"He's going to talk to Betty, and then he'll touch base with me. It might be tomorrow, though, so we need to be patient."

"I can wait as long as I need to," she said. "I just hope that she saw us there. It would simplify so many things if she did."

"I hope so, too. Ellen, are you sure that you don't want to come in for a bite, and some company? You know that Greg wouldn't mind."

"No, I'd better be going," she said as she stood. "I've stayed away from my family as long as I dare. They need me right now."

"Give them my love, would you?"

"I will, and thanks for that from me," she said.

"You're very welcome," I answered sincerely.

After Ellen was gone, I thought about the most recent developments with the case. Ellen and Wayne might be off the hook if Betty confirmed their alibi, but her parents were still active members of my suspect list, and what she'd told me hadn't eased my mind, either.

Chapter 15.

"You're not going in there," I heard a voice say threateningly as Sam Jackson stepped out of the shadows and tried to keep me from going into The Charming Moose the next morning.

"It's going to take more than you to stop me," I said as I started to push past him. It was just before six a.m., and there wasn't much traffic out. To most folks driving past the diner, it probably looked as though Sam and I were just having ourselves a nice little chat.

They would have been mistaken.

"That's where you're wrong," Sam said. "Listen, we can do this the hard way, or we can do it easy. In the end, it makes no difference to me."

"I'm not going to make killing me easy for you," I said harshly. "If you want my life, you're going to have to fight for it."

"Kill you? Where did you get that idea?" Jackson asked me, clearly surprised by my reaction.

"You ambush me at my diner in the early hours when no one else is around and you threaten me," I said. "Why wouldn't I think that you meant me harm? I'm just telling you that if that's your goal, I'm not about to make it easy for you."

"I want to talk. That's it, Victoria. Just talk."

"Then wait one minute for me to get set up inside and then come on in," I said as I pushed past him. I had my keys out and the door unlocked before he could process the new information. I thought about slamming it shut behind me and locking him on the outside, but what if he was telling the truth? I had a suspect who was willing to discuss Gordon Murphy's murder with me. Talking was what I did best. After I overcame my impulse to protect my mother and myself, I walked in back and smiled at Mom.

"You got here early," I said as I hung my jacket up.

"Your husband isn't the only one in the family who likes to play with recipes," she said. "I thought that I'd have a little fun."

I took a deep breath, and as I did, I smelled something divine baking. "Is that cornbread?"

"Jalapeno cheddar cornbread, to be exact," she said. "I'm not sure how it's going to taste, but it smells magnificent, doesn't it?"

"I'd love to try some," I said.

Mom looked at the timer. "Four more minutes, and then I'll join you. It's not too early in the day for spicy cornbread, is it?"

"Is it ever too early for something delicious?" I asked.

"You've got a point there."

I heard the front door open, so I told Mom, "I need to go back out front."

"Go, take care of them. Don't worry; I'll save you a piece."

"At least one," I said with a smile.

I walked back out front, and I found that Sam Jackson had already taken a seat at the bar. "Listen, I'm sorry about that," he said, sounding a little embarra.s.sed as he spoke. "I get used to dealing with a certain type, and sometimes I forget how to treat civilians."

"Are you at war?" I asked him.

"Sometimes it feels that way. Victoria, I'm not going to pretend that I'll miss Gordon Murphy, but that doesn't mean that I killed him."

"It doesn't mean that you didn't, either," I said.

Jackson just shook his head. "When did you get to be such a hard-nose?" he asked. "You're not at all what I expected."

"I've investigated murder before," I said. "It takes something out of you, and it leaves something else behind."

"I can see that," he said. "Listen. I need you to stop sniffing around my life. It's not good for business."

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that can't be helped," I said. "Until and unless I get a usable alibi from you, you have to stay on my list of suspects. You and the victim had a history of bad blood between you, and what's more, you've never tried to deny it. The only way you're going to convince me that you had nothing to do with Gordon's murder is to provide me and the police with a solid alibi."

"What if I told you I was doing something somewhere else at the time of the murder?" he asked me pointedly. "Would that get you off my back?"

"It would be a start. Where were you?"

"That's where it gets a little sticky," Jackson said with a sigh. "I was doing something I'd just as soon the police not know I was involved in. If I tell you, you're going to go to them with it, aren't you?"

"I might be able to make an exception," I said. "But I would have to have solid proof."

"I understand that. But listen, I need your word that you're not going to go to Sheriff Croft with this. It could be bad for me if you did, and I wouldn't like that." The threat in his voice was again very real, and I felt myself shiver a little at the thought of Sam Jackson's possible retribution.

"There's no need for you to say anything else," I said.

"Because you don't believe me?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Your willingness to incriminate yourself even to me is enough to convince me that you're most likely telling the truth."

"But you aren't persuaded, are you?"

"Think about it. Let's say that an a.s.sociate of yours calls me and tells me that you were in Hickory robbing a bank when Gordon was being murdered. How can I believe that he's telling me the truth, and not just following your orders?"

"Well, in the first place, I don't rob banks," Jackson said. "It's too dangerous, and there are better ways to get a payday than sticking a gun under somebody's nose."

That was good to know, but my point was still valid. "It was just an example. What I'm saying is that anyone who vouches for you is by definition suspicious in my mind. I'll tell you what I'm willing to do. I won't actively pursue any lead regarding you unless I have more reason than I do right now to believe that you might have had something to do with Gordon Murphy's murder."

"That's the best that I'm going to get out of you, isn't it?" he asked after showing me a brief frown.

"Sorry, but it is."

"Then I can live with it, for now," he said. "If you want my opinion, I know a guy you should be looking at for this murder."

I expected him to say Wayne's name, so I was quite surprised when he mentioned Mitch.e.l.l Cobb. "The man's obsessed with your waitress. That's all he can talk about every single time I see him. I'll tell you something. We've been friends for a long time, and Ellen's the only woman that he's ever talked about. If you ask me, he's the one who needs the attention of the police, not me." Was Jackson giving me a real clue that Mitch.e.l.l might be involved, or was he simply feeding me his friend's name to divert suspicion away from himself? I wasn't sure, but it was something that I was determined to find out.

As Sam Jackson stood in order to leave the diner, I asked, "Would you like some breakfast while you're here?"

I never expected him to agree, but after a moment's thought, he shrugged and said, "Sure, why not? How about a stack of hotcakes? I haven't had good ones in a while."

"Then you're in for a real treat. My mother makes the best flapjacks around."

"We'll just see about that," he said.

Four minutes after placing Jackson's order, I picked up his pancakes, grabbed a container of syrup and a pat of b.u.t.ter, and delivered the feast to him. After he added the b.u.t.ter and syrup, he cut off a single bite and savored it as though it was an expensive steak and not a bargain stack of pancakes.

"Your mother is an artist," he said with a grin.

"We like to think so."

After he was finished, he tipped as much as the check was for.

I clucked at him, and then I said, "That's entirely too much."

"It's not for you," he said with the hint of a smile. "It's for your mother."

"Cooks don't usually get tips," I said.

"Well, this one deserves it."

Jackson left the restaurant, and after I gave my mother his tip, she smiled and tucked it into her ap.r.o.n. "What a nice young man he must have been."

I thought about telling her the handful of rumors I'd heard about Sam Jackson, but I decided there was no reason to ruin the happy mood she was in. "He surely liked your pancakes."

"Then he's got good taste, if nothing else," she said with a smile.

"I'd have to agree with that," I said.

After I walked back up front and put his cup and plate in the bin for dirty dishes, I wiped the counter down and waited for our next visitor of the day.

Hopefully he wouldn't be as combative as Jackson had been.

I thought about what he'd told me, and I realized that I'd told him the truth.

For now, I'd cross his name off our list.

But I was going to use a pencil instead of a pen, just in case he'd been lying to me.

Who knew for sure, anyway? Suspects had lied to me before, and I knew that it would happen again, as long as Moose and I continued to investigate murder.

"Wow, this place is right out of the fifties, isn't it?" a thin older man with a ready smile asked me as he walked into the diner an hour later.

"We like it," I said.

"Oh, I do, too." He stuck out his hand. "My name is Curtis Trane."

"h.e.l.lo, Curtis. I'm Victoria Nelson."

"Victoria, tell your owner that I love this place."

"You just did," I replied. The man's bright att.i.tude was infectious, and I found myself smiling right back at him. "Sit anywhere you'd like. We don't take reservations."

He winked broadly at me. "In that case, I'll take a seat at the bar. That's where all the action is in this kind of place, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid that if you've come here for excitement, you're going to be disappointed."

"I can't imagine that's true at all. If you have time to join me, I'd love the company."

We were in a lull at the moment, with just a few diners lingering over their coffee and swapping stories. "I can't promise you all of my attention, but I'll do what I can." Just to make sure he wasn't getting the wrong idea, I added, "My husband works the grill later, but my mom is in charge of the kitchen now, so everything on the menu is good."

"Then, what's spectacular?" he asked. "I'm in the mood to be wowed."

"Order the pancakes, then," I said. "I know, it might seem like a rather ordinary thing to have in a diner, but folks come from miles around to have my mother's hotcakes."

"Which is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just called them pancakes and hotcakes in nearly the same breath."

"The terms are interchangeable, at least here. We also call them flapjacks on occasion, but no matter the name, they are guaranteed to be delicious."

"Then I'll take a stack, and a gla.s.s of orange juice," he said without even looking at his menu. "Feel free to place an order for yourself, on my tab."

"Thanks, but I'll just have juice. If I ate my mother's pancakes every day, I wouldn't be able to fit through the front door before too long."

He patted his lean stomach. "I believe I can handle them."

"Coming right up," I said.

I gave the order to Mom as I said, "Make them good. I've been bragging about you."

"No pressure there, then," she said with a smile.