"I mean, really, imagine the blood," she continued as steam hissed from the machine and brown liquid squirted into a tiny cup.

Ma sadly shook her head in total agreement. "What a mess. I wonder if they hired someone to clean up the floor."

My stomach twisted.

April May came from the back with flour on her hands. "I heard there was gore from one end of that place to another."

Ma looked at April and back at Gail. "Now, do you suppose there are companies that do that sort of thing? Clean up murder scenes? Can you imagine? What happens to all the parts?"

The memory of Jim Bob came back with a vengeance. The coffee in my stomach curdled. "Back in a minute," I managed to gasp as I slapped my hand over my mouth. I made it to the bathroom just in time. When I finished, I pulled a cleaning wipe from a plastic pouch in my purse and wiped my mouth. I stood for a few minutes in the bathroom, waiting for my stomach to settle. After I stuck a piece of gum in my mouth, I went back to the counter.

"Are you sick?" Ma asked.

"I think I have a bug or something." I was beginning to suspect I was allergic to caffeine or had an ulcer. I paid for my coffee and the doughnuts, although it would be awhile before I could ingest either.

"I hope you're not pregnant," she said in a loud voice.

From the sudden silence and surreptitious looks from the people sitting at tables, everyone in the room heard her. Great. Now rumors would fly. I felt heat crawl up my face. There was no way I could be pregnant. The doctors said so. Sammie had been a miracle.

"That's all you needa"more kids. Four is plenty," she said as the bobbleheads Gail and April nodded rapidly in the background. "You don't want to be like all them Perrys, havin' all those kids out in their shantytown near the landfill." She took a deep breath.

"I can't imagine how they do it," Gail chimed in. "I mean Cheryl Perry must have one every nine months."

I considered explaining exactly how it was done just to watch their reactions, but I refrained.

"Landfill germs," my mother said. "They breathe 'em in every day, especially now."

April May wrapped a breakfast sandwich in foil for a customer. "Think of the hospital bills."

"That's probably why doctors cost so much," Gail said. "I mean, even with insurance we're robbed blind. Look at all I paid when I was there the other day."

"I spent years paying off my three children," my mother said, eyeing me as if I were responsible for me and my brothers.

"Nowadays, people like the Perrys don't have to pay for nothin'." Gail slapped a coffee-filter basket against the edge of a trash can, and the used filter slid into its depths. "The government pays for everything out of our pockets. Bunch of thieves."

"Well, some people just don't have good insurance," April said, the voice of reason.

"Then they should get jobs," Gail pontificated. "I mean, even Shopper's Super Saver has good insurance. I overheard what Daryl's co-pay was that day I went. And he had stitches and a smashed thumb."

Before the conversation digressed further, I decided to leave. I waved at my mother, but before I stepped out the door, I heard Dudley Do-It-All-Right's name and halted midstep.

"And what's going to happen to Shopper's Super Saver now after all that stuff about Frank is out in the open?" Gail clucked her tongue.

I turned back around to listen.

"You can't be too careful these days. The best people can be living double lives," April May intoned.

"Isn't that the truth?" Gail looked up at me as if I were hiding the very worst of secrets, which I was.

Ma nodded. "Just look at Frank. He's always been perfect. His wife, kids, and house are perfect. Those two youngest of his are cute as bugs. They go to Sammie and Charlie's school, you know."

"That just goes to show you," Gail said.

I waited to find out what it goes to show, but no one said anything.

"What do you think he did with the money?" Ma asked.

Gail put on a new pot of coffee. "Gold. I'm sure he bought gold." She's convinced that the world is headed for a financial collapse and gold is the only safe investment.

They busied themselves behind the counter. I waited. My mother finally looked at me, hands on her hips.

"You need something else? You should sit down if you don't feel well. You certainly look like it. Something about your face. Pasty and a little swollen, like you're holding water maybe? Is your blood pressure okay?"

I reached up to feel my face, expecting it to feel spongy, like a balloon. If I hadn't felt bad before, I did now. "I should go," I said.

"Well, don't let me stop you. At least I'll see you again on Sunday."

My mind was whirling, but not because of Sunday dinner. "Before I go, I want to know about Frank."

Gail almost dropped the mug she held. "You mean you don't know?"

April stared at me openmouthed. "I would have thought you'd know everything, seeing as how you're in the loop and so close to the police and all."

"Rumors 'R Us" had been busy. Of course, this was their company headquarters. But why did April think I was in the know with Detective Eric Scott?

"Where in the world did you get that idea?" I asked.

"Your mother's been telling everyone about it," April May said. "You've been called in for meetings a couple times."

I stared at my mother in disbelief. She'd always done that. Made me feel like a loser in private but bragged to everyone about all my accomplishmentsa"even those I hadn't done. She lived in a different reality. I was a suspect, for crying out loud. But there was no sense in trying to convince the bobbleheads. They'd believe what she wanted them to believe. "Just tell me about Frank, please."

Gail, April, and Ma exchanged glances.

She sighed. "Frank has been stealing money from the store."

Frank? Dudley Do-It-All-Right? Stealing from the store? "Embezzling?" I asked.

"See," Ma said triumphantly. "You knew. You just wanted to see if we knew."

I headed for the door once again. "See you later, Ma."

She waved her hand in the air, and I left. In my SUV, I placed the box of doughnuts on the passenger seat, musing how easy it is to think you really know someone when, in reality, you don't know them at all. Of all the people in town, I would never, ever have thought Frank capable of embezzling.

This was an interesting turn of events. Did Frank's crime have anything to do with Jim Bob's death? I pulled a pen from my purse and turned over the receipt my mother had given me to jot some notes. Using the dashboard like a desk, I started to write. Embezzling. Frank a murderer?

Gail had said something. . .something that was important. I was so engrossed in my thoughts I didn't see Detective Eric Scott until he tapped on my window. I jumped and stuffed the paper and pen into my purse. He motioned for me to roll down the glass. As I did, Corporal Nick Fletcher, otherwise known as Santa Cop, nodded at me from an unmarked car. Stupid me. I'd stayed too long.

I looked up at the tall, blond detective. "Are you harassing me?"

"I hope not," he said in a mild tone.

"Then why won't you leave me alone? I see you all the time now." I glanced at the window of my mother's store. She, Gail, and April were watching us. That was maddening, and I turned on him. "Do you realize that everyone thinks I'm in some sort of inner circle with you? My mother is convinced that I'm like your confidante or something because you've hauled me in to the sheriff's office twice now. They won't believe I'm just another suspect. And this is not going to help. Not at all."

He glanced at the store then back at me. "I'm sorry. No one is accusing you of anything."

There was that mild, even tone again. "Detective Scott, are you trained to sound nice even when you don't want to? Is it how you get people to talk to you?"

The left side of his mouth lifted. A half smile that told me everything I needed to know.

I sighed. "I have to go to work. What do you want?"

"I was going to suggest that perhaps we need to have another talk."

My heart pounded. "Why?"

"Just to see if you remember anything else." He shifted. The gold circlea"enclosed star glittered on his belt in the early morning sun, then I noticed a serious-looking black gun nestled in a brown leather holster at his side.

I glanced up and met his gaze. "Do I have to?"

He leaned his upper arm on the hood of my SUV and stared down at me. "Might be a good thing."

I felt claustrophobic with him hovering over me like that. "Wella""

"How about this afternoon? Say around two?"

"I have to find someone to watch Sammie." I mentally went through a list in my head. Then I looked up at him. "If I come in to talk to you, will you do me a favor?"

He straightened and narrowed his eyes. "I don't work like that."

"Please. It's nothing bad." I glanced at the store where Gail had her face pressed against the glass. Her mouth was moving rapidly. I could only imagine what she was saying. "Could you tell my mother that you and I aren't working together? Maybe she'll believe you."

He glanced from me to the store and back to me. Then he laughed. "I come here almost every morning, and I have for years. I know your mother well enough to say with confidence that no one can deter her from anything she thinks."

There we had it from a police detectivea"what I'd known my whole life.

After watching the three aforementioned women watch Detective Scott and Corporal Fletcher enter the store, I slumped in my seat. Another interview. And I hadn't had time to find out what I needed to know. If I could just come up with an idea before I met with the detective, then maybe I could distract him. What had Gail said? Something about the murder scene? Now that my stomach had gone back to normal, I could picture everything in my mind without throwing up. What was it that bugged me? There was Jim Bob on a cart and a nasty-looking knife in his chest and. . .no blood. That's what was wrong. How could Jim Bob have been stabbed to death without blood going all over? Perhaps I missed it all. A trick of my mind to protect me. Still, I wasn't sure, and that bothered me.

George and I were sitting in my office after the meeting, eating doughnuts while Max ran a few errands. Years ago, when I worked for George as his office manager, we got doughnuts once a week and sat together just like this. In fact, it was over doughnuts that he'd first introduced me to Max, who had been inquiring about George's contracting business.

I swallowed a bite of my bear claw. "Did you know Jim Bob Jenkins?"

He frowned and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "Enough to know he was a. . . Well, I don't want to use that kind of language in front of you, Trish."

"Can't you tell me without cussing?" I took another bite.

He shook his head. "Not sure I can, and I hate to speak ill of the dead."

"No one else hesitates," I said through crumbs on my lips.

He smiled. "I'm sure they don't. He didn't exactly inspire good feelings in folks."

I waited.

George eyed me. "You got a reason for asking?"

"Curiosity. I found the body."

"Yes, well, that was too bad. No woman should see something like that. Max is worried about you. Says the whole thing might have given you an ulcer."

"Max worries too much." I sniffed and wiped my fingers.

George grinned at me. "For good reason, besides which he's nuts over you. Was from the first time he saw you."

I grinned back, happy with the thought that Max was nuts for me. Then I remembered that maybe the only reason I had Max was because my brother killed Lindsey. Maybe.

George misinterpreted my change of expression. "Okay, I'll tell you. You don't need to get upset." The chair squeaked under his weight as he crossed his legs. "Jim Bob was always trying to find people's weak spots. He'd make like he was so nice. Then idiots would confide stuff, or somebody would tell him something about somebody else, and he'd use it to get things from them. He tried it with me. I told him to. . .er, stop it."

That sounded suspiciously like what Jim Bob had done to me. "You mean blackmail?"

"You could call it that," George said.

"Doesn't sound like he was a nice guy at all." I frowned at him. "If he was blackmailing people, why didn't someone tell the police?"

George shook his head. "Lack of proof, for one thing. And the other reason was that people probably didn't want their dirty little secrets to get out."

I stared at the napkin in my lap. Dirty little secrets. That added a real dimension to motivation for Jim Bob's death. Apparently I was only one of many who had motivation to kill him. I wondered if Steffie knew about her husband's activities. I looked up at George. "What do you think of Stefanie?"

"Her?" His guttural tone made the pronoun sound like a bad word. "All's I can say is they deserved each other."

"So you don't think she's attractive?" I couldn't help it. I had to know.

He snorted. "Please, Trish. I'm too old to have my head turned by a pretty face. Yeah, she's got some obvious, er, attributes, but there's different kinds of pretty, and the best kind goes more than skin deep. You got what'll last. You're not only fine-looking, you're a nice, interesting young woman."

Max sauntered into the office with his arms behind his back. "Are you flirting with my wife, George?"

He laughed. "I'm too old, buddy. Couldn't keep up with her if I had to. That kind of spunk needs someone who can handle it. Like you."

I blushed.

Max regarded me with a smoky glance that made my blood warm. Then he took his hands from behind his back. He held a bouquet of flowers. Roses.

"For you, baby," he said, and smiled. "Having George around is bringing back lots of good memories."

George grinned. "See? He's nuts about you."

I stood and took the flowers from Max, blinking back tears. He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "I love you," he whispered. "George is right."

"Thank you, honey." I buried my face in the blooms so he wouldn't see just how upset I was. I didn't deserve flowers. Not at all.