Though the piece of furniture must have weighed a ton, it remained suspended between Dorothy and Jack while I gawked.

I snapped out of my trance. “Gee. Put that down and come in, won’t you?”

“It’s for you.” Jack smiled and pushed on his end impatiently.

Dorothy edged toward the door, her face red from straining. I had no choice but to hold the door open with one hand and grab an end of the love seat with the other.

The three of us stuffed the piece through the doorway and settled it against the wall by the staircase. The rolled arms and arched back filled the space perfectly.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t mention that I’d have to take the thing out the back door piece by piece in black garbage bags.

“Came to talk,” Dorothy said, taking off her coat. “Knew we’d have to bring our own chair.”

I sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had quite a weekend. What I really hoped to do was get some sleep.”

“Can’t blame you.” Dorothy sank into the soft cushions. Jack sat down next to her. I stood there, almost drooling at the idea of a comfortable seat. The hard bench I’d been sentenced to the past three days hadn’t done my back any good, and my own bumpy, narrow cot wasn’t much better.

“Thing is,” Dorothy said, “I feel real bad about what happened and wanted to make it up to you somehow. Brought the love seat I promised, for starters.”

“That wasn’t necessary. Really.” I crossed my arms, hoping they’d take the hint and leave.

“Wanted Jack to meet you.” She turned toward her son. “See, Jack, this is the lady who lives here now. Tish Amble. You sure she’s who you saw Friday night?”

“I saw her.”

“Was she with someone?”

“I saw her with Officer Brad.”

I laughed in relief. “Yes, about nine o’clock Friday. I was walking out front. Brad pulled over and talked to me.” I left out the part about being at David’s.

“Before that, Jack. You saw her before that too, right? Going in the house with Mr. Dietz?”

I lodged my protest. “I was at dinner. He couldn’t have seen me.”

“Hush,” Dorothy waved me off and watched Jack.

“I saw the lady who lived here.”

“Jack, this is the lady who lives here. Is this who you saw?”

“I saw the lady who lived here.”

Dorothy sighed. “You saw Miss Amble walk in this house with Mr. Dietz Friday night?”

Jack put on a stubborn chin. “I saw the lady who lived here. She went in with Mr. Dietz.”

“Do you remember Jan Hershel? She used to live here, Jack. Is that who you saw?” Dorothy asked.

He squeezed his forehead in concentration and shook his head.

Dorothy patted him on the shoulder. “Okay. Okay, Jack.”

Jack turned his face away, pouting.

Dorothy lowered her voice. “Think his memory is starting to go.”

Jack turned on her in a rage. “I remember, Ma. I remember.”

He pushed up from his seat and fumed out. The front door slammed behind him, rattling the windows.

Dorothy flinched. “Pretty sure he’s got memory loss. Can happen early for Down’s syndrome adults. Premature aging, you know. Sometimes they end up with Alzheimer’s by forty.”

“Officer Brad said it was you that saw me going into the house with Dietz. But you’re telling me it was Jack who supposedly saw me?”

“Jack said it was the lady who lived here. Asked him over and over, but he always said the same thing. I just assumed he meant you. Maybe he meant someone who lived in the neighborhood. Guess I owe you an apology.”

“So it’s Jack that’s never wrong, not you.” Dorothy couldn’t miss the edge to my voice.

She looked up, eyes pleading. “Have to say it was me. The police wouldn’t listen if it was Jack who told them.”

“How do you know?”

“Don’t want my Jack talking to the police. Got too many problems as it is.”

Dorothy patted the cushion next to her on the love seat.

I sank down beside her and crossed my legs. I leaned my head into the softness behind me. I breathed in, enjoying the moment.

“You won’t tell, will you, dear?” Dorothy sounded distressed.

I lifted my head. “If it comes down to me going to jail or you losing your reputation as the perfect spy, you bet I’m going to tell.”

Her hands twisted in her lap. “I’ll say it was too snowy and I can’t be sure who I saw. Jack can’t talk to the police. It’s not a good idea.”

“But Jack may know who the killer is. I’m sure if he talks, the police will understand. No one will blame you.” I wasn’t at all sure of that, but Dorothy had to be persuaded to tell the truth. My freedom was on the line.

She clawed at my arm. “My Jack’s all I have left.” She sat back, her eyes toward the ceiling. “Had four children once, you know. The oldest died when he was just eleven years old. Right there on the railroad tracks. Thought he could beat the train.”

My hand flew to my mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled through my fingers.

“Jenny died when she was twenty-three. Cindy was twenty-seven and pregnant when she passed away.”

My eyes must have been the size of saucers.

“Cancer took them. Not as strong as me, I guess.” Her expression glazed over.

I looked again at her patchy hair and opaque skin, startled to realize that Dorothy herself was a cancer survivor.

“You see why Jack’s everything to me, don’t you? When he was born, everyone said he was a burden to bear. But God knew I was going to be alone. And He gave me Jack to keep me company.”

I touched the back of her hand. “Let’s just see what happens. I can’t promise to keep your secret, but I’ll hold off telling as long as I can. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find the real murderer and it won’t matter.”

She gave a single nod of her head and stared at the carpet.

Her dejected look did its job. How could I tattle on the only surviving son of a woman whose children were genetically cursed? “All right. I won’t say anything.”

She gave a relieved sigh.

“But, in exchange, I want some honest answers to a few questions that have been bothering me.”

“Answer what I can,” Dorothy said.

“Great.” I settled into one comfy corner of the love seat, hoping to be there for a good, long stretch. “I want you to tell me everything you know about Martin Dietz.”

28

“Not one to gossip,” Dorothy said. She shifted in her seat. “All I know is what I see and hear for myself. Don’t pay no mind to rumors.”

“I understand. I’m not looking for rumors. I’m looking for facts. Did Dietz have family? Friends?” I leaned toward Dorothy on the love seat, eager for information that might clear my name.

“Heard he’s got family over in Jackson. That’s where the funeral is, the paper said. Far as friends go, I don’t think there’s a soul in town that liked the man. Even Sandra eventually saw through him. Everyone else just paid him due homage.”

“How long did Sandra and Martin know each other?”

“Can’t say for sure. They’d been dating quite awhile before he popped the question. Saw the ring when she first got it. She’d been over to the Ramseys’. Showed me on her way home.”

“Sandra knew Rebecca and David Ramsey?”

“Small town, dear. For a good number of years, they were pretty tight. Sandra loved watching the renovations. David teased that she was Martin’s spy.”

Dorothy rubbed her eye with a bony knuckle. “Then long about a year ago last April, Sandra quit hanging around the jet setters that had made her career, the Ramseys included.”

I remembered Tammy saying Sandra had helped with the church youth group. I assumed that activity took up Sandra’s former big-shooter schmooze time.

“And let me guess,” I said. “That’s when she broke up with Martin.”

“She didn’t want to call it off. Said she just wanted to get her life together. Martin harassed her for trying to change. Mocked her for wanting to do the right thing. When she jumped in the race for commissioner against him, that’s when he showed his true colors. She held her head up as long as she could. But he intimidated and embarrassed her in front of everyone. She had to throw in the towel.” Dorothy shook her head. “Never thought she’d just up and leave like that, though.”

“How was Martin after she left?”

“Think she broke his heart. He bad-mouthed her every chance he could, promising she’d never be able to come back to Rawlings. But men only do that when they’ve got their hearts broken. Don’t know why he thought he could be mean to her and she’d stick with him. A woman can only take so much.”

Control freak. That was Dietz. Sandra was okay as long as she toed the line, but do something for herself, and she was toast. Maybe all that bad-mouthing Dietz did was designed to wrap a smoke screen around the facts.

Sandra Jones was dead in my basement. And Martin Dietz put her there. I was almost sure of it.

That got me back to the important question: who killed Martin Dietz?

It had to be someone who knew and loved Sandra. Someone loyal to her memory. Someone who knew what Dietz had done and was just waiting for the right time to take revenge. Waiting for the day when some schleppy renovator chick could take the rap.

I leaned toward Dorothy, feeling as if the answers were somehow mingled with the ganglia in her brain and all I had to do was ask the right questions. “Tell me about the waterproofing project last year. What part did Martin Dietz play in that?”

“He had to approve it. Saw him there a couple times while it was going on. He was always one to keep a close eye on things.”