“I don’t really feel like going out. We can eat sandwiches at my house.”

He parked at a stop sign. “You still don’t have any food?”

I shrugged. “It’s just me. And Muffy. There’s no sense cooking for just me.”

He flipped his blinker on and turned left. “Well, there’s me now and I refuse to eat turkey sandwiches for every meal. We’re stopping at the grocery store.”

While I didn’t relish the idea of grocery shopping after spending all day in a jail cell, I couldn’t argue with him. Besides, if we had a house full of food, we wouldn’t need to go out all weekend.

Joe parked at the Piggly Wiggly and offered to run in while I waited in the car. But I’d spent all afternoon alone and enclosed in a tight space. I didn’t need any more solitary confinement. As we walked across the parking lot, he spouted off a half a dozen things he needed. My cooking was pretty good, but Joe had more gourmet tastes. Eating with him was always an adventure. I’d found that between eating alone and spending time with Joe, I didn’t cook much lately. After cooking for Momma the last eight years, I was happy to let Joe take over the chore.

Joe grabbed a cart as we entered the store, and one of the baggers in the checkout lanes caught my eye. He looked familiar, with his shaggy hair and twitchy hands, yet I couldn’t place him.

“Do you want to eat right away or can you wait while I cook?” Joe asked, stopping in the produce aisle.

I leaned into him as he grabbed a couple of onions. “If you’re asking if I’m hungry for food, I’ll just say I can think of a better use of our time than that kind of cookin’.”

He stopped and turned to me, planting a kiss on my mouth before I could protest. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Take me home and I’ll show you.”

His grinned widened. “How can I refuse that?”

Joe hurried through his list of ingredients, while I tried to figure out how I knew the guy bagging groceries. Something about him niggled at the back of my mind.

Joe paused at the entrance to the pet care aisle. “Do you need anything for Muffy?”

“What? No. She’s good.”

He put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “You seem distracted. Would you rather wait in the car while I finish? You’ve had a long day.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course, not. I’m almost done.” He dug his keys out of his pocket and handed them to me. “It’s still hot out there. Go ahead and start the car so you have the air conditioning. I won’t be long.”

“Thanks.”

I walked to the exit, past a couple of women who huddled over an end cap of bakeware, whispering and watching me. I’d noticed people staring as Joe and I shopped. Gossip spread fast in Henryetta. Frustrated, I told myself that I should be used to it. I’d lived with it all my life because of my visions. But I was sure the latest topic of gossip was my recent incarceration, something many of them had hoped for a couple of months ago when they thought I’d murdered Momma. I was having quite a year. At this rate, I was bound to have my own reality TV show by Christmas.

Hurrying across the parking lot and away from all the gossiping, I saw the shaggy-haired bag boy loading groceries into the trunk of a Lincoln Town Car. He slammed the lid shut then pushed the cart toward me, looking up through his long dishwater blond hair.

I gasped, realizing he was David Moore, Bruce’s friend who’d testified that morning. “Wait!” I shouted in my excitement. “I know who you are!”

His eyes widened and he hurried past me.

I followed, sure I looked like a stalker. “Stop! Please! I just want to talk to you about Bruce.”

His feet froze to the ground and I almost crashed into the back of him. He turned around, and his face lit up with recognition. “Hey! You were a juror, weren’t you? The one who got thrown into jail!”

I smoothed my skirt, trying not to look defensive. “I wasn’t the only one. Several other people were held in contempt.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “You were the only one actually thrown in jail. Everyone else got released before they were even booked.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “I heard that you think Bruce is innocent.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

I wasn’t surprised he doubted me. I’m sure he and Bruce faced a lot of discrimination based on their appearance. And their habit. “Let’s just say it’s instinct.” Since I’d been thrown in jail for trying to help Bruce, I hoped David would trust me at least a little. “Can I ask you a couple of things?”

He leaned over his cart and pushed it to the cart corral. “Just keep talkin’. I have to look busy or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Sure.” Of course, my following him around the parking lot didn’t look suspicious at all. “You said you helped Bruce hide the murder weapon. I still don’t understand why he took it with him.”

David glanced around then lowered his voice. “Look, Bruce is a nervous kind of guy.”

I could see why the two of them got along so well.

“He saw the murder happen like right there in front of him and it completely freaked him out. Like, big time. Plus, he was pretty stoned and wasn’t thinkin’ straight. Daniel Crocker used to grow some pretty wicked weed.”

I raised an eyebrow.