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them dancing in the kitchen the other night. I don’t mean slow-dancing, either. They were ‘cutting a rug’ or something like that. It looked a little bit like swing dancing, but it may have been the Charleston or Jitterbug for all I know. Mama can still kick her legs pretty high. Higher than I can, anyway.”
    “We need to start going to the gym, Trinket. Really. If we worked out just think of what all we could get done.”
    I gave her a pained look. “You gotta be kidding me. I don’t want to get a lot done. I want to sit and think about the days when I had to get a lot done.”
    “Are you still looking for a job?”
    “Not very hard.”
    “What’s the matter—afraid you’ll find one and won’t be able to do it?”
    I looked at Bitty. Sometimes she really is astute.
    “Well, if you’ll remember, I didn’t exactly get hired at Carolann’s lingerie shop,” I said. “Of course, that turned out for the best since I’m afraid I’d have a difficult time selling items in the Blue Velvet Room.”
    “What do you have against French panties and the Kama Sutra ?”
    We both started laughing. It’s amazing the things we find funny. We’re still just adolescents at heart, I think. Rather strange, coming from fifty-something women, but it does make life more fun.
    “So,” Bitty said after a moment or two, “what do you think about Rob’s chances of getting acquitted if this case goes to trial?”
    I thought about it. “Well,” I finally said, “it all depends on if the evidence they have against him stands up in court. Once all the tests come back, if that guy was shot with Rob’s gun, it’s going to look pretty bad for him. The same caliber bullet is one thing. The marks on the bullet they took out of the dead man will define just how serious it is.”
    Bitty blew out a long breath. “I know. We really should stop watching so many forensic TV shows. Too much information isn’t always good. Truly, Trinket, it doesn’t look very good for him. Not if things happened like he said. How does he prove he didn’t do it if the man was shot with his gun and there are no other fingerprints on it? We’ll just have to cross our fingers and pray they find other prints on the gun besides Rob’s.”
    “I imagine he and Rayna are doing pretty much the same thing,” I said.
    “Of course, it would be much more practical if we did more than pray, don’t you think? I mean, like put our detecting skills to work?”
    “Bitty Hollandale, don’t start that with me. Take it up with Rob. I don’t intend to get caught in the middle.”
    Bitty just smiled. I had a sinking feeling she hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

CHAPTER 3
    For two days after Rob came home from Clarksdale, we didn’t see or hear from Rayna. That isn’t so unusual, since when involved in one of her creative projects, she frequently forgets the outside world exists. It is our job as her friends to drag her back into the present every once in a while. This time, however, we waited. Maybe she and Rob needed some alone time; and it was entirely possible that they were struggling to come to grips with everything. After all, being arrested for murder is rather frightening—for most people. Bitty is an exception. But then, Bitty lives such a charmed life she could probably shoot someone at high noon in the court square and get away with it.
    On the third day after bailing Rob Rainey out of jail I got a phone call at home. This is the family home I share with my parents: Cherryhill, a lovely, rambling old place with lots of character—that means expensive repairs in case you didn’t know. Still, my daddy keeps the old house up as well as he can, and all the familiar nooks and crannies of my childhood are still mostly cobweb free. Mama wouldn’t dream of calling hired help to do housework. That means I’m unpaid help, of course. Not that I mind.
    Anyway, I was right in the middle of dusting off the transoms over the dining room doors when Daddy