"While you're doing that, I'll go ahead and see if I can get Burt to give me that writing sample."

"I'm starting to have second thoughts about that," I said.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be careful, Suzanne."

"I'm just afraid that if you start asking questions randomly, you're likely to spark the wrong kind of interest. Don't ever forget that there's a killer out there, and one of us could be next on his list."

Grace looked as if my words had stung her, and a part of me regretted being so blunt, but if anything happened to her while she was trying to help me, I'd never be able to forgive myself.

I took her hands in mine and said, "Promise me you'll be careful."

Grace nodded. "I promise." She added, "Call me after you talk to Marge, okay?"

"You call me if you find something first."

"It's a deal." She held out her hand.

"What?"

"It might help me compare handwriting if you let me have that note I gave you."

"Fine," I said as I took it out of my pocket and handed it to her.

Grace offered me a slight laugh as she dropped me back off at my car in front of the donut shop.

"Talk to you soon," she said.

Grace drove off in her fancy new BMW, and I got into my banged-up old Jeep. As we split off in different directions, I didn't envy her the nice car she was driving, because it came with a price tag I wasn't willing to pay, answering to bosses I didn't care for, doing something that didn't matter all that much to me in the long run. I was fairly certain Grace wouldn't trade with me, either. She enjoyed a healthy and steady income, had a great deal of flexibility in her hours, and could take a vacation whenever she wanted. I was still waiting for a real day off, but I enjoyed making donuts, and satisfying a sweet tooth now and then was all I cared about.

I thought about driving straight to Marge's, but then I realized that I was dirty from working at Peg's, and I still smelled like donuts from the day's production, so I knew I had to go home to shower and change before I spoke with her. That plan of action carried a pitfall of its own. It meant that I had to talk to my mother, which was not generally an odious task, but with my unofficial investigation going at full speed, I had a feeling she knew what I was up to. And if she did, I was going to get lecture #134 on letting the police handle murder cases and sticking to making donuts.

CHAPTER 7.

"I love seeing you in that dress," my mother said as I came back downstairs after my shower. She hadn't been there when I'd gotten home, and I was just beginning to think I'd make a clean getaway when I found her sitting in the front parlor.

"Thanks," I said. "I thought it would be a nice change of pace from my usual blue jeans."

She shook her head and smiled at me. "Suzanne, don't try to fool me. You're up to something."

"Can't a gal dress up and look nice now and then without any particular reason?" I asked.

"Some can, but not you. Where are you going?"

"Out," I said.

It hadn't worked when I'd been a teenager, but maybe it would work now.

"Out where?" she asked.

So maybe it wasn't going to work after all.

I was trying to think of how to couch my answer when she suddenly smiled. "Are you going to see Jake?"

"I might be," I said, not entirely lying. We could bump into each other by accident, couldn't we?

"I think that's a wonderful idea," she said. "This situation has put entirely too much stress on your relationship."

I know there are times when I need to stand my ground, moments when I should tell the complete and unvarnished truth, and take the consequences, no matter what they are.

This wasn't one of those times.

I smiled at her, showed her my crossed fingers, and said, "Wish me luck."

"You know you always have it all," she said.

I drove to Marge's, wondering about the conversation I'd just had with my mother. We could go weeks and not have an odd word between us, but then something would happen that would trigger us, and we'd be back to our old roles of mother and daughter again, with her trying to guide my way through life, even though I was a grown woman with a marriage--and a divorce--under my belt.

I supposed that would never entirely change as long as we lived under the same roof, and I thought about moving out for the thousandth time since I'd shown up on her doorstep after finding Max with his paramour, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

At least for now, I was going to stay right where I was.

"Don't you look nice," Marge said as I walked into her living room. After how we'd left things the last time we'd been together, I wasn't sure how she'd react to me. That was why I'd just shown up, hoping that she'd have a harder time turning me away in person than on the telephone.

"Thanks. You do, too."

Marge said, "Would you like some tea? I was just about to have some myself."

"That would be nice," I said.

Marge was wearing a peach-toned dress with shoes that matched exactly. As she readied the pot, she said, "Unless I miss my guess, I saw an outfit just like that at Gabby's once."

"This is it," I admitted. "It's the only place I shop for my formal wear." It was true, too, since the dress I was wearing was the only thing I had in my closet that I couldn't wear to Donut Hearts.

"It just makes sense, doesn't it? Why pay full retail for something when Gabby has such a wonderful selection at such good prices. So, what brings you by?"

I bit my lip and wondered how to bring Burt into the conversation. It was a delicate situation, one that could easily be made worse, if I didn't handle things just right.

"I need your help," I said, surprising myself with the suddenness of the statement. Long ago I'd learned the best way to approach most people who were reluctant to speak candidly to me was to ask for some kind of assistance, if I could. It tended to make folks more receptive to me.

She nodded. "Of course. Whatever I can do, you can count on me."

"It's about Peg Masterson. With the way she was killed, there's a great deal of talk that I might have had something to do with it, and I'm trying to clear my good name."

"I haven't said anything," Marge said, putting a hand over her heart. "I swear to you, Suzanne, I wouldn't."

"I wasn't accusing you," I replied hastily. "It's just that I need to find out why she was killed, and I can't do it if I don't ask some indelicate questions."

Marge nodded. "I've spoken with Burt, and I understand you know about our relationship. We'd hoped to keep it quiet, but these things do seem to get out in a small town, don't they?"

"It's tough keeping any secrets here," I agreed. "But then again, I didn't know about Peg and Burt, either."

She waved a hand in the air. "From what I understand, there was nothing really to know about it. They shared a few meals together, saw a movie or two, but that was the extent of it."

"But when you came along, he stopped doing even that, is that right?"

Marge handed me a cup of tea, and I couldn't help notice that her hand was shaking slightly as she did. The echoed circles on the cup's surface magnified her case of nerves. "As I said, there wasn't anything to stop, really. He was never really all that serious about her."

"So he told you," I said as I took a sip.

Marge frowned. "Why should he lie to me?"

"I don't know," I said. "It just seems odd that your new boyfriend's old girlfriend was murdered in your garden."

Marge shook her head. "Don't give her the title. She had the nerve to try to scare me away from him, can you believe that?"

"What did she say?"

Marge looked angry as she admitted, "Peg told me Burt was after my money, not me. She said he'd drop me just like he'd dumped her when he got what he wanted."

"Is the hardware store in some kind of financial trouble?" I hadn't heard any rumors to that effect, but I didn't hear every bit of gossip in town.

Marge shook her head. "Burt said it's seasonal, that things will pick back up soon enough and he'll pay me back, including interest." She looked almost triumphant as she said it.

"How much have you given him?"

Marge must have suddenly realized that she'd told me something she hadn't meant to. She said abruptly, "Suzanne, I'm not sure I like your line of inquiry."

I tried to soften my position. "I'm not making any claims. I'm just thinking how all of this must look to the police. They've spoken to you about Peg, haven't they? Surely they must have."

She nodded. "I discussed the situation with Chief Martin, and then again with a state police inspector named Queen."

"Do you mean Bishop?" I asked.

She said, "I knew it was a chess piece, I just couldn't remember which one. Now that you mention it, yes, it must have been Bishop. Either way, neither one of them seemed to put much credence in any clash I might have had with Peg."

"But did they know about Burt?" I asked.

"How on earth would I know that? Suzanne, is that why you're here, to grill me like a common murderer? I don't think I want to talk to you about this any more."

"And you shouldn't have to," Burt said as he came into the kitchen. "Why are you asking these questions?"

"I'm just looking for the truth."

Burt answered, "Suzanne, we appreciate the fact that you're trying to find Peg's killer, but you're wasting your time with us. Now if you'll excuse us, we're late for a movie."

Marge looked startled for a moment, but then nodded in agreement. "We really must be going. I'd nearly forgotten about it."

They walked me out to my Jeep, and we all drove off at the same time. The interview hadn't been particularly illuminating, but watching them together had been. Burt was extremely protective of Marge, something I hadn't really expected if they'd just been seeing each other such a short time. Was there more to their story than either one of them was willing to admit? It was a possibility I had to consider, no matter how much I liked each of them. This wasn't a popularity contest, which was a good thing, because if it had been, I was certain to come in last place.

So, now I was dressed up, with no place to go. It made perfect sense to go home and change clothes--since the dress wasn't exactly my first choice in apparel--but then again, it wouldn't hurt to be seen around town in something besides the blue jeans I typically wore. My cell phone rang, and I was relieved to see that it was Grace.

After saying hello, I asked her, "What did you find out?"

"You first," she said.

"It's too involved to go over on the phone. I don't know about you, but I could use some pie. Do you have any interest in meeting me at the Boxcar?"

"I'll be there in four minutes," she said.

I figured Trish would get a kick out of my attempt to dress up, and I was sure she could make me laugh, something that was sorely missing in my life at the moment.

I parked in the gravel lot, then I walked up the steps into the converted dining car.

"You shouldn't be here," Trish said as she approached me. I'd barely made it through the door, and her tone was a surprising one to hear coming from a friend.

"What did I do? Don't tell me you're afraid of anyone seeing me eat here when some folks are suspicious of me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "This is for your own good."

"I'm a grown woman, Trish. I don't need to be shielded from anything."

"Suit yourself," she said. Trish took in my outfit, then added, "I'll say this for you. At least you look good."

I wanted to smile, but I had a hard time coming up with one. "Hey, I always look good. Today, I just look a little better."

She was called to the register by a customer wanting to pay, and I started looking for a place to sit.

Then I saw why she'd tried to warn me off. Sitting in a booth near the back was my ex-husband Max, as handsome and charming as ever. I was used to seeing him around town, but it was his dining companion that threw me off step.

He was with Darlene Higgins, the woman he'd slept with the day he'd thrown our marriage away. I didn't like her and took pleasure in the fact that although her blonde hair was natural, I suspected her curves were not. For just a moment, I wanted to duck out, but then, steeling my nerve, I walked straight toward them.

"Hi, Max," I said. "Hello, Darlene."

To Max's credit, he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Darlene, on the other hand, appeared to want to take out a front page ad in the newspaper.

"Suzanne, hi," Max said. "I was having lunch, and Darlene just came over and sat down. Would you like to join us?"

She looked as though she'd rather eat glass than share a seat with me, and I thought about joining them just to spite her, but that was more than my stomach could take. "No, thanks," I said. "I just came by for some pie to go." There was no way I was going to sit there with Grace while my ex-husband was on a date.

Darlene said, "I admire you for that. It's awfully brave of a woman your age to just let herself go and eat whatever she wants."

I looked at her half a second, then said, "I have to admit, it's certainly a great deal easier once you stop trying to hold onto someone who doesn't want to be with you. But then you'd know all about that too, wouldn't you?"