"You know what that means, don't you?" I asked.

"Yeah." He grinned. "We're back in the game. I'll see if we can get Pendleton to talk."

"And I'll talk to Maude's husband, Bernard. Maybe he can clarify if one of his wife's bottles was ever missing. He might also be able to explain more about his wife's condition. Help give her an alibi."

"Sounds like a plan, Tink. Maybe you'll make it through this investigation after all."

"Gee thanks, ye of little faith." I smirked.

"Hey, everyone's a suspect in my eyes until a case is closed." Mitch's smile dimmed, and the detective in him took over full force. "Including you."

18.

I pulled my bug up to the large mill on the outskirts of Divinity and parked next to old man Sampson's pickup truck. It was nearly lunchtime, so I figured it was as good a time as any to have a word with him. I chose not to talk to him at home because I didn't want to risk Maude being around to overhear our conversation.

A loud whistle blew, and a minute later the doors opened and workers filed out for their lunch break. Some would remain on-site to eat, while others needed a break from the daily grind. I'd taken my chances that Bernard was one of the latter.

Turned out I was right.

Bernard was one of the last to exit, his shoulders slightly drooping, and his gait a bit heavy. He approached his truck and then stopped short when he saw me. I hopped out of my car and walked over to him.

"Hi, Mr. Sampson. Remember me? Sunny." I held out my hand.

He shook it warily. "I remember you. What do you want?"

"Wow, you get right to the point, don't you?" I giggled, but his mouth flattened to a thin line. I stifled my awkwardness. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude on your lunch hour, but I was wondering if I could have a word with you?"

"About what?"

"I was worried about Maude and wanted to see how she's doing."

"She's fine." He started to walk around me.

"There's more." I stepped in front of him, pulling my coat closer together. The temperature was below freezing today.

"You know where I live, why not come to the house?"

"Because I don't want your wife to overhear us."

He hesitated for so long, I wondered if he'd had a stroke. Finally, he huffed, "Fine, but I eat in my truck."

"In your truck? But it's so cold out."

"I like the cold. Besides, it's the one place that's all mine where I can relax and feel at peace." He climbed into the driver's side without another word.

I could relate. My sanctuary gave me the exact same feeling. I could only hope I'd get to start up my business again soon. Share a piece of me with the world. I slipped inside the pa.s.senger's side of Bernard's truck, but somehow felt he didn't quite want to share a piece of himself with me.

"I truly am sorry for invading your s.p.a.ce, Mr. Sampson, but I really am worried about your wife."

His old-fashioned metal lunch box sat open on the worn cloth seat between us, his sandwich already half eaten. He slowly lowered the rest of his sandwich to his lap and looked at me. "I don't mean to be so gruff, Ms. Meadows, but it's been a long couple of weeks. What do you want to know?"

"For starters, how is Maude?" I asked, full of sincerity. I truly cared about what happened to her.

He jerked his gray head to the side. "As good as can be expected."

"Does she remember anything from over the last couple of days?"

"She's fine now, but she doesn't remember anything from when she wandered off." He looked pained and frustrated. "She has her good days and her bad, but then again, so do all of us."

"I hear that," I said softly, and then I asked the question that I dreaded but needed to be asked. "Your wife didn't retire from the library. She was fired, wasn't she?"

His eyes whipped up to mine, looking startled and a little afraid, but then he stared off into the distance. "She had just started to forget things at that time, but it wasn't that bad. We both thought it was part of getting old. We'd worked so hard so we could enjoy our golden years, but then it looked like we wouldn't have any golden years at all. Maude kept saying something was wrong, but I kept insisting she was fine. That maybe if she read more or did crossword puzzles or something, she would get better."

"But she didn't get better, did she?"

"Nope. Things got worse, but I was in denial. When she got fired for being incompetent, I couldn't bear for anyone to think less of her, so I said she retired. Ms. Robbins felt horrible about having to let her go, so she agreed to tell everyone publicly that Maude retired."

"But officially she had to put why she was fired in the records, didn't she?"

He nodded, looking sad.

"Don't take this the wrong way, because I really do want to help your wife, but where was she the night of Amanda Robbins's murder?"

"Truth is, this is not the first time Maude has wandered off and not remembered where she was. I've covered for her in the past, but this time she was gone too long. I was afraid something really bad had happened to her, so I had to call the police." He looked at me with pleading eyes. "I swear my Maude would never hurt a fly. You have to believe that."

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Sampson," I reminded him softly. "Where was your wife on the night of the murder?"

He sounded worn-out and exhausted. "I don't know."

"You don't know? What do you mean?"

"I came home from work at supper time, but she was gone. I drove around looking for her for hours, and then I went home. She showed up at ten P.M. with no memory of where she'd been."

I touched his arm, and he flinched. "Thank you," I said. "I know that was hard, but I promise you, I believe you about Maude not being capable of hurting anyone. I have to question her, but I will do everything I can to clear her name. We will find the real killer, I promise you."

He looked down at his lap and nodded. The whistle on the plant blew, signaling the end of the lunch break. "Well, I gotta get back to work."

"Thank you, Mr. Sampson. I'll be in touch." I climbed out of his truck and looked back, but he just sat there, staring at the steering wheel, looking dejected. I vowed right then and there to find a way to help him get his wife back.

Later that afternoon, I went to the police station. I pa.s.sed Captain Walker in the hall.

"Ms. Meadows. How's the case coming along?"

"We're getting there," I answered.

"Good. Glad to hear it. Mitch is in his office, down the hall and on the right."

"Thanks."

"Anytime." He saluted, rounding the corner toward his own office.

I walked through Mitch's door and closed it behind me. The room was nothing like his apartment. His home had cla.s.s and good taste and atmosphere. This room was all business, devoid of any homey touches. No pictures, no knickknacks, no anything. Just a desk and a couple chairs. It was like he didn't want anyone to know he was actually human, had feelings.

"You don't knock?" he asked, not looking up. He sat at a simple desk, organizing his notes in front of him.

"Sorry." I rolled my eyes. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Oh, come on."

His mouth twisted into a c.o.c.keyed half smile, and he finally looked up. "Have a seat, Tink. You get to talk to Sampson?"

I sat in a chair across from him and dropped my bag on the floor, feeling as exhausted as Bernard had looked. This case was taking its toll on me. "I caught him on his lunch hour at the mill."

"And?"

I fiddled with the ta.s.sels on my bag. "And you were right. Maude definitely needs more help than we thought. She wandered off the evening of the murder and didn't come back home until ten that night." My eyes met his. "And she can't remember where she was during that time."

"That doesn't mean she's guilty, okay?"

I nodded, feeling hopeless. Things were not looking good for poor Maude. "How about you? Any luck with Pendleton?"

"Lucinda said they interrogated him, but he's not breaking. He swears none of them killed Amanda Robbins. He admits he did go see her the night she was murdered. He tried to get her to change her vote, but she wouldn't budge. They argued, and then he left. He met with Carolyn and Gladys right next door but says they didn't hear anything."

"That's still just his word." I brightened. "Any one of them could have killed her, or they could have planned it together, and Amanda could have had some of Maude's medicine left over in her house. Anything is possible."

"That's right, but we still don't have any solid proof. The trio had motive and possible access to digoxin, but we can't place them at the scene of the crime for sure. Mrs. Sampson had motive and access to digoxin, but we can't place her at the scene of the crime, either. You might not have motive, but you don't have an alibi, either, and you were the last person to see Ms. Robbins alive. All we have for sure are your tea leaves laced with digoxin. Your father is a cardiologist, Tink."

My eyes met his and held for a full minute. "After all we've been through together; you can't seriously believe I'm capable of murder."

He studied me for a moment. "My gut tells me you're innocent, but I don't trust anyone fully. Make no mistake, I will do my job, no matter what that entails."

My heart squeezed tight. That stung. He cursed softly. He wasn't as impartial as he wanted me to believe, no matter what he said.

"You want to clear your name or not?" he finally asked.

"Gee, no, I'd rather rot in a cell."

"That can be arranged."

I clenched my jaw. "What now, Detective? I wouldn't dream of standing in the way of you doing your job . . . whatever that entails."

"Good. Glad we're on the same page," he said rather loudly as he stared me down, and a muscle in his jaw throbbed. He took a deep breath and continued in a calmer, quieter voice. "I think it's time we talked to Maude herself."

No matter how frustrated he made me or how much it hurt to think he still had doubts about my innocence, I knew he was right. We were running out of time. "Do you think questioning Maude is wise? I don't want to upset her or make her condition worse."

He scrubbed his hands over his face, looking as though this case were taking a toll on him like the rest of us. "She still has many cognizant moments, Tink, and at this point we're desperate. I think she's the one who left those footsteps outside Ms. Robbins's window the night of the murder. Maude Sampson is either our murderer or an eyewitness. Either way, if she can remember what she saw, she might be the proof we need."

"Okay then, let's do it."

We covered all of our bases when it came to questioning Maude Sampson. We went to her house, a big old colonial with a country-style decor, instead of the police station to make her more comfortable. We sat in her living room and let her serve us coffee and tea. She actually looked pleased to have the company.

Her husband was present for moral support and had insisted on calling a lawyer to protect her rights. Dr. Wilc.o.x was in the room to a.s.sess her state of mind and be there should she need any medical a.s.sistance. h.e.l.l, even my lawyer was there to protect my rights (my parents were sitting in the back of the room).

"Go ahead, Detective Stone," Dr. Wilc.o.x said. "Mrs. Sampson is fully aware and here of her own accord. She's not here under duress, and she wants to cooperate."

Mitch nodded once and then turned to Maude, who sat on the couch beside her husband. "So, how are you, Mrs. Sampson? You feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling great, dear. How's your coffee? Can I top you off?"

"I'm good. The coffee's great, thank you." He smiled kindly. "Do you remember Amanda Robbins?"

Maude's face fell. "I remember Amanda well. I worked with her for years at the library. It's such a tragedy what happened to her. After my girls moved away, Amanda was like a daughter to me. She was so good about bringing me my medicine, and I always looked out for her as well. I miss her terribly." She wiped away a tear and sipped her tea.

"You okay?" Bernard asked, looking strained. "We can take a break if you'd like. You don't have to do this, you know."

"No, no. I'm fine." She patted his hand. "I want to do this, Bernie. I won't feel right until we know what happened to Amanda."

He squeezed her hand briefly and then nodded for the detective to continue.

"Mrs. Sampson, do you remember why you don't work at the library anymore?" Mitch asked.

She glanced at Bernard with a questioning look.

"It's okay," he said. "They know."

She looked back at Mitch. "I left because I was fired."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Sad. I loved working at the library. Bernard and I had such plans for when we retired, but I needed to work there a bit longer for us to afford it." She sniffed. "Poor Amanda didn't have any choice after Carolyn turned me in. But it wasn't Carolyn's fault, either." She shook her head. "I was forgetting simple things like what a stapler was used for, and I kept making mistakes in the catalog system. Everything was a mess, and none of us wanted that."

"What did you do after you stopped working at the library?"

"Oh, I kept busy around the house, and I visited the library often. After all, I still had to look out for Amanda, though I guess I didn't do a very good job."

"On the day of Amanda's murder, what did you do?"

"Well, I remember having breakfast with my church group, and then I did some volunteer work down at the food pantry. I had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon, and then I stopped into the library. I remember Carolyn was there, and when I asked where Amanda was, Carolyn said she couldn't make it in because she had to go to the doctor's. I figured I would swing by her house later to check on her. I went home and made dinner for Bernard and some chicken soup for Amanda."

"And did you go see her?" Mitch asked.