This whole thing was crazy. Rochelle couldn’t have killed Marybeth. A) She didn’t have it in her. And B) If she was going to poison Marybeth, why on earth would she do it in front of a room full of witnesses, with a bowl of guacamole that everyone knew she made?

“And guess what?” Lance was saying. “Colin and I are going out! On a dinner date. To that new sushi place down the street. I hear sushi’s a great low-carb aphrodisiac.”

The on-screen reporter turned things over to a panel of photogenic legal experts who began discussing Rochelle’s fate, and I flipped off the TV in disgust. I had to call Lieutenant Clemmons and fill him in on what I’d discovered about Doris and Ashley—and Colin, too. I didn’t care how lush his eyeslashes were; as far as I was concerned, he was still a viable suspect.

“Gotta run,” Lance said. “Just stopped by to share the good news. Oh, and thanks for the danish.”

“Huh?”

I looked up and saw him standing in my doorway, munching on my danish.

“Lance! I was going to eat that.”

“Sorry, Jaine. I saw it on your tub and I couldn’t resist.”

He popped the last of it down his gullet.

“That was my breakfast!” I wailed.

“I’ll bring you something from my place. How about a nice rice cake? Only 30 calories.”

“Sounds mighty tempting, but I’ll pass.”

The first thing I did when Lance left was call Lieutenant Clemmons. Okay the first I thing I did was curse Lance for eating my danish, but right after that I called Clemmons. I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer his phone. He was probably busy charging Rochelle with murder. I left him an urgent message to call me as soon as possible.

By now I was starving. I was seriously considering taking Lance up on his offer of rice cakes when the phone rang. I grabbed it eagerly.

“Lieutenant Clemmons?”

“No. Andrew Ferguson.”

I’m ashamed to say that at the sound of his voice, all thoughts of the murder flew out of my fickle brain.

I just heard the news about Rochelle Meyers’s arrest. Which means you’re no longer under suspicion. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble offering you that job now.”

“Really?”

My heart soared.

“Yes, it’s practically yours. Except for a few formalities, of course.”

My heart banked. Beware of formalities.

“That’s why I’m calling,” he said. “We’re having a branch managers’ meeting today and I was hoping you could drop by and meet everyone.”

“You mean they all have to like me before I get hired?”