I spotted a white plastic test stick at the bottom, peeking out from a rolled up wad of toilet tissue. There was a miniature display window near the tip of the stick. A plus sign, for positive, beamed in bright blue.

The water ran in the sink. My sister brushed her teeth. My mind raced.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Maddie?’’

_____

We were in Maddie’s kitchen again. She had a glass of room-temperature ginger ale in front of her. Outside the window, night had fallen. Maddie was so still, I could hear the bubbles fizzing in the carbonated drink.

“How far along are you?’’

She rested a hand lightly on her stomach. “It can’t be too far. My periods had gotten kind of irregular over the last couple of years, but I remember having one when Pam was home from college.’’

“So that was mid-summer, and this is September. About two months, then?’’

She shrugged; sipped the ginger ale.

“What are you going to do?’’

Her eyes cut me like laser beams. She slammed down the glass, sloshing soda all over the table. “I’m going to have it, of course.’’

“You do have choices, Maddie. A baby may not be the best thing for you right now with …”

My words trailed off when I saw her reaction. Her face darkened. Her hands flew to her stomach, as if she were shielding the embryo inside. I left the rest of that sentence unspoken: … with a cheating husband who could be facing murder charges.

Even if Kenny was innocent—and I wasn’t 100 percent sure he was—he might have to go to court to prove it. It wouldn’t be cheap, and it wouldn’t be easy. You could say the same about Maddie, giving birth at her age with one problem-plagued pregnancy behind her.

“I’m having this baby, whatever else happens. After all the trouble I had bringing Pam into the world, I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant again. God must have a reason for sending this child my way now.’’

I was less devout than my sister was. I didn’t give voice to the question looping through my brain: What if the Big Guy upstairs had made a mistake?

She drank some more soda, and then squared her shoulders. Her voice came out sounding strong, much more like normal Maddie. “I’ll tell you one thing. This kid will never see the sad-sack version of me you’ve had to witness lately.’’

She stood and leaned toward me across the table. In her eyes, I saw a spark of the old Maddie igniting. “I’m going to do something I should have done as soon as I discovered Kenny was running around on me.’’

She stalked into the laundry room, returning with two empty clothes baskets. I followed her down the hallway to hers and Kenny’s bedroom. She threw the baskets on the bed and started tossing in his clothes. I saw the sleeve of that fancy shirt, tangled up with several pairs of vibrantly colored men’s briefs. If the phone number in Kenny’s pants pocket hadn’t been enough to make Maddie suspicious, those sexy “manties,’’ or men’s panties, should have nailed it.

When the baskets brimmed, she nodded to me. “Grab one, would you?’’

I did, and trailed after her through the house to the back door. She flicked on an outdoor flood light, turned the knob with one hand, and kicked the door open. Outside, she entered the utility shed where they stored garden supplies, tools, and a grill. She tossed a can of lighter fluid in her basket, and then scrabbled on a high shelf until she found a long box of matches. She was just about to walk out when she spotted a half-empty golf bag with some spare clubs inside.

“Can you get that golf thingy?’’ she asked.

Shifting the basket to one hip, I hefted the golf bag over my shoulder.

Maddie marched to the fire pit in the yard. How many backyard barbecues had I attended here, with Kenny as the attentive host?

You like your burger medium-rare, right Mace? Let me get you another beer.

Maddie turned her basket upside down, kicking everything into the hole but matches and lighter fluid. Little puffs of old ash rose around the mound of clothes.

She looked at me, waiting. I stood, considering the wisdom of what we were about to do. I remembered a similar scene in Mama’s backyard, after she finally got fed up with Husband No. 2. It was childish and immature and a waste of the good money spent on the lout’s clothes.

But I recalled the satisfied smile that spread across Mama’s face as flames consumed the possessions of her unfaithful husband. It was the first time in months Mama had seemed like herself.

I chucked the contents of my basket onto the pile. Then I threw in the golf bag, too. As the bag slid sideways, a Florida Gators cover bobbed atop one of the golf club heads. The plush, toothy University of Florida mascot seemed to be grinning.

“Light that sucker up!’’ I said.

Maddie doused the pile with lighter fluid. Scraaaatchh went the match. Whuuuuff went the clothes. Once the flames really got going, I stole a glance at my sister’s face. No smile in the golden glow; but her jaw was set with renewed strength.

_____

Damn! I was halfway down the steps on Maddie’s porch when I realized I’d forgotten to tell her that Mama and Marty wanted to help. My inclination was to bring them in. If Kenny hadn’t killed Camilla, we needed to find out who had. To clear Kenny, I could use their assistance. Well, Marty’s anyway. Mama’s help was often more curse than blessing.

I turned back to the front door. Maddie had removed the spare key from the flowerpot once the whole mess with Kenny intensified. My hand was almost on the doorbell when I noticed something strange hanging in the place of the door wreath. I distinctly remembered the wreath being there when I arrived. As I’d waited for her to let me in, I’d straightened a silk sunflower and brushed some dust from a clump of fake berries.

Now, the point of a silver knife pinned a note to the door. From the knife dangled a black leather collar, complete with a leash. It resembled the collar that encircled Camilla’s neck when Mama and I found her body at the dump. My breath quickened. Instinctively, I looked over my shoulder, scanning the dark hedges and the street beyond. All was silent. On the wooden porch, no planks creaked. No breath sounded, aside from my own.

I squinted to read the scrawled message under the knife:

Kenny’s a murderer. He must pay for his crime. Try to get him off, and someone in this family dies.

forty-two

My first thought was of Maddie: She could not see this.

Was she in danger? I wanted to hide the threat and the sex gear, as if by doing that I could protect my sister from heartache or harm.

I snatched the knife, along with the collar and leash, from the door. The note I slid into my pocket.

The fact I was tampering with evidence might have given me pause, if not for what happened next. A car door slammed, as loud as a shot in the quiet night. An engine gunned. Tires screeched. A vehicle roared past—no headlights, careering wildly from side to side on the narrow street. It was large, dark, and there was a Graf for Mayor bumper sticker on the back.

All the windows were dark in the homes of Maddie’s neighbors, early-to-bed retirees with notoriously cautious driving habits. One of them might be a Graf supporter, but I’d never heard squealing tires on her street before. Was the speeding car linked to the note and kinky accessories? I raced to my Jeep, determined to find out.

Swerving into the road, I gave chase to the fleeing car. The headlamps were now lit; twin taillights glowed red in the distance. The driver blew through the stop sign at the end of Maddie’s street, and turned in a wide arc onto the highway leading away from town. I paused at the sign, and then jammed my foot on the gas to follow. My Jeep shimmied trying to match the other driver’s speed. The big car had a head start and greater horsepower. I was losing him.