Mysterious Disappearancesa"The Facts, Plain and Simple. Okay, well, at least it wasn't a book of naked women.

Still, the way he hid it told me he knew what I'd say about it. "So they put out a book?" I fingered the cover, illustrated by superimposed, graphic, black-and-white crime images. "Whose is this?"

"Mike's."

I didn't know how to handle this situation. "I told you I don't like that show."

He stared at the floor. "I know."

I ruffled his hair. "Sweetie, is this what makes you see ghosts?"

His head shot up. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't see ghosts?"

His disapproving frown was similar to Max's. "Mom, I don't believe in stuff like that."

"But Karen said something about it," I said.

Charlie snorted. "Karen. She's a girl."

"And that means?"

"Well, all she does is talk on the phone with Julie. She needs a life. She needs to stop listening to other people and make up her own mind about things."

Okay, then. I guess that settled that. Perhaps Max was right, and Charlie was just teasing his sisters. "Well, why don't you return the book to Mike tomorrow? We'll just drop the whole thing."

Charlie stared at me. I could tell he was trying to find a loophole, but he finally nodded. "Okay."

I wanted to smile, but I didn't. He was so much like me he could have been my biological son.

After we prayed together, I tucked Charlie into bed, then I sat down in front of the television and flipped to the local news.

The perky news anchor read a teaser about the local landfill, which was temporarily closing. That's where Norm, Lee Ann's husband, worked. The newscaster moved on to the murder at the grocery store. "The local Shopper's Super Saver is now open after the body of pharmacist Jim Bob Jenkins, a local resident, was discovered murdered in the refrigerated room behind the dairy case. Police report that the investigation is ongoing. A source close to the situation has indicated that store finances might be involved. Store manager Frank Gaines spoke with us earlier."

They cut to a clip of an interview with poor Frank. His charming, Dudley Do-It-All-Right persona had lost quite a bit of its shine. His hair was flat, and his tie was crooked.

The newsperson shoved the mike closer into Frank's face. "Can you tell us what you know about the murder investigation?"

If I were a betting person, I would wager that Frank's scowl indicated more than minor irritation.

"I'm not privy to the investigation," he snarled. "I have nothing to say."

Yep. I was right.

The news cut back to the studio. Ms. Perky beamed into the camera, as though she'd just covered a cheery piece of Americana. Then she babbled on about an investigation at the landfilla"something about hauling in medical waste from New Jersey.

I turned off the television. The phone rang. Why would someone call this late? Shortly after, I heard Tommy tromping down the stairs.

"Where's Dad? He's got a call." He waved the phone in the air.

"In his study," I said. "Who is it?"

He covered the receiver. "It's Mrs. Jenkins."

Dear Steffie. Now why was she calling Max? I jumped up from the couch. "Give me the phone. I'll take it to your father." I snatched it from Tommy's hand.

He stared at me. "Mom, Dad has a phone in his office, you know."

"Yes, I know."

I trotted down the hall, pushed open the study door, and marched inside.

"Come on in," Max said, staring at me over reading glasses, with a slight grin on his lips. His desk was littered with bluish architectural plans.

I made sure my hand was over the receiver. "The phone's for you. It's Steffie." I said her name as if it were a four-letter word.

Max took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then picked up the phone on his desk.

Okay, so I have no pride. I listened in on the headset I held.

"Maxwell, hello." At least six syllables.

"Hello, Stefanie." He glanced at me.

"I'm so sorry to call you so late. I hope I didn't wake your wife."

Did Steffie want to talk to Max without my knowing? My grip on the phone got tighter.

"No, it's fine," Max said. "What can I do for you?"

I sat in a chair opposite his desk. He looked up at me with a slight grin and winked.

Stefanie began to talk. "Sugar, I need to get into Jim Bob's unit as soon as possible. There are things in there I absolutely must have."

Sugar? I raised my eyebrows and watched Max.

"I told you I need a court order." He spoke in a low, even tone and tapped his fingers on the desk.

My mind processed the information. Jim Bob must have had a storage unit contract on which Steffie's name wasn't listed.

"But surely you can understand given my delicate state that I can't wait for those old judges to make a decision. Please, sugar, make this teeny little exception for me."

I stuck my finger into my mouth and pretended to gag.

Max ignored me. He also ignored her pleas. "I'm sorry. I can't make any exceptions."

I stared at him in admiration. There is something terribly attractive about a man who can say something like that and still sound nice. In the silence that followed, I heard her breathing. I wondered if she was going to offer a bribe of the intimate sort to get the unit open, in which case I would be obligated to find her and rip out her hair.

"Please, Maxwell. Just take me into the unit. You can stand there. I only need a couple teeny little papers. Nothing big. I'll make it worth your while."

"Worth your while" was open to interpretation. Unfortunately, it wasn't blatant enough to excuse any ripping or tearing.

Max met my gaze and tapped his fingers harder on the desk. "I'm sorry, Stefanie. I have to obey the law."

The Widow Jenkins's sweetness slipped. "This is an inconvenience, you know."

Max stayed right on the party line. "I understand you're inconvenienced. I want to open it for you and will as soon as I can."

She sniffed. "I guess that will have to do."

"I'm sorry," Max said. "If there's anything else we can do for you, please let us know."

I hung up after he did and put my phone on the floor. He stared at me with a smirk on his lips.

I hopped up, walked over to him with exaggerated swings of my hips, and leaned against the edge of his desk in my best imitation of a femme fatale. "Sugar, just do what I want, and I'll make it worth your while." My imitation sounded surprisingly like her.

Max grinned and pulled me close. "You really dislike Steffie."

I ran my finger over his lips. "Dislike? No. It's nothing personal. I just don't like her going on and on about how good you are. Besides, I have a bad feeling about her."

He had the nerve to laugh. "You're adorable."

"Chauvinist," I said.

"Guilty as charged." Max pulled me into his lap. "You have nothing to worry about. And I guess you figured out what's going on. She's even been by the office a couple of times. She needs to get into a storage unit that Jim Bob rented a year ago, but her name isn't on the contract."

"I guess we can't, either, can we?" I glanced at him hopefully, wishing we could take one little look.

Max kissed me lightly. "Curious, aren't you? But you're right. I won't touch it at this point until everything is settled. It's just too bad people don't think about things like emergency access in case of injury or death when they rent units."

Of all the negative character traits I'd heard about Jim Bob, stupidity wasn't one of them. I wondered if he'd left Stefanie off the contract on purpose.

Chapter Eight.

You're going to call the doctor today, right?" Max asked as he buttoned his shirt in the mirror.

"I'll be fine, Max." I had spent the first few minutes out of bed that morning being sick. Now I was trying to figure out what to wear.

He turned around to face me and gave me a once-over. "Trish, you haven't been feeling well for days."

I finally decided on nice jeans and a pink shirt. "I'm just overwrought. It's got to be nerves. Stop worrying." Of course, that's what happens when you keep secrets and guilt eats you from the inside out. I yanked on the shirt.

He blinked, and his mouth twitched. "Touchy, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm just tired of everyone telling me that I don't look well. It makes me feel flabby and white, like my mother's doughnut dough." I adjusted my blouse collar and glared at him. "So stop thinking that."

He grinned. "I wasn't thinking that."

I put my hands on my hips. "Well, then, what were you thinking?"

He walked around the bed. "Actually, I was reflecting on how good you look."

"What?"

His eyes had that little gleam in them. "Max, we have a meeting anda""

I can't talk and kiss. And once again, my guilty conscience was bugging me, which was distressing because kissing Max is one of the joys of my life. However, pounding at our bedroom door distracted both of us.

"Mom!" Charlie shouted. "I can't find my math book." Interruption by child. Morning had begun.

Doughnuts are in my blood. Hopefully the fat isn't. My mother began perfecting her doughnut recipes when I was too little to eat them. Now she owns Doris's Doughnuts. The store is in a tiny strip mall near Four Oaks Self-Storage, so I decided to stop by and pick up a dozen to take for the guys in the meeting. George, the contractor who would be in the office this morning, loves my mother's doughnuts.

Since she now offers a lunch menu as well as baked goods and coffee that rival the chains, the store is a favorite spot for everyone from construction workers to cops. I sincerely hoped there would be no cops there today.

The bell above my head rang as I walked into the bright red-and-white room. The scent of coffee and fresh doughnuts made my mouth water. Ma looked up from behind the cash register. From the glance she gave me, I knew I was in for it.

"Well, it's about time." No one's voice is louder than my mother's, especially when she's trying to make a point. Everyone in the place looked up. "People have been asking about my daughter. I say, what daughter?"

"Oh, sure. I never talk to you. I'm surprised you even recognize me." I headed for the self-serve coffee, recalling what the pastor had told me in premarital counseling about one of the sources of my self-esteem issuesa"my mother.

"Just like kids, isn't it?" Gail, my mother's best friend and longtime help, nodded like a bobblehead doll. "Ungrateful. All of them. We give birth, go through all that agony, and then what?"

As if I hadn't gone through labor myself. I ignored them and poured some fresh Colombian into a Styrofoam cup at the self-serve counter. Then I scoped out the fresh, doughy, fattening circles.

"One day you'll wish you had visited me every day," Ma said as she handed a customer a bag stuffed with pastry. "When I'm dead and gone, buried next to your father."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I said under my breath. She was on a roll. The white tables and chairs were mostly filled, which meant she had an audience for her commentsa"something she reveled in. I tried not to take her seriously, but dealing with her barbs was hard.

"Are you here to buy?" she asked.

I took a huge sip of coffee. "Yeah. I need a dozen to take to work. You choose. Oh, and a bear claw, too. That's my breakfast."

"Something going on?" She deftly picked up the doughnuts and boxed them.

"A meeting with George about the expansion." The coffee wasn't settling well in my stomach.

"I'm surprised you can eat anything after finding poor Jim Bob stabbed to death, sprawled over a grocery cart, guts in all directions," Gail said as she turned on the espresso machine. "It's only been four days."

Well, there went my appetite.