Claudia in jail? This ship was definitely going down, all hands lost at sea. “Why didn’t you call me?” I cried, my voice sharp with anger. “My friends-the Babes-and I would have been there to offer moral support, if nothing else.”

“I tried to convince her y’all would want to be there, but Miz Claudia was adamant. She made me promise not to call any of you. Said she didn’t want y’all to see her sent to jail. Sorry, Miz Kate, but I was obligated to honor my client’s request.”

“Of course,” I murmured. “Can I visit her?”

Glancing around, I understood why Brookdale County Jail wasn’t listed as a tourist attraction. I’d never been inside the county jail before-or, for that matter, any other kind of jail. I’d hoped to keep my record unsullied. Before being allowed into the visitors’ room, I’d been patted down, wanded for weapons, and had my purse searched for contraband by a prison guard who bore a striking resemblance to Jabba the Hutt.

All dingy green cinder block and worn brown linoleum, the place, in my humble estimation, was in dire need of a serious makeover. Air freshener would also have been a boon. It reeked of stale-stale sweat; stale hope. A waist-high partition and sheet of grimy Plexiglas separated the visitors from the inmates. I took a seat on a hard-backed wooden chair and prepared to wait.

Eventually a door buzzed open on the opposite side. I barely recognized the woman who emerged in the rumpled orange jumpsuit. It broke my heart to see Claudia this way, bereft of makeup, her hair combed but not curled, and with dark circles under her eyes. She was followed into the room by an armed guard, a fortysomething female whose ample figure strained the seams of her beige and brown uniform. The guard took up a post just inside the door in case Claudia wanted to make a break for it.

“Hey,” I said, mustering a smile.

“Hey, yourself,” she answered. “I almost told the guard to send you away.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” I started to rest my hands on the counter between us, but jerked them away when I encountered something sticky. Cooties? I folded my hands in my lap instead. “I want you to know your friends haven’t deserted you. Don’t think for a minute any of us believes you’re guilty.”

“God, Kate, how did I ever get into this mess?” Claudia closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head. “What will my sons think?”

“Surely they need to be told what’s going on. Want me to call them?”

“Not yet. I’d like to wait a while longer.” She drew a shaky breath and tried to smile. “Maybe the miracle I’m praying for will happen, and I’ll wake up from this horrible nightmare.”

“You’ve got the best trial attorney around. Surely that must be some comfort.”

“Of course, it is. BJ’s been wonderful.” She glanced over her shoulder at the guard who looked to be asleep with eyes wide-open, then dropped her voice. “The prosecutor convinced Judge Blanchard that the sheriff has a strong case against me. Things don’t look good.”

I tugged on my lower lip, debating how much-or how little-to say. Go for it, Kate, I counseled. Things can’t get much worse. “Claudia, hear me out. I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought, and I agree with Sheriff Wiggins on one point. The bullet didn’t get into the chamber all by itself. Someone had to have put it there.”

“But who?”

“Bill swears the gun wasn’t loaded when he gave it to Lance, and I believe him. Monica said she checked it herself exactly the way he showed her, but saw only blanks in the cartridge.”

“I swear on my mother’s grave, Kate, it wasn’t me.”

“I know, honey, but think hard. Do you know of anyone who might have wanted Lance dead? Any enemies he might’ve had?”

Her forehead crinkled in concentration. “None that I know of.”

Ignoring the stickiness, I tapped my fingers impatiently against the worn wooden counter. “You mentioned Lance was fond of gambling. That he placed a good-sized bet on the Super Bowl. You also once said you left Vegas sooner than planned. Could that be because of any gambling debts he might’ve had?”

Claudia seemed to consider this, then shook her head sadly. “I wondered about that myself, but I don’t think so. I checked my bank statements pretty carefully, but didn’t come across any large withdrawals, except for the thirty grand I told you about. I think Lance just wanted to remove himself from temptation. Besides,” she continued, “he’d just finished Forever, My Darling and was eager to get it into production. He was convinced Serenity Cove Estates’ close proximity to Atlanta would be a big plus-the perfect place to stage his masterpiece.”

“The sheriff mentioned they’d found another ten grand on Lance’s body. Even in my math-challenged mind, ten and ten add up to twenty. Do you have any idea where the other ten thousand could have gone?”

Claudia thought it over, then shook her head. “No, not a clue.”

My line of questioning seemed to have reached a dead end. We sat, neither of us speaking, while I searched for another approach. None of my favorite TV detectives would’ve given up this easily, and neither would I. “Think back, if you will, to the night of the shooting.” There, that sounded like an oft-scripted line. Regardless of what some people, such as Monica, try to tell you, a person can learn lots from watching TV. “Is there anything that stands out in your mind?”

Throwing back her head, Claudia closed her eyes. “I remember how loud the last shot sounded. So loud it made my ears ring.”

Hmm. Now that she’d mentioned it, I’d noticed, too. With each utterance of Take that in the script’s line, Take that! And that and that! the sound of gunfire had seemed to grow progressively louder until the final ear-shattering blast. A fitting conclusion, I’d thought at the time.

“Anything else?” I prompted.

Claudia opened her eyes, then rubbed her temples; whether she was deep in thought or fending off an impending migraine I couldn’t tell. “There is one more thing…”

At some point in our conversation, I should’ve brought out my little black notebook and taken copious notes. I could have kicked myself for the oversight. Details like that could cause me to flunk Private Investigating for Wannabe Detectives.

“The gun kicked as I fired the last shot. I almost dropped it right then and there.”

“That it?”

She nodded, looking exhausted-exhausted and old. “It all happened so quickly, but just for an instant I imagined surprise crossed Lance’s face.” Blinking back tears, she added, “I may have wanted him out of my life, Kate, but I didn’t want him dead.”

Chapter 29

“Coffee?”

“Decaf?”

“Does a cat have nine lives?” I winced at my choice of words. Cat, kitten, tuna, they all reminded me of the same orange feline.

Bill settled onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “If I drink regular coffee after six, I turn into a frequent flier on the old movie channel at all hours of the night. Must be a sign of getting old.”

“Mmm… I love old movies. Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.” I filled two mugs with decaf and took the stool next to Bill.

“Bogart and Bacall.”

“Hepburn and Tracy. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

True to his word, Bill had come by with Krystal’s car. His mechanic friend had even washed and waxed the little Honda Civic until it gleamed. I hadn’t said a word to Krystal about her car’s being returned. I wanted to surprise her.

Bill took a cautious sip of coffee. “How come Krystal’s at rehearsal and you’re not?”

“There’s something to be said for having a bit part.” I cradled the coffee mug in both hands, savoring its warmth. “Janine wanted to focus on act one. I have to hand it to Krystal. She never seems to mind all the time spent in rehearsals. She’s a real pro. Did I tell you she had a part in the road company of Grease in Atlanta?”