“It must have had something to do with her job.”

“Her journal entries lend themselves to that. Her boss knew about it. And so did Daddy and two other men. Bill and Dirk. But there’s no information about what they were doin’. There was someone who scared her, and I don’t think it was any of those four men.” I tapped the pen on the table, trying to dismiss the growing realization that there was a good chance my birth mother had been a criminal. “Do you know anything about Atchison Manufacturing?”

“I think my uncle used to work there after he graduated high school. There was a fire and the owner didn’t reopen.”

“Wait. I’ve heard this before,” I said with a gasp. “Dena told me about it when I picked up your cupcakes yesterday. She said Ima Jean from Ima Jean’s Bakery used to be nice. But her husband had an affair and his factory burned down. He killed himself.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s terrible.”

“I bet it’s the same place.”

“But Ima Jean’s last name isn’t Atchison. It’s Buchanan.”

“Can we talk to your uncle?”

She shook her head. “Not if we want answers right away. He’s up in Alaska on a hunting trip. My Aunt Thelma is paying him to hunt down new meat for her jerky business.”

“Alaska? In the middle of winter?”

She shrugged. “He’s always liked the cold. It doesn’t bother him. In fact, he’s camping.”

I blinked. And I had thought Neely Kate’s family was no longer capable of surprising me. “You can’t call him?”

“Granny tried just last week, but there’s no cell phone service in the tundra. She was gonna ask him to hunt her down a polar bear so she could make a fur coat. But my cousin Dolly Parton told her that that was ridiculous. She can’t have a polar bear coat.”

“No kidding.”

“The winters here in Arkansas aren’t near cold enough.”

“That too…” I regrouped and asked, “How long’s he gonna be gone?”

“Another couple months. He’s stayin’ up there until the day before the Ides of March.”

“Why the Ides of March?”

“One of his sled dogs is named Brutus. He’s worried he’ll turn on him.”

“Your uncle reads Shakespeare?”

She shrugged. “He saw the movie.”

“Okay…so your uncle’s out as a potential source.” I took a bite of my salad. “We need to find someone else who’ll remember what happened.”

Neely Kate cringed. “There’s no way Ima Jean’s gonna talk to us, let alone give us any leads.”

“No. Not Ima Jean. Someone who makes it her business to know everyone else’s doings and has been around since the beginning of time.”

Neely Kate let out a low whistle. “I only know of one person who fits that criteria and there’s no way she’s gonna talk to you either.”

“She will if I bring some kind of peace offering.”

“I think you must have whacked your head on the dashboard when you ran off the road. You could bring her gold bullion and she still wouldn’t talk to you.”

I gave her an ornery grin. “We’ll just see about that.”

Chapter Ten

I spent a good ten minutes trying to figure out what peace offering might soften Miss Mildred. Ultimately, I drove downtown to Ima Jean’s Bakery.

Neely Kate had a royal fit when I told her to wait in the truck, but the square was crowded and I had to park in front of the florist, which was a good two blocks from the bakery. I was worried she’d overdone it, and I didn’t want her to walk that far.

“Look, Neely Kate, you know I’m not gonna get a flippin’ word out of her. In fact, I’m not sure I’m even gonna try. I’m only getting some kind of baked good to take as my peace offering, and you know Miss Mildred would scoff at anything from Dena’s.” I ignored her glare. “What do you think she likes?”

“Blood pudding, made from the sacrifice of heathen sinners.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Did she ever try to sneak in your house and take your blood while you were sleepin’?”

“She was one of the few people who didn’t try to break into my house when I lived there. Not to mention the fact that she’s not a vampire.”

“But it would explain so much.”

I sighed. “I’ll figure out what to get her. Or maybe ask Ima Jean.”

She snorted. “Good luck with that.”

Ignoring her uncharacteristic pessimism, I left her in the still-running truck and headed toward the bakery. It was after lunchtime, but Ima Jean’s shop was dead to the world. In fact, the shades were half-pulled, and given the northern exposure, I couldn’t help but wonder if Ima Jean was the vampire.

“Can I help you?” a woman’s voice called out when I walked inside.

I searched the shop and found her behind the counter, sitting on a stool and doing a crossword puzzle. She was a good twenty years younger than Ima Jean and a whole lot prettier, but in a rough living kind of way. She had bright red hair, which, judging from her dark roots, was obviously colored. “Uh…yeah. I need to get something for my neighbor. She’s elderly—in her eighties—but I’m not sure what she’d like. Any suggestions?”

Without budging from her stool or putting down her pencil, the woman gave me a blank stare. “You’re asking me?”