Madelyn pinched off a corner of her brownie, chewed it. “That’s an annoyance, but we can handle it. We have all the information on everything; it’s just a matter of pulling it all together in one neat list.”

“I know, but it’s time we could spend doing other things.”

“Like eating brownies,” said Peach, smiling at her. “Honey, I know this is stressful, but it’ll be over soon and everything will work out. You didn’t kill her, therefore they can’t prove that you did.”

“Circumstantial evidence—”

“Will apply to a lot of people, all of whom had a grudge against Carrie. I’m assuming they took your clothes because they were looking for blood. You didn’t kill her, so there won’t be any blood. As soon as they run all their tests and get the reports back, you’ll be in the clear.”

“Is that the way it happens on CSI?”

“Well, all the guys I date love CSI, so I end up watching a lot of it. On the show, the most obvious suspect is never the one who did the deed, so that’s a comfort. But CSI aside, common sense says they’re looking for blood; that’s the only reason they’d have taken your clothes. Hey, sweetie, did they maybe swab your hands or something last night, looking for gunshot residue?”

“No, why?”

“Then that means she wasn’t shot. If she had been, they’d have done that.”

Evidently her assumption that Carrie had been shot was wrong, Jaclyn thought. She was conditioned by the news to assume every murder was committed with a gun. Probably when gangs were involved they mostly were, but how about other types of murders?

“There are a lot of other ways to kill someone,” said Madelyn, giving the idea some thought. “Strangling, conking her on the head, stabbing, pushing her and she falls and hits her head on something, though I’d say that’s an accident. Um, there’s poison, but then they’d be looking at either Irena or Audrey, because they brought food samples, right? Forget poison, then.”

They could probably go on for quite a while listing possible ways Carrie had been done in, and Jaclyn thought she could probably come up with some entertaining possibilities herself, but she had things to do. She glanced at her watch, wondering how much longer Diedra would be gone. “I need to pick up some dry-cleaning before my appointment in Dunwoody. If the newspaper says anything interesting, call me.”

She fetched her purse and appointment book from her office, as well as the file folder with the new list she and Diedra had assembled—drat, she needed her briefcase—and let herself out the back door.

Eric was leaning against her car, ankles and arms crossed, waiting.

Jaclyn skidded to a halt, her kitten heels sliding a little on the concrete pad. An almost uncontrollable surge of panic, combined with anger, made the bottom drop out of her stomach and her hair feel as if it were lifting away from her scalp. She almost bolted back inside—her hand was already on the doorknob—but that would be cowardly, and she was still annoyed with herself for not punching Carrie when she had the chance, so she forced herself to stand her ground.

He straightened away from the Jag and closed the short distance between them.

There wasn’t a thing wrong with cowardice, she thought, and started to shove the door open. If he had anything to say to her, she wanted witnesses.

“I thought I should probably tell you not to leave town,” he said in that flat, cold cop tone, his hazel eyes narrowed.

Not leave town? She was already out of town, because she was in Atlanta instead of Hopewell. “What constitutes ‘town’? Hopewell, or the greater Atlanta area? I was just on my way to Dunwoody for an appointment. Is that out of town?”

A faintly impatient expression crossed his face. “Dunwoody is fine. Don’t leave the area. Don’t go to the Bahamas for a vacation.”

Now that she’d had a second to think, she wondered what the heck he was doing there. She looked at his car, parked next to hers. If he had something to say to her, why hadn’t he come back inside? For that matter, why hadn’t he called her? He had the number of Premier, and he knew she was there. He also had her cell number. He’d been leaning against her car as if prepared to wait for however long it took her to come out, but for all he knew she would be in the office all day.

One thing was for certain: he hadn’t been there when Diedra left, because she’d have called in an alert. So he’d left, then returned.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked suspiciously, though she didn’t want to talk to him more than she had to. Something fishy was going on, and she wanted to know what it was. “Were you about to search my car?”

“Can’t do that without a search warrant,” he said calmly.

“Maybe you were about to do it without a search warrant.” She could feel her jaw set as she glared up at him.

“No, ma’am. I’m doing this by the book.”

“You were leaning against my car, so if you weren’t about to do an illegal search, what the hell were you doing?” she asked sharply. She could hear the hostility in her voice—she, who made it a practice to stay cool and calm, but she didn’t care.

“Waiting for you.”

“For what reason? Why didn’t you come inside and say whatever you want to say? For that matter, why come back at all? You could have called.”

“I thought I might get some runaround about you not being available if I called.”

She jerked her head up, anger glittering in her eyes. “I’ve cooperated completely. So has my mother. I haven’t given you any reason to think you might get the runaround.”

“Yes, ma’am, you have cooperated,” he said in a bland voice. “I appreciate it, too.”

The way he kept calling her “ma’am” was setting her teeth on edge, and he knew it. “Then your excuse doesn’t hold water, Detective.”

“I wanted to make certain you got my message.”

“I got it, loud and clear,” she said tersely. She looked at his car, parked beside hers, and a couple of questions came to mind. “How did you know which car is mine?” After all, she and Madelyn drove identical Jags.

“I ran the license plate.”

Great. She didn’t like the idea of her name being sent all over law enforcement land, but there was nothing she could do about it. The fact that she was a suspect in a murder case probably wasn’t a state secret, either. Without commenting, she moved on to the second question: “How did you know I’d be coming out?” Surely he hadn’t been intending to lean against her car, waiting for her, until she went out for lunch. She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to make certain.

“I have your briefcase, remember? I’ve read everything in it. I know what your schedule is, so I figured you’d be leaving for your appointment in Dunwoody pretty soon.”

Just as she’d thought. She clenched her teeth. She hated to ask him for anything, but this was the perfect opportunity. “May I have my briefcase back?” Before he could refuse, she tacked on, “Or keep the briefcase and let me have the contents. I need my files. Failing that, could you have someone just copy the files for me?”

“The briefcase is evidence recovered at a crime scene,” he said, which she took for a big fat No. Then he continued, “I don’t see any reason why copies of the contents can’t be made for you. I’ll check with the lieutenant. If he gives the okay, I’ll make sure you get them.”

Crap, now she had to thank him. The words were like sawdust in her mouth, but she got them out. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

God, talking to him was like ripping a bandage off a wound that had just that moment stopped bleeding. She would not let him get to her like this. She would get angry, but she refused to let him hurt her, refused to let him mean that much to her.

Too late, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. She should have listened to that little voice the night before last when she’d invited Eric over, but instead she’d shoved it aside. She should have listened then, but she still didn’t want to listen now. She wanted both the little voice and Eric to just go away. She could deal; she would deal. It might take some time, but she’d do it.

“Is there anything else?” she asked, her voice stiff.

“No, that’s all for now.”

Keeping her expression as blank as possible, she edged past him to her car, got in, and drove away without looking back.

That had gone well, Eric thought sourly as he got back in his car. He’d known she wouldn’t like being told not to leave the area, but he’d done it because she was a person of interest and that was what he was supposed to do. He’d followed the book; he’d played by the rules. He hadn’t given her any indication of special consideration, hadn’t offered to do her any favors, not even a tiny one. As his reward, she’d looked at him as if he were a slug she’d just stepped on, and she needed to wipe the slime off the bottom of her fancy shoe.

It especially pissed him off because he was doing everything he could to get her removed from their suspect list, and if he didn’t play by the rules, he’d be removed from the case. Any of the other detectives on the force would do their best to solve the case, and they were good guys, but they didn’t have the extra motivation he did.

He’d been up late the previous night, and he’d gotten an early start today. He hadn’t even been in to headquarters yet because he’d wanted to interview Madelyn Wilde and get that over with. The fact that she was so organized helped; he doubted she took a piss break without making a little note of it in her schedule—coded, of course, so no one glancing at her paperwork would know she’d actually had to stop and take a leak. She was a solid alibi. Unless the lab report came back saying Jaclyn’s black outfit had been covered with Carrie Edwards’s blood, which he sure as hell didn’t expect, then Jaclyn was well on the way to being cleared.