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front door lock. Her heart leapt thinking that it might be Jake.
    That thought was instantly dismissed as highly unlikely and replaced by relief that her mother must have already been released—although a quick glance at the bedside clock indicated Elysia would barely have had time to be booked.
    The door swung open, and the short, stout figure of Stella Borin appeared framed in the front hall.
    “A.J.?” she called tentatively.
    “Right here.”
    Stella was A.J.’s nearest neighbor. She lived about a mile down the road in the farm bequeathed to her by A.J.’s aunt. In addition to farming, she supported herself as a psychic, and although A.J. did not put a lot of stock in things like tarot cards and séances, she had to admit that Stella had, on one or two occasions, seemed to display an uncanny ability.
    According to Andy, A.J.’s ex, the most uncanny thing about Stella was her dress sense, and this afternoon was no exception. She was wearing what appeared to be polka dot pajama bottoms beneath a plaid jumper, giving her the impression of a badly dressed piggy bank. Her gray hair was bound in two fat, short braids that seemed to stick straight out of the sides of her head, confirming A.J.’s long held conviction that no woman over the age of ten should wear braids. Stella eschewed makeup, and her hands looked as battered as a potter’s.
    “Jake called and told me what happened. He thought you might need some help this evening, at least till Bradley Meagher bails your ma out.”
    Ma.
    Hard to imagine a term that less suited Elysia, but all A.J. really noticed was the kindness of Stella running to her rescue—and that Jake had been looking out for her, even if he had tossed her mum in the hoosegow.
    “Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said, hobbling down the hall.
    Stella raised her bushy brows but didn’t point out the obvious. It occurred to A.J., and not for the first time, that when she had lived in the big city she had barely known her neighbors, let alone relied on them in times of trouble. There was a lot to be said for small-town living—even if the cable did go out on a regular basis.
    “Did Jake say anything about . . . ?” A.J. wasn’t even sure what she was asking. She knew that Jake would hardly confide anything about the case against Elysia to Stella. She was grasping at straws, hoping that someone was going to reassure her that this was all a big misunderstanding.
    But Stella must have read her correctly, because she said in her gruff way, “Don’t you worry. Jake Oberlin is a good cop. He’ll get to the bottom of this.”
    A.J. nodded. She was leading the way, slowly, to the front parlor, ignoring Stella’s advice to return to bed.
    “I’m going crazy, lying there worrying about this.”
    A.J. stretched out on the sofa. Stella asked if she’d like a cup of tea, and she assented, staring up at the ceiling. At least it made for a change of scenery.
    Stella brought in a tea tray and A.J. sat up. Stella had found the frosted animal cookies that A.J. had been hiding from herself in the back of the pantry. A.J. took her cup of tea and sipped gratefully. There was something very comforting about a hot cup of good, brewed tea.
    Stella selected a frosted white bear and remarked, “Just like your ma. She always did like her cuppa.”
    And her glassa. But thankfully those days were in the past. Elysia had been sober for over a decade now. A.J. gave in and chose a pink elephant cookie from the plate before her.
    She asked, “Stella, can I ask you what happened between you and my mother?”
    “When what happened?” Stella chewed rapidly, her expression blank.
    A.J. clarified, “Whatever it is that happened, happened. What I mean is, I’m wondering about your history. Because I’ve sensed over the last year that there is one.”
    Stella picked up another cookie and crunched away. A.J. thought she would simply decline to answer at all, but at last she said, “You’d have to ask