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tidy.” She ran her finger around the rim of the plastic cup. “You’re a cop—you tell me, how convenient is it that he hadn’t gotten rid of the gun he shot Kent with, didn’t even bother to wipe his prints off it and that he was caught before he took a shower and washed away the gunpowder?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “It smacks of having a patsy so the police wouldn’t look any further.”
    â€œIf he was high then mayb—”
    She shook her head. “You know better. Those guys—the ones who do drugs daily, the career criminals—they know how to cover their tracks. Why didn’t he? And why’d he confess so quickly? According to the detectives, they didn’t have a single clue before an anonymous tip led them straight to this guy.”
    â€œWhy would this guy take the full heat? Confess to acting alone?”
    Exactly. “That’s what I hounded the police to ask themselves.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd they told me that sometimes bad things happen to good people. End of story. Case closed. They never even uncovered who that anonymous tipster was.”
    He rolled the pen between his forefinger and thumb. “So why would someone tied into your husband’s murder threaten you here? How do you figure a connection?”
    â€œMaybe because they know I’m not going to give up on finding everyone involved in Kent’s death. I won’t stop until I get to the truth.” Her heart raced. She couldn’t. She owed it to Kent. And herself. “I just needed to take a break from everything. Clear my head.”
    â€œThat still has no bearing on you being in Lagniappe.”
    He had a point. “No, but I can’t think of anyone else who would want me to leave. I just got here. Maybe they’re trying to scare me—period. Or distract me from the truth so I don’t think it’s connected.”
    â€œHave you spoken to anyone here? Someone who maybe acted strangely toward you?”
    â€œNo.” She rubbed her thumb against the bandages on her hand. “But it could be linked to Kent’s murder. They’ll do anything to make me stop, even burning down my house with me inside.”
    â€œWe don’t know the cause of the fire yet.”
    She did. “I smelled something strange. I know it was set, I know it.”
    â€œWe’ll have to wait for the official report before we can treat it as arson. Until then, I need to ask you a few more questions.”
    Didn’t the police always have a few more questions? “Of course.”
    â€œWalk me through what you did last night before retiring.”
    She picked at the gauze on her hands. “I grabbed a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for supper, so I know nothing was left on in the kitchen. I haven’t used the stove or oven at all since moving in.” She met his stare with a tilt of her chin. No way were they going to tell her the fire was a result of her actions.
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œI cleaned up the kitchen and took a shower.”
    â€œThat would be in the master bathroom?”
    â€œYes.” No, she’d walked up the stairs and used the bathroom there. What kind of question was that?
    â€œAnd after your shower?”
    â€œI crawled into bed and went to sleep.”
    He scratched notes. “And you heard nothing? Saw nothing until you were awakened?”
    â€œNothing.” She shook her head. If only she had seen or heard something. “I woke up to the smell of smoke and the sound of crackling.” Monique shivered. She’d never forget those sounds for as long as she lived. They’d haunt her dreams.
    â€œAbout what time did you go to bed?”
    She let out a deep breath, trying to recall. “Best guess would be around ten-ish. I was tired, really exhausted, and just wanted to get a good night’s rest.”
    He nodded as he wrote. “I’ll get the time the