He gave me a snarly glare, then walked away, looking over his shoulder.

“Jeez, I’m glad you processed him,” Suzanne said. “He stalked this place all last week. He’d come in and look around and leave, sometimes coming in a couple of times a day. I wanted to call the police but Betty wouldn’t let me. Guess he had a thing for you. Go figure.” She said the last part with disgust. Almost as if she were jealous.

I tried to figure out what happened. Why did he ask if Sloan was a cop? And even if he was, what did that have to do with me? I didn't have time to dwell on it, because the rest of the day was one big swarm of customers with complicated issues. It didn't help matters that I told one man he would be in a fender bender the next day and a woman that her deep freezer got unplugged.

By the time we closed, I was worn out and couldn't wait to get home to take a bath. I could enjoy one as long as I wanted without Momma pounding on the door, telling me I was taking too long. I tried to find some guilt over the thought, and finally found it, but I had to dig deep. I was sorry she got killed, but I didn’t miss her harping on me all the time.

If that wasn’t an evil thought, I didn’t know what was.

When I pulled in next to the house, I couldn’t stop myself from looking for Joe’s car. I thanked God for the empty driveway; otherwise I wasn’t sure I could be responsible for my actions. I missed him. How that was possible, I didn’t know. I hardly knew him. I didn’t even know what he did for a living, yet I missed him. I sounded like a hormone-riddled teenager. In a way, I supposed I was.

Dirty plates and glasses filled the sink. Part of me wanted to just leave them for the next day since no one forced me to do them now, but the responsible part of me said to wash them. Perhaps if I dragged the responsible Rose out, I could trust myself not to run across the driveway to talk to Joe.

I told myself I could take a bubble bath when I finished the dishes. A little motivation. I piled the dishes in the sink and started to wash. When I opened the dishtowel drawer, I was surprised to find a Walmart bag. It was the nightie I’d bought and stuffed in the drawer the afternoon Joe came over to help me paint.

I hurried through the dishes, casting glances at the Walmart bag. Maybe I could wear it after I took my bath. That sounded decadent. A bubble bath, with candles. Then the nightie. I was turning into a wanton woman. I smiled at the thought. Too bad none of those things marked anything off my list.

I filled the tub with warm water and a lavender bubble bath, an old birthday gift from Violet. I found some candles and lit them before sinking into the water with a book, relaxing in the warm glow of candlelight and the smell of lavender. I could get used to this.

When the water cooled off, I got out and patted off with a towel, staring at the nightie that lay folded in a heap on the toilet seat. Could I really wear it?

Oh for heaven’s sake Rose, it's a nightie you’re going to wear in your own home. It’s not like you’re posing for Playboy.

I slipped my arms through the straps of the gown, letting the silky fabric slide down my body. I reveled in the feel of it and turned to look at myself in the mirror. For the first time, I felt sensuous. I knew I should feel evil, but I didn’t.

I felt sexy.

I gasped at the thought. I’d never felt sexy in my life.

As I stood in front of the mirror, watching the silky fabric cling to my curves, I couldn’t help but think it was a shame this didn’t check anything off my list. Of course, there was the empty number twenty-nine. I could write wear a nightie in the spot, or take a bath by candlelight. But neither seemed big enough to put in the space. I’d leave it empty for now.

I went through the list from memory. Was there something else on there I could do tonight?

Dance. The conversation I had with Joe jostled its way into my head.

“You’ve never danced?”

“Nope.”

“Now that’s a damn shame. Everyone has danced in their living room.”

I could dance in my living room.

I blew out the candles and made sure the curtains in the living room were closed. I had a CD player in the hall closet, but the only music I had was Momma’s gospel CDs. I wasn’t sure it was really possible to dance to gospel music, even if I got around the wrongness of it. Then I remembered Daddy had an old AM/FM radio he would sometimes listen to while working outside. Last time I’d seen it was out in the shed.

Grabbing an oversized sweater from my room, along with a flashlight and the key to the shed, I opened the side door. The coast was clear, so I hurried to the shed, not running but not walking either. A giant magnolia tree shaded the corner of the backyard, making it hard to see the padlock on the metal shed door. But I didn’t want to turn on the flashlight until I got inside. What if someone saw me? After a bit of fumbling, I managed to get it unlocked. I slid the door open, trying to minimize the squeaking. During the daytime, it didn't sound so loud when I opened the door to get out the lawnmower, but in the quiet evening, it echoed off the trees.

I slipped through the small opening and cracked the door about six inches behind me, flinching at the screech. The air in the shed was stifling. I hadn’t opened it in over a week, obvious from the slightly overgrown yard. The smell of gasoline and mildewed grass permeated the confined space, making me want to gag. I turned on the flashlight and edged my way past the mower toward the rear, stubbing my toe on the gas can. It banged into the metal wall, vibrating the sides with a loud rattle.

Crappy doodles.