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as you please. She nearly peed her pants. He is one fine-looking boy.”
    “He’s Darth Vader minus the voice and cape.” I stood and pulled Auntie KiKi to her feet. I held on to her till she steadied. “Go home, eat something.”
    “And what are you going to do? Get yourself into trouble, no doubt.”
    “I thought I’d pay IdaMae a visit. She was mighty upset this morning when Hollis and I got hauled off to the police station. The poor woman was beside herself. She deserves better. I’m going to get her a sandwich and cheer her up. Food cheers everyone up.”
    “And then you’re going to ransack Cupcake’s desk.”
    “I was thinking more like her computer. Come distract IdaMae for me.”
    KiKi held up her hands as if warding off evil spirits. “I’m not being party to this. Your mamma would skin me alive.”
    “I’ll dance with Bernard, be his partner for a whole month, and you won’t have to. Think of your poor abused feet.” The reason I could do this is that the summer I turned thirteen I was antsy, chubby, and pimply, and KiKi taught me to dance. You name it, I learned it—everything from the fox-trot and salsa to the electric slide and hip-hop. By the time I went back to school in September, I’d lost fifteen pounds, found the magic of Clearasil, and was a hit at school parties. Dancing isn’t just for the stars.
    “Two months.” KiKi picked up her shoes instead of putting them on. Guess she knew from experience that heels, martinis, and steps weren’t a great mix. “We’ll getConquistadors from Zunzi’s. What do you think is in that special sauce? I want to take a bath in that sauce.”
    Auntie KiKi gave me a long, hard look. “And if you find out anything more about Cupcake, even one little thing, you’ll take it, along with what we know about Urston, straight to Boone as fast as you can. People will put two and two together soon enough and know you’re snooping. That includes the killer.”
    “I’ll drive.”
    “You gotta promise me, okay?”
    T WENTY MINUTES LATER , A UNTIE K I K I , I DA M AE , and I sat around the conference table at the real-estate office, wolfing down sandwiches and garlic bread. Extra stress justifies extra carbs.
    “I can’t believe Janelle’s gone,” IdaMae said over slices of chicken sticking out between chunks of French bread with sauce dripping off the end. Is there anything better than dripping sauce?
    I took a bite of my sandwich and for a moment thought I saw Jesus. “What do you think happened?” I asked around a mouthful.
    IdaMae’s eyes were blank, nothing registering. Her usually neat bob looked as if it had been combed with a weed-whacker. “What do you mean?”
    I tried to make it sound more like three women chatting over good food and less like an interrogation by Detective Ross. “Why would someone want Janelle…dead? I mean, we know Hollis isn’t responsible, so who is? Maybe we can help Hollis stay out of jail.”
    “Do you think we can do that? When the police arrived this morning, I thought for sure they’d arrest Hollis.” IdaMae’s eyes got all watery, her shoulders slumped. “I went to the library last night when I should have come back here to catch up on some filing. I could have been Hollis’s alibi.” She put her sandwich down, then buried her face in her hands. I put my arm around her and then gave her back the sandwich. She started eating again, methodically biting and chewing as if on autopilot, a terrible waste of a Conquistador; every bite should be savored.
    Questioning IdaMae was getting me nowhere. I needed a look at Cupcake’s laptop, which sat closed up like a clam on top of her desk. In no time, the police or Boone would nab it, and my chance to check it for information would be gone.
    “Why don’t you go home,” I said to IdaMae after we’d polished off the last of the bread. “It’s been a long day.”
    “I have things to take care of. Hollis called me from the lawyer’s office and said he’d