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basis, shook her head. “I don’t think we need to get Him involved. At least not yet. Maybe for the penalty phase of the trial. Then we can pray.”
    I shot my sister a look that could dissolve Super Glue and then she stood up and walked over to where I now leaned against the windowsill.
    “Okay. You’re still here. This is a good sign. If they had anything on you, you’d be in jail. They’re just fishing.”
    “Fishing?” My voice took on a Minnie Mouse quality. “Fishing? For what? Mr. Poupée told me not five minutes before the police showed up here, that he felt certain they thought he was the killer. So why are they bothering me?”
    “See,” Sam said brightly. “Exactly what I told you. They’re fishing. They have nothing. Nothing .” She stood in front of me, arms extended, palms up. I wanted to slap them.
    “Of course they have nothing. There’s nothing to have.” I eyed her suspiciously. “You do believe me? Right?” It never dawned on me my sister might think I killed Mrs. Scott.
    “Of course I believe you. You’re my little sister. You couldn’t hurt a fly. Okay, so once, once , you took Dad’s shovel and pounded that mound of dirt where a mole hid. And we never had any mole problems again. So it was a good thing.” Samantha’s brows came together and she took a step back, putting a bit of distance between us. “Gee, you used a shovel that time, too.”
    “Mrs. Scott was not killed with a shovel!” I pushed away from the sill and shoved Sam out of the way. “Get away from me.”
    “I’m sorry. But you did put an end to the mole problem and I will be forever grateful.”
    I went back to my desk, turned off the computer, and gathered up my things. “I’ve got to do something. Mr. Poupée wanted me to help out at the factory, talk to people, see if I could come up with anything.” I started rambling as I tidied up. “He thinks the police suspect him because he and Mrs. Scott were…you know.”
    “They were?” Millie’s eyes grew wide.
    “Well, no, probably not, but the police think so. At least they did. I told him no. I just couldn’t go back to that place. Back to where I found…” A tear escaped down my cheek mid-sentence and I swiped it away with the sleeve of my sweater. I didn’t usually cry, but these were unusual circumstances. I didn’t usually scream a lot either, but I had done quite a bit of that too in the last twenty-four hours. “But if they think I killed her, then maybe I need to go over there under the guise of helping Mr. Poupée and ask a few questions. Once the police get their claws into someone, me ,” I emphasized, thumping myself in the chest with my thumb, “they will stop looking for other suspects. I need to find them someone else.” I just hoped with all my heart I wouldn’t be leading them straight to Mr. Poupée.
    “That’s right,” Millie agreed, the nodding of her head shaking her bell earrings. “I read that somewhere. Or maybe saw it on TV.”
    “You can’t just walk up to employees and ask them, hey, did you happen to kill Elvira last night? No? Good. Thanks,” Sam said.
    “Well, I haven’t exactly thought of a strategy yet,” I said, while I tossed a few more things into the L.L.Bean tote bag Sam had given me last Christmas. “Mom always tells us everything happens for a reason. If I can find the reason for her murder then I’ll find the person who did it.”
    “Yeah, sure. Mom is always right,” my sister said without much conviction.
    I reached into my purse and took out my keys. “Just don’t say anything to Mom about this.”
    “Why? Maybe she can help.”
    Once again I gave my sister a quizzical expression adding a mental eye roll.
    “Have you met Mom? Our mom? Remember her? Mabel Worrywart Harris. The woman who kept a safety gate around the stove until we were twelve. The woman who, until we graduated from high school, made us come in when the street lights came on.”
    “Yeah, okay, she’ll freak