Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes(49)

 

A niggling of worry slipped into my mind. What if Joe had something to do with it? I really didn't know much about him. Could it be possible? I dismissed the thought, burning with shame. Joe had been there for me when I needed him. He’d never done anything to make me think badly of him. Well, other than tricking me about his girlfriend. But that hardly made him a suspect in Momma’s murder and the break-in. Sure, I found it odd he didn’t want any involvement with the police, but plenty of people didn't like police. It didn’t mean anything.

 

Yet, I couldn’t completely let it go.

 

I got ready for work and took the fastest shower in my life, peeking around the curtain to see if someone had crept back into the house, waiting to attack. I wondered how I got into this situation in the first place. Why would anyone want to kill me? I wasn’t a threat to anyone and I’d never even seen Daniel Crocker before that Friday at the DMV.

 

I left for work much earlier than necessary. Joe’s car still sat in his driveway. I hurried in case he decided to come out and talk to me. I didn't feel like seeing Joe McAllister. I was tired and cranky and worried if he confronted me I might actually hit him.

 

Arriving at work over an hour early, the DMV parking lot looked barren. I laid against the headrest to close my eyes, for just a moment, and dozed off. Loud banging vibrated my side window. Startled, I jerked upright and found Betty standing next to my car. I rolled down the glass.

 

She peered in. “Girl, what in blazes are ya doin’ out here?”

 

I told her about the break-in and my fear of falling asleep in my house.

 

“You sure don’t need to be workin’ today,” she said. “Take the day off.”

 

I had already taken a week of vacation time off the week before and going home was the last thing I wanted to do. Home no longer felt safe. For the first time, I considered letting Violet keep the house and moving somewhere else. Somewhere bad people couldn't find me. But leaving the county wasn’t an option.

 

We were busier than usual, which could have kept my mind off my troubles. But the ringing cell phone in my drawer kept reminding me my problems were still waiting. I turned it to silent, but my drawer sounded like a vibrating bed in a cheap motel, which drew more than a few strange looks.

 

Between customers, I checked my caller ID. I had calls from Violet, my attorney, and the police. I asked Betty if I could return that one. Perhaps if I proved myself agreeable, I would look less suspicious.

 

I snuck off to the back room and called the detective assigned to the case. He told me they hadn’t come up with anything yet, but had more questions and wanted me to come into the station. Next, I called Deanna who admonished me for talking to the police without her there.

 

“I don't care if it's about a hangnail. If you talk to anyone with a badge, you call me first.”

 

When I told her that my presence had been requested at the police station, she groaned. “Don’t go. Just wait for me to set up a time for us to go together and I’ll get back to you.”

 

I still needed to call Violet and I needed to have someone come fix my window. And turn back on my electricity and phone. Plus, I could barely keep my eyes open from my lack of sleep. Betty came to check on me and I apologized for taking too long, tears in my eyes.

 

“Rose, go home. We're fine without ya.”

 

I started to protest but stopped. I was tired and needed sleep before I faced my police interview. The first place I thought to go was Violet’s.

 

I called her on the way over and filled her in on the previous night’s activities, leaving out all references to Joe. When I knocked on her door, she opened it after the first rap and pulled me into a huge hug. I would have cried if I weren’t so tired.

 

“Can I go lay down and take a nap?” I asked. “I’ve been up since one this morning.”

 

“Of course!”

 

But as I walked down to Ashley’s room, my phone vibrated. It was Deanna. I needed to be at the police station in thirty minutes.

 

She met me in front of the station, looking very professional but grim. “Don’t you answer a single question unless I tell you to, got it?”

 

I nodded, wondering why she acted so concerned. Two hours later when we emerged from the police station I understood.

 

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Rose,” she said. “It doesn’t look good.”

 

“I don’t understand. Why would they still think I killed Momma after the break-in?”

 

“They think you staged it, because so much broken glass was outside the house versus inside. If the intruder broke the window to get inside, the glass would be on the inside.”