I snuck out of the closet, amazed I’d calmed down so much coming up with a plan. Maybe I was capable of a lot more than I thought.

Wrapping the towel around me, I hunched over and looked out the front windows. The back of a head disappeared into a beat-up looking black pickup truck with the name Weston’s Garage printed on the side, the letters rubbed off around the edges. The truck looked old and reminded me of a quilt with patches of rust spots and mismatched paint.

The man slammed the door closed and took off down the street. It surprised me he wasn’t more subtle. I only hoped Mildred had seen everything then remembered Thursday mornings meant Mildred was busy performing her presidential duties at the Garden Society meeting. Across town.

Discouraged, I turned around to view the damage left behind. Broken dishes and glasses were strewn everywhere. The junk drawer contents had been dumped onto the kitchen table, but when I checked my purse, my wallet appeared intact.

What had he been after?

I moved down to my bedroom, noticing the hole he beat into the wall in the hallway in his frustration. That had to be patched up, as well as the hole he kicked in the bathroom. In my bedroom, clothing had been dumped and thrown all over the room. In Momma’s room, boxes of photos were scattered everywhere like new fallen snow.

I sighed with weariness. I really didn’t want to deal with this right now. Calling the police crossed my mind, but that could take hours and I doubted they’d believe me anyway. I tiptoed my way through the mess in the kitchen to check the door. I could have sworn that I’d locked it when I came in. But I found it unlocked and the door didn't look busted in. The police definitely wouldn’t believe me now.

In the end, what did it matter whether I called or not? It wasn't like they were going to do anything about it.

The phone rang, startling me out of my thoughts. I answered it cautiously. Momma didn't believe in caller ID so I had no way of knowing who waited on the other end.

“Rose?” Joe asked, sounding surprised.

“Joe?”

“What are you doing home? Why aren’t you at work?”

“Why are you calling me if you didn’t think I was home?”

“I was gonna leave a message.” He paused then let his anger loose. “Where were you last night?”

“Excuse me?”

“You left and never came home, where were you all night?”

He was really starting to make me mad. Who did he think he was, anyway? “That’s none of your business, Joe McAllister! I don't answer to you.”

“I was worried about you, Rose. First your mother, then your break-in and the murder last night. I was scared something happened to you.”

“Wait a minute, what murder?”

“A bartender from Jaspers.”

The blood rushed out of my head and pooled in the tips of my toes. “What? Sloan?”

“You knew him?” Joe didn't sound as worried as he did before.

“Well, I wouldn't say I knew him that well. We had a dealing.” I sure wasn’t going to admit to Joe I needed help fending a man off. “I can’t believe it.” I sank down in a chair. I didn’t know how much more bad news I could take.

We were silent for a moment, while I let the information soak in. “What happened to him?” I finally asked.

“He was shot behind the restaurant after work. Execution-style.”

“What does that mean?”

“They shot him at point-blank range, but they probably tried to get information out of him first.”

“Oh, my…why would someone do that?”

“You tell me.”

My heart skipped a beat. “How would I know?” He was so exasperating. “I had one dealing with him and you think I know why someone killed him?”

“For such a quiet town, it’s more than a little coincidental that your mother is murdered, someone breaks into your house and a man was murdered last night. Someone you had a dealing with.”

If he only knew about my break-in minutes earlier. “Do you think the police will figure out I knew him?”

“That depends, Rose. How well did you know him?” Bitterness drenched his words.

“You very well know I didn’t know him in the way you’re insinuating. I think I’m done talking to you, Joe.”

“Wait!” He called out, pleading, before I could hang up.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I was just worried and apparently jealous.”

Jealous? Joe jealous over me? For some reason I didn't totally believe him. Three more days rang through my head. Besides, I had to admit I liked the idea of Joe being jealous. “So where did you think I went last night?”

“I was worried you ran off and did something crazy like sleep with some guy before Monday.”

“And why do you care?” I couldn’t help asking.

He paused, then answered, soft and sexy: “Because I want it to be me.”

I couldn't stop the sharp intake of air from the instantaneous fire igniting in my gut. “Then don't make me wait until Monday,” I whispered. “Maybe we can work out some kind of compromise.”

He paused again. I had a feeling Joe was doing some conscious-wrestling. He was trying to be honorable and I was trying to drag him down. I really was wicked. I almost felt bad. Almost.

“We can talk about it tonight at dinner. Remember?”