uneaten.

"Because I'm on a deadline, I can't help much, but this is a good plan. It'll take your mind off things and give me satisfaction."

"Satisfaction?" I asked.

"Yes." She smiled but didn't explain.

I had a feeling she wanted to one-up Detective Scott. That was fine with me, for two reasons. First, he annoyed me, too. Second, turnabout was fair play. She helped me. I could help her. My mind was already formulating ideas. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" She held out her index finger.

I held out mine, and we touched the tips.

Our old sign of friendship. When we were little, we'd pricked our fingers, made them bleed, and held them together. Blood sisters.

"Here's to crime solving," she said.

"Yes." I felt a stirring inside me. "Here's to crime solving."

After Abbie left, my three oldest children came home, leaving me no time to think. Charlie grunted at me as he ran through the kitchen to the family room.

Tommy kissed my cheek as he passed through. "Hey, Mom. I'm working this evening, so I won't be here for dinner. Dad knows."

"Okay." I looked at Karen. "How was school?"

"Fine." She opened the refrigerator. "I'm going over to Julie's in a while. Tommy's taking me on his way to work."

She was spending a lot of time at the Snyders' house. Thin, sad-eyed Julie was Lee Ann's only daughter. The girls' relationship benefited my shopping. Lee Ann always clued me into the meat sales at the Shopper's Super Saver, and she didn't mind doing special cuts for me. But I was concerned about Karen. As she and Julie got closer, there was a distinct deterioration in Karen's behavior. She'd recently dropped all of her extracurricular activities, which disturbed us because she needed them to get into college. Max and I were praying for wisdom about how to handle the situation.

A long silence ensued while she rummaged through the shelves.

"I'm going to eat dinner there," she finally said.

"That's fine. Does your father know?"

She snatched a diet soda from the refrigerator, slammed the door, and turned to face me. "I'm sure you'll tell him."

Whoops. Worse than normal. Maybe she had PMS. "No doubt I will." I eyed her. "You want some chocolate?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Is that a joke?"

"Do you want it to be?"

She grabbed her pants and shook the fabric. "I don't need any more calories. I'm too tall. I'm getting fat. And I hate my hair."

Was that a slam against mine, which looked very much like hers? Long, blond, and very, very curly.

"You're lucky to be short and skinny," she said as she stomped from the kitchen.

Well, that didn't go too badly considering how things had been recently. I hoped Sammie wouldn't grow up to be as moody as her older sister. So far, she'd shown no signs. When I'd told her about the body in the grocery store, she'd shrugged it off as if everyone's mother found dead men in the milk case. Then again, she got most of her information from Charlie, and who knows what he'd told her. He'd questioned me in a manner that would have made Detective Scott proud.

Strains of discordant, eerie music drifted from the family room. I peeked in. Sammie sat on the couch. Charlie was hunched two feet in front of the wide-screen television. Over his spiky hair, I saw a man dressed in a white suit, walking from the shadows, slowly filling the screen. The spooky music subsided slightly as he droned on in a grim, melodramatic voice. "The accounts you will see today are real, although some of the drama is represented by actors." He paused, staring intently into the camera, which closed in on his face. Aided by makeup and lighting, his facial bones protruded, making him appear almost skeletal. "My name is Perry Mitchell. Welcome to"a"he paused dramaticallya""Mysterious Disappearances."

No wonder Charlie saw dead people. Max and I had to talk about this. "Charlie, please turn that off."

"But, Mom, I watch this over at Mike's. It's great! You wouldn't believe how many people disappear all the time. I mean, even you or Dad could be faking everything and really be serial killers."

I gazed at Charlie, disturbed and amazed at the way his brain worked. It didn't seem right for an eight-year-old kid. Besides, Sammie's rapt, openmouthed attention to Charlie's words and subsequent quizzical glance in my direction told me I'd better stop this serial-killer rumor right here; otherwise, I'd be hearing about it from my mother.

"Don't be silly, Charlie," I said. "You know Dad and I are who we say we area"you know our parents. Now turn it off."

"But Ia""

The ringing phone interrupted him.

"Maybe that's Mike." Charlie galloped to the kitchen to grab the cordless. He probably hoped that Mike would invite him over so he could watch the show there.

I heard the sound of his murmuring voice, then he bounced back into the family room. "It's Grandmom. She wants to take me and Sammie out for ice cream tonight."

Sammie squealed and clapped her hands. "Please say yes, Mommy."

"Okay." I took the phone from Charlie, turned off the television, and the two scampered out of the room. I took a deep breath and put the receiver to my ear. "Hi, Ma. That's nice of you to offer. They're excited."

"Well, I don't see any of you often enough, so I had to take things into my own hands. I love my grandchildren, you know."

I did know. About taking things into her own hands and loving the kids.

I dropped onto the sofa. Perhaps I could distract her. "How is Daddy doing at that sale. . . ? Where is it? Pennsylvania?"

"Yes. He bought two cows. Why we need them is beyond me. But he's worried about you. He'll be back in time for Sunday dinner. So did you work today?"

"No. I went to talk to Detective Scott. Ia""

"Did you remember that Jim Bob's deceased wife Estelle was one of my dearest friends?"

"Yes." I accepted the fact that I wouldn't get a word in edgewise, which was just as well. Then I wouldn't have to hear her interpretation of my words months later.

"It's terrible," she intoned. "Horrible."

"Yes, it is." I wondered if she realized how horrible it was for the person who found Jim Bob. "When did his wife die?"

"Not long enough for him to have remarried last year, but he did anyway." The indignant tone in her voice indicated there was much more to the story. "Don't you remember that? I told you all about it. She went so quickly."

"Well, now that you mention it," I murmured.

She sighed. "After only five yearsa"can you believe it? He had the nerve to marry again."

"Five years," I repeated. "I would think five years would be plenty ofa""

"Well, that shows how much you know." She snorted. "As far as I'm concerned, he should have waited forever. What in the world does a man his age want with a woman thirty years his junior?"

Well, I could think of at least one thing.

"And not only that, he let her redecorate the house. I'm sure Estelle turned over in her grave. It's indecent. And now this. I tell you, what goes around comes around."

I chewed on my fingernail as I tried to figure out what had gone around and come back again. Then I realized I was missing a valuable opportunity to gather clues. "So Jim Bob's widow is young. . . ."

"Didn't I say that? You need to listen to me. Oops, I have a customer. Gail had to leave early for a doctor's appointment. It's been a busy day. I'll talk to you later."

The phone clicked in my ear. I sat staring at the receiver in my hand. The plot thickened, so to speak. Jim Bob's first wife died quickly and he married someone much younger. I'd think the mystery was solved. That he killed his wife in order to marry a greedy younger woman, and she, in turn, killed him for his money. Problem with that theory was, Jim Bob waited five years before he remarried.

After dinner, Abbie called. She'd made copies of articles for me but hadn't learned anything that we didn't already know. She had to get back to her writing but promised to keep checking around for more information. She encouraged me to check for motivations and suggested that perhaps someone else was guilty of the road-sign thefts but pointed the finger at Russ.

I debated writing a letter to Russ at boot camp to ask him about the stop sign. That would clear things up right away, but I couldn't. Boot camp was hard enough without the added pressure of this problem. If he wasn't guilty, then he'd just sit there and worry. I glanced at the four-and five-year-old Sunday school curriculum laid out on the kitchen table. I was supposed to be preparing for Sunday's lesson. The practical part of the lesson was about a little girl who lied to her parents. I ignored the niggling of my conscience that I hadn't yet told Max about Jim Bob's threat. But I did have to figure things out first. At least that's what I kept telling myself.

Was my brother really guilty? And who had killed Jim Bob? What exactly had my mother said? I pulled a blank piece of paper from my notebook and began to doodle. Then I wrote down "Jim Bob and young wife." I followed those words with "Motivation" written in large block letters. What exactly gave someone motivation to murder? Strong emotion, like love gone wrong, or hate, or fear. . .

"Hey, baby." Max walked in the room behind me.

I shoved my notes under the Sunday school lesson. If Max knew what I was doing, he'd want to know why. He rubbed my shoulders. I leaned back and looked up at him.

"Can you take a break and come sit with me?" he asked. "We're alone."

I hadn't even thought about that, which was unusual since alone time for us was so rare, and I love spending time with him. But now that Max mentioned it, the house was quiet. Sammie and Charlie wouldn't be home for another hour. Karen was over at Julie's house, and Tommy was working.

On the couch in the family room, I nestled against Max with my head on his shoulder, trying valiantly to clear my mind.

"Isn't it nice to have all the kids in school now?" He stroked my hair. "That little kid thing is just about over."

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But the issues we deal with are bigger. Like Karen and her moodiness, and Charlie. He sees dead people."

Max laughed. "Charlie has an imagination that's almost as big as yours."

I pulled away from him. "Come on. Be serious. It worries me. I mean, we take him to Sunday school and church. He goes to Christian school. He knows there aren't any such things as ghosts. What will his teachers think? We need to talk to him."

"I don't think he really sees things." Max pulled me tight. "Now let's enjoy being alone and not talk about the kids or anything important."

I saw the gleam in his eye. "Just what did you have in mind?"

He leaned down and kissed me.

I willed myself to stop thinking. I almost succeeded, but the secret I held wouldn't be still and wiggled in the back of my brain. After a very pleasant couple of minutes, I could no longer contain my thoughts. I pulled away from him.

He frowned at me. "What's wrong?"

I glanced at his face. I'd memorized every inch of it, from his green eyes and the skin that crinkled around them when he smiled, to the scar on his cheek that he'd gotten when he was just a kid and fell off the swing set. I loved him so, and my heart ached keeping what I knew from him. I had to tell him.

"Max, I wanted to talk to youa""

He cupped his hand under my chin. "I don't really feel like talking."

"Buta""

He kissed me again, successfully shutting me up, then the front door burst open, banging against the wall. We had barely separated lips when Karen whirled into the room.

"Dad."

I brushed hair out of my eyes, and Max adjusted his collar.

"Oha"mya"stars! I can't believe you guys." She put her hands on her hips. "What if I had company?"

She didn't, but I decided not to point that out.

"What's wrong?" Max asked.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I had to leave Julie's. Her mother kicked her father out. Julie can't stop crying, and her mother is acting all weird. There's this guy. . ." She heaved a sigh. "It's horrible. I mean, I remember when Mommy. . ." Her voice broke.

My breath caught in my throat.

Max patted the sofa next to him. "Why don't you come sit down and talk?"

Karen shook her head. "No. Especially not after what I just saw." She whirled on her heel and left the room.

I was not going to survive this. If my brother were guilty in any way of Lindsey's death, my relationship with my stepchildrena"in particular, Karena"might be ruined forever. And I didn't know how it would affect my marriage.

Max leaned back on the couch.

I felt sick but needed to encourage him. "She's still insecure about losing her mother. That, on top of being a teenage girl."

He took a deep breath and stared at his hands, then he twirled his wedding ring around and around. "Maybe." He glanced at me. "Well, since we were interrupted anyway, what did you want to talk about?"

I wanted to tell him about Russ so badly, but the timing wasn't right. Besides, even though I might feel better for the confession, all I had was supposition. An accusation that may or may not be true. I had to know for certain.

"It can wait." I sat up straight. "You should go talk to Karen."