I suddenly had the feeling that she’d said something important, that she’d given me a valuable clue. But for the life of me, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Exactly what had she said? Just that Marybeth was a terrible driver and that Colin had stolen a tip at a restaurant.

Of course, by now you’ve probably already figured it out. But I didn’t. Not right then, anyway.

I headed home and hurried to the bathroom to brush my teeth so Prozac wouldn’t smell the chocolate on my breath.

And that’s when it hit me, while I was brushing my teeth. Something that Pam said came bubbling up to my consciousness: Marybeth was an accident waiting to happen.

I raced to the phone with toothpaste still in my mouth.

“Pam,” I said, when I got her on the line, “it’s me, Jaine.”

“Are you okay? You sound funny.”

“It’s just toothpaste in my mouth. Look, I need to ask you something. I know Marybeth was a terrible driver, but was she ever actually in an auto accident?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Try to remember.”

“Well, now that you mention it, when I first joined the PMS Club, Ashley was driving Marybeth to all the meetings. Do you think it’s possible she’d had her license revoked?”

“Yes,” I said, “I think it’s very possible.”

I got off the phone and hurried to my computer, where I logged onto the L.A. Times archives. What did Doris say her husband’s name was? Glen. That was it. Glen Jenkins.

I typed in his name. Seconds later, a story popped on the screen about a terrible car crash on the San Diego Freeway. Tied up traffic for three hours. Several people were injured, one of them seriously, a Mr. Glen Jenkins.

The driver of the vehicle that caused the accident: Marybeth Olson.

So. Marybeth was the one who’d put Glen Jenkins in a wheelchair.

I whistled softly. It looked like Doris had just taken the lead away from Colin in my Murder Suspect Sweepstakes.

Chapter 17

When Doris answered the door the next day, she knew the jig was up. She had the same look in her eyes The Blob had when I caught him watching football in my Victoria’s Secret teddy. But unlike The Blob, Doris wasn’t the least bit flustered.

“Hello, Jaine,” she said, gazing at me with steady gray eyes.

I handed her the printout I’d made of the Times article.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Sure.” Cool as a cucumber. “Come on in.”

This time she didn’t try to hustle me to the kitchen. She led me straight to the living room. We sat opposite each other on matching chenille sofas, under the portrait of Doris and Glen holding hands in happier days.