"I thought we already established that you weren't buying anything," she said as sweetly as she could manage, which wasn't very nice at all.

"Not at the moment," I said, "but that doesn't mean I might not be in the market for something in the future."

Janice began cleaning the display counter, though it already looked pristine to me. "I'll believe it when I see it. In the meantime, I don't have time for gossip and idle speculation, especially from you."

"Why me in particular?" I asked.

"Must we really have this discussion?" she asked.

I wasn't about to budge. "Yes, we do."

Janice threw her towel down on the case. "Fine, if you insist on having this conversation, then we'll have it. You've been stealing my business, and we both know it. It's simply wrong. My shop was here long before you bought that donut shop of yours, and I'll be here well after you've moved on to something else."

I couldn't have been more surprised if she'd handed me a hundred dollar bill or a live chicken. "Janice, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me," she said.

"Who's playing? I haven't a clue."

Janice said, "The Jackson-Bright wedding."

Then I realized exactly what she meant. Robbie Jackson and his betrothed, Heather Bright, had decided that instead of a conventional wedding cake, they wanted donuts, and lots of them. I thought it was sweet, since they'd had their first date at Donut Hearts, and had wanted to commemorate the occasion appropriately. Emma and I had pulled an extra shift that day, making donuts long after our shop was closed in time for the late afternoon wedding. It had been a big hit with most of the folks who attended and knew their story, though a few relatives from out of town on both sides were perplexed by the nuptials being held in an old train station that now housed a donut shop.

"It was one wedding," I said. "They met in my shop, so it made sense. Trust me, I'm not going after your wedding cake business. I don't have the time, or the energy."

Janice was not appeased by my explanation. "Just know that if you do it again, I'm going to start making donuts and selling them here in my shop as well."

"You're welcome to make them any time you want," I said. I wanted to add that she'd better hope she made them tastier than her cakes, but I bit my tongue instead.

In a softer voice, I said, "I wasn't trying to poach your clientele, honestly."

Janice seemed to soften a bit, so maybe she actually believed me. "So you say."

I took a deep breath, then asked, "Can we talk about what happened to Peg Masterson today? Or would you rather tell me why you and Gabby were about to come to blows in her shop a little bit ago?"

"Suzanne, as I told you, I don't have time to stand around and talk to you. I have orders to fill and work that needs to be done."

"Go ahead. But be warned, I'm not leaving until you tell me," I said.

"Oh really? Let's just see what the police say about that," she said as she reached for the telephone.

I knew when I was beat. "Save yourself the call. I'll leave."

She had a smug expression on her face, one I wasn't going to let her keep for long. With my hand on the front door, I added, "Just remember one thing, Janice. I won't give up until I find the truth."

"Is that a threat, Suzanne?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. It's a promise."

I walked out of the shop, wondering where to go next with my investigation. So far, I was about as popular as a dog at a cat show, but I wasn't going to let that slow me down.

I just wish I knew where else to look. I'd told George that I could talk to Peg's neighbors, but it was hard to tell what they'd be able to tell me about her.

I needed to come up with another plan.

My ideas, at least for the moment, were gone. I was ready to go home and grab a bite, then try to unwind before it was bedtime. I had George out scouring for clues, and I wouldn't do anybody any good stumbling around without at least some kind of plan. I'd had one day to sleep in, and it had turned out to be a disaster, so I was looking forward to getting back to my old schedule as quickly as I could.

In all honesty, I needed routine in my life more than I was willing to admit. Donuts were always the same; predictable, and steady. I could make them in my sleep, and sometimes it felt as though I did. I found great comfort in knowing what tomorrow would bring. At least most days.

I drove home the few short blocks, and as I pulled the Jeep into my parking place, my cell phone rang.

I checked the caller ID and was surprised to see who was calling me. What on earth did Trish Granger want?

There was only one way to find out, no matter how tired I was.

"Hey, Trish. How are you?"

"Oh, dear. You sound tired. Maybe I shouldn't have called."

I glanced at my watch and saw that it was barely past five. "Nonsense. I'm fine, though I will admit that it's been a long day."

"This isn't really all that important," she said. "Why don't you call me tomorrow and we'll talk then."

"Trish, I assure you, I'm fine."

"Okay, then. I caught enough of your conversation with George at the diner to know that you two are investigating what happened to Peg Masterson. It's not like I mean to," she added quickly. "But you know how small that place is, and voices tend to carry."

I'd dodged enough direct questions for one day. "I admit it. We're both afraid the police are going to focus solely on me, and we know I didn't do it. There really isn't much choice but to find out what really happened to Peg ourselves, is there?"

"I agree with you completely," she said. "That's why I'm calling. I overheard something that might be useful to you."

"I'm listening," I said.

She paused, then admitted, "Two minutes ago, I could swear I heard someone say that Burt Gentry at the hardware store isn't as upset as he should be about the murder."

I'd known Burt all my life. "Why should he be any more affected than the rest of us?" I asked.

"Didn't you know? He and Peg were dating, at least until she broke up with him last week. I thought everyone in town knew about the two of them."

"Apparently it was a better kept secret than you thought," I said. None of my friends had said a word about Burt's relationship with Peg, and I thought we knew everything that was going on in April Springs.

"Maybe so. Do you think the police know about the relationship? It might give them a suspect in her murder. Besides you, I mean."

"You could always tell them yourself," I said.

"Why don't you?"

I sighed, "Trish, if I tell them, they'll immediately assume that I'm making it up to get myself off the hook. You're a lot more credible at the moment than I am."

"I don't know, Suzanne. I hate to get involved," Trish said.

"How do you think I feel? I'm in the middle of a murder investigation, and I'm as innocent as a spring lamb."

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll call the chief right now."

"Let me know what he says, okay?"

"I'll do it."

As I hung up, I looked up and saw Momma standing on the porch.

As I got out of the Jeep, she said, "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming in."

"I had a telephone call I had to take," I said.

"I heard that Jake was back in town," she said. "Will he be joining us for dinner?"

"No, ma'am. He seems to think that it would look bad to go out with me while he's investigating Peg Masterson's murder, so I don't see that there's much of a chance we'll be dating again anytime soon."

Momma frowned. "That's just nonsense."

"You want to know the truth? I've had some time to think about it, and I'm starting to think he's right."

As I walked inside the cottage, I smelled the air, and was suddenly enveloped by the aroma of my mother's famous meatloaf. "Besides, if Jake were here, I'd have to share my dinner with him."

"I made an entire meatloaf, I believe we have enough to spare for some company, don't you?"

"You don't know how hungry I am," I said. "Is it ready yet?"

"We can eat whenever you'd like."

I took my seat at the table, and helped myself to meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, one of my favorite meals of all time.

After we said the blessing, I had a forkful poised for my mouth when my cell phone rang.

"Let it ring," Momma said. She hated it when our meals were interrupted by telephone calls, and though she couldn't ban them from the table, she managed to show her disapproval if I took a call while we were eating.

I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Trish. "Sorry, Momma, I've got to take this."

"Not at the table then," she said.

I frowned, jammed the bite I had poised ready to go into my mouth, then got up and walked out onto the front porch.

"Hey, Trish. What did he say?"

"You were right. He thought I was trying to help you," she said. "I used to think you were paranoid thinking the chief was out to get you. I'm not so sure anymore."

I wished I could tell her that I was surprised by his reaction, but I couldn't. "You tried, and that's what counts. Thanks for believing in me."

"Suzanne, we've been friends forever. I'll always look out for you, you should know that."

"I do," I said, then hung up.

If Chief Martin wasn't going to talk to Burt, that meant that I had to do it myself. The hardware store was already closed, though, and I couldn't just show up on his doorstep without a really good reason. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

I planned to go to his store to find out what was really going on.

After the delicious meal, I'd just finished doing the dishes when my cell phone rang again. Momma was on the couch working her way through our complete set of Agatha Christies yet again. I put the last dish in the drying rack, then answered the call.

"Suzanne Hart, I'm going to shoot you," I heard Grace say.

"Is there a particular reason this time, or is it just out of sheer meanness?"

"You didn't call me after what happened to Peg Masterson. I had to hear it from Emma."

"Why on earth did she call you?"

"Don't take it out on her. She's worried about you. Don't worry. I'm coming home in the morning."

"You shouldn't cancel your trip because of me," I said.

"Nonsense. We had our meeting this morning, and I spent the rest of the day shopping at Barefoot Landing. There's nothing going on tomorrow, except for a golf outing at Myrtle National. Honestly, I was planning on coming home early anyway. I'll see you around lunchtime," she said.

"That would be wonderful," I admitted. It would be good having Grace nearby. She was more than just a dear friend. She was a rock I could lean on if I needed to, and a partner in my earlier unofficial investigation. While she wasn't all that interested in coming up with lists of suspects and motives, Grace was a whiz at play-acting, and there wasn't a role she wouldn't tackle to help me find the truth.

"See you then," Grace said, and hung up.

I thought Momma had missed the telephone call altogether, but she looked up from our copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, putting her finger on the page to mark her place, and asked, "Who was that?"

"Grace just found out what happened today," I said.

"I thought she was out of town," Momma said.

"She was. I mean, she is. But she's coming home tomorrow."

I got that look from her again. "Suzanne, you're not going to drag her into this, are you?"

"Momma, I don't drag anyone anywhere they don't want to be. She's my friend, and she wants to be here to support me."

"She's a good girl," Momma said, then went back to her book.

I slipped off to my bedroom upstairs. Tomorrow was another big day of making donuts. Some folks in town gave me grief for being open on Sundays, but it was my biggest day of the week, what with Sunday schools and other folks indulging in a little weekend decadence. I'd made a conscious choice to stay open seven days a week, and I found most of my regular customers appreciated the convenience.

As I got ready for bed, I kept staring at my telephone, not even aware at first that I'd been doing it. Was I actually expecting Jake to call? He'd made it pretty clear that he was busy at the moment, and if he was thinking of me at all while he was back in April Springs, it was probably as a murder suspect.

To keep myself occupied until bedtime, I decided to follow my mother's lead and read a good book. For the rest of the evening, I was going to spend a little time with one of Carolyn Hart's books. The adventures of Annie Darling were just what I needed to take my mind off my own troubles.

I had finally dozed off when my bedside phone rang. I'd forgotten to turn off the ringer, and as I grabbed it, I found myself hoping it was Jake.