“Look, I know I haven’t been the best pet owner lately…”

The stench grew worse. I grabbed a pillow and covered my face. “Muffy! Stop that right now!”

She spun around again, then laid her head on my leg and looked up at me with innocent eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t! I know that was you, and I promise to be better, but I need you to be a guard dog tonight.”

Nestling into her covers, she turned her backside to me. The smell that reached my face told me what she thought of that.

“Arg! Muffy, if I wake up dead tomorrow morning, I’m not gonna be happy!” Even in my drunken state, I knew what a ridiculous statement that was, but I was too tired to reason it out. Instead, I succumbed to my beer-induced sleepiness.

The next morning I woke up to light streaming in my bedroom window. Despite Mason Deveraux’s dire predictions, no one had snuck inside in the middle of the night. However, I had a more pressing issue. When I sat up, a piercing pain shot through my head and my stomach rolled.

One more reason I hated beer.

I ran into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet. There was no way I could go to work, and I found myself secretly happy to have an excuse to stay home. It was a sad day when you were thankful for a hangover, proving it was a good thing that I only had eight more days left at the DMV.

It was no surprise Suzanne gave me an earful when I called her. “Don’t you bother coming back, Rose Gardner!”

My pounding head couldn’t take the shrieking in my ear. “Thanks, Suzanne. I won’t.” I hung up, feeling wicked. Not only had I just quit, but I’d hung up on my boss too.

Momma had been right. Beer really was the fount of wickedness.

By mid-morning, I was feeling a bit back to normal and I needed to figure out what to do with myself for the rest of the day. Looking into Bruce Decker’s case wasn’t an option. Skeeter Malcolm wasn’t someone to mess around with. And in the light of day, sober except for my headache, I realized how naïve I’d been the night before.

I couldn’t just waltz in and grill shady characters. Shady characters tended to be suspicious by nature, and simply asking questions put me in danger. And the fact was, if I couldn’t ask questions, I had no other means to get answers. I was at a dead end. But the most disturbing realization of all was that Mason Deveraux had saved me from a compromising situation. Joe would have a fit if he knew. No, when he knew. I had to tell him, as difficult as it was going to be.

Sitting on my sofa, flipping through over a hundred channels and finding nothing to watch, I surprised myself by realizing Mason Deveraux was right. I had no business being in the middle of this mess. I needed to leave the investigating to trained professionals. I’d saved my own hide when I was suspected of murder. Bruce Wayne Decker needed to take care of his own exonerating. All I’d done was stir up trouble and maybe even put myself in danger.

I cast a glance toward my kitchen door. I told myself there was no shame in being scared. Only fools weren’t scared when in harm’s way, but it still seemed odd. This was Henryetta, Arkansas for heavens’ sake. How dangerous could it be?

Daniel Crocker’s image popped into my head.

I jumped off the sofa and hurried to my room to get dressed. Suddenly, packing boxes for my move to Little Rock sounded like a great plan. But I didn’t have any boxes. And I also didn’t have a car since I’d left the Nova at the pool hall. Groaning, I realized I’d either have to get a cab to take me to get my car or ask Violet. Since I didn’t feel like getting grilled and lectured, I called a cab.

Taxis weren’t a common occurrence in our neighborhood so when one pulled in front of my house an hour later, several faces peered out windows. The faces belonged to members of the Neighborhood Watch, also known as the Busybody Club. Since Miss Mildred was the most diligent of them all, she was president by default. I waved to her when I climbed in the cab’s backseat, trying not to gag from the thick smell of cigarette smoke.

The cab driver didn’t seem surprised when I told him where to go, even though I was secretly cringing. I hoped to high heaven I didn’t run into Skeeter again. I really needed to think about carrying a weapon, but I was too afraid of guns and my purse was too small for my rolling pin.

But I’d worried for nothing. The parking lot was nearly empty and no one hung around outside when I paid the taxi driver and got into my car. The memory of last night seemed like a bad dream until I noticed a piece of paper stuck under my windshield wiper.

My pulse pounded in my head as I climbed out and grabbed the slip, then jumped back into my car and locked the door. I carefully opened the paper as though the contents were going to jump out and bite me. I found a short message scrawled in block letters.

I don’t like people messing in my business.

Moving to Little Rock seemed like the best idea since the Earl of Sandwich came up with his ingenious discovery. But moving meant packing.

I needed boxes.

I decided the hardware store was the best place to stop. Wandering the aisles proved fruitless—they must have been reorganized since the last time I’d bought packing supplies. Since I was close to the paint department, I decided to ask at the counter. Anne stood next to the paint machine, staring off into the distance. A smile brightened her face when she saw me and walked over.

“Hey, I remember you. How’d your paintin’ project go? You back for more?”

“Oh! It went great. My boyfriend ended up helping and I was done in no time.” I waved my hand. “This time I’m lookin’ for boxes. Moving boxes. They aren’t where I found them last time.”