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They go so well with peanuts. What's in that bowl over there, Leigh Ann? I hardly had time for supper before I came over."
    Leigh Ann scooped up the dish of striped hard candy and presented it to April with a flourish.
    "That baby is going to be addicted to sugar and salt before it even gets out of the womb," Teri declared, rolling onto the floor, grabbing her ankle and pulling her calf up against the back of her thigh.
    April dropped the piece of peppermint back into the bowl and set it down on the end table.
    "Just where were we the last time we discussed this plot?" Monique asked.
    Leigh Ann sucked hard on a piece of candy. "I remember. We had the murderer masquerading as an insurance investigator in the victim's fancy apartment building."
    "Right, but forget that," Jennifer said. "What I need now is an alibi that the murderer has set up for the night of the crime."
    "What if you have him attend a society party in his honor, and have him slip out in the middle of it and back in again?" April suggested. "That's worked in lots of plots. No one ever knows what time it is at those galas."
    "No. There aren't any galas to go to."
    April clucked her tongue. "Jennifer, just what is going on with you? You act like you've lost all control over your story."
    A bead of sweat formed on Jennifer's forehead. "It's just that…my murderer…is a recluse, and his character is essential to the plot."
    "He can't be a complete recluse," Leigh Ann argued. "Where's the fun in that? I say have him seduce some woman and then knock her out somehow so that when she wakes up in the morning, she's in his arms and swears he's been there all night."
    Such a simple solution, and certainly not an original one. She was amazed she hadn't thought of it herself. But it had one major flaw: where would she find a man to seduce?
     
     
     
    Chapter 9
     
    A huge, fenced-in dirt lot bathed in Mother Nature's best morning sunlight—that's what was across the street from O'Hara's Tara, Penney Richmond's apartment building. Jennifer stared at it in disbelief. No apartments, no stores, no offices, not even a construction site—just dirt—and a sign proclaiming the COMING SOON of Atlanta's newest professional complex. Well, not soon enough!
    What kind of insurance claim was she going to investigate in an abandoned lot, probably the only vacant lot in Atlanta?
    "I ain't gonna sit here all day while you survey the landscape," the cabbie growled behind her.
    Jennifer fished around in the bottom of the tote bag that held her purse and the video camera she'd borrowed from Dee Dee as part of her cover. Her hand closed on a twenty-dollar bill. She thrust it through the car window and into the hand of the cabbie. He looked at the money and then back at Jennifer. "Some tip! Next time, walk!"
    Oh, crumb. Things were not going well. She'd been hoping he'd give her back her two dol lars change. Dee Dee was right. The catering business was bringing in barely enough money to live on, and she couldn't make it at all if it weren't for all the cholesterol-laden hors d'oeuvres Dee Dee insisted she take home after every job. She certainly didn't make enough to support a life of crime.
    Well, no matter. Steve Moore had called, his beautiful voice oiling through her phone. The date for his party was set for this Saturday, and she had boosted Dee Dee's rates so as not to insult him. Hopefully, she'd clear enough money to do in Penney Richmond.
    The cabbie was still glaring at her, waiting for enough of a break to let him get back into the stream of traffic. Her image would be burned into his mind. Well, let it burn. It might be better if he did remember her—a pudgy frump with long, dark curly hair and glasses.
    She must look ridiculous, but it didn't matter how she looked as long as she didn't look like Jennifer Marsh. She wasn't an expert at disguise like her character Maxie Malone, and she certainly didn't have Maxie's resources. But then this was real life. She had to settle for