She peered in. “Girl, what in blazes are ya doin’ out here?”

I told her about the break-in and my fear of falling asleep in my house.

“You sure don’t need to be workin’ today,” she said. “Take the day off.”

I had already taken a week of vacation time off the week before and going home was the last thing I wanted to do. Home no longer felt safe. For the first time, I considered letting Violet keep the house and moving somewhere else. Somewhere bad people couldn't find me. But leaving the county wasn’t an option.

We were busier than usual, which could have kept my mind off my troubles. But the ringing cell phone in my drawer kept reminding me my problems were still waiting. I turned it to silent, but my drawer sounded like a vibrating bed in a cheap motel, which drew more than a few strange looks.

Between customers, I checked my caller ID. I had calls from Violet, my attorney, and the police. I asked Betty if I could return that one. Perhaps if I proved myself agreeable, I would look less suspicious.

I snuck off to the back room and called the detective assigned to the case. He told me they hadn’t come up with anything yet, but had more questions and wanted me to come into the station. Next, I called Deanna who admonished me for talking to the police without her there.

“I don't care if it's about a hangnail. If you talk to anyone with a badge, you call me first.”

When I told her that my presence had been requested at the police station, she groaned. “Don’t go. Just wait for me to set up a time for us to go together and I’ll get back to you.”

I still needed to call Violet and I needed to have someone come fix my window. And turn back on my electricity and phone. Plus, I could barely keep my eyes open from my lack of sleep. Betty came to check on me and I apologized for taking too long, tears in my eyes.

“Rose, go home. We're fine without ya.”

I started to protest but stopped. I was tired and needed sleep before I faced my police interview. The first place I thought to go was Violet’s.

I called her on the way over and filled her in on the previous night’s activities, leaving out all references to Joe. When I knocked on her door, she opened it after the first rap and pulled me into a huge hug. I would have cried if I weren’t so tired.

“Can I go lay down and take a nap?” I asked. “I’ve been up since one this morning.”

“Of course!”

But as I walked down to Ashley’s room, my phone vibrated. It was Deanna. I needed to be at the police station in thirty minutes.

She met me in front of the station, looking very professional but grim. “Don’t you answer a single question unless I tell you to, got it?”

I nodded, wondering why she acted so concerned. Two hours later when we emerged from the police station I understood.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Rose,” she said. “It doesn’t look good.”

“I don’t understand. Why would they still think I killed Momma after the break-in?”

“They think you staged it, because so much broken glass was outside the house versus inside. If the intruder broke the window to get inside, the glass would be on the inside.”

“There was glass inside!”

“But most was outside, meaning the window had been broken from inside.”

“I broke the window beating him out the window! What about the utilities being turned off?”

“They were cut with hedge trimmers with the name Gardner written on them and neighbors said they heard noise coming from your shed hours before the incident. One said they saw you going out to the shed.”

My heart plummeted into despair.

“I’m going to ask you again, Rose, and I need you tell me the God’s honest truth. If you answer yes, I can still help you but I have to know, one way or the other. Did you kill your mother?”

“No!” I nearly shouted, horrified she thought it possible.

“Did you stage the break-in to make it look like someone was after you?”

“No,” I answered, more resigned. It looked really bad.

“There’s a chance they’re going to arrest you for your mother’s murder and possibly other charges like filing a false police report for the break-in. The real question is if they will charge you with manslaughter or second-degree murder.” She focused on something over my shoulder, lost in thought. “I think you’ll escape a charge of first-degree murder, although you had the argument in the early afternoon and the murder occurred in the evening. They could very well accuse you of spending the afternoon plotting your mother’s death.”

I heard her words but they didn't sink in, floating on the surface of my consciousness, bobbing and teasing me with their seriousness. This couldn't be happening. Me, Rose Anne Gardner, accused of murder. I began to laugh.

Deanna’s eyes widened in astonishment, then she patted me on the shoulder. “You’re in shock. It’s okay, it's a normal reaction, actually.”

My laughter died away just as quickly as it started. “How much longer until they arrest me?”

“You’re not a flight risk and they’re still trying to piece things together. I suspect possibly a week, week and a half, depending if they find any new evidence. Everything they have is circumstantial. They’re hoping to find a solid piece of evidence before they file the charges so they’ll wait for results from the crime lab.”

I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.