Party Crashers

wants everyone to know, especially since she seems to finally be getting back on her feet. So..." He gave her a little smile. "I just wanted to apologize and let you know that Pam is willing to take your case again."
    She shook her head. "Thanks, but...no thanks."
    "So you won't accept my help."
    Her heart thrashed in her chest like a wounded bird. "No. There are just too many complications—your name, your sister. You're my alibi at the party. How's that going to look to a jury if you're also paying for my attorney and—"
    He lifted an eyebrow. "Sleeping with you? Not good. You're right, of course."
    Jolie exhaled. The day was catching up with her. "Look, Beck, I've had a long day, and something tells me that tomorrow is going to be even longer. So if you don't mind—"
    "Where are you staying?"
    "At my neighbor's. She's out of town and said I could use her apartment for a few days."
    "Let me get you a hotel room."
    With him in it? "No, thank you. Good night."
    He reached out to clasp her arm. "Jolie, I can make things easier for you."
    Anger blazed through her. "Do you think I'm blind, Beck? I know what I am to you—I'm a project. I'm a 'before.' I'm the damsel in distress that you can swoop in to save and feel good about yourself for a while. Until you get bored and start looking for a new project, or decide to go back to Costa Rica." She pulled away from him "Go find another charity case."
    She sidestepped him, marched out of the funeral chapel, and unlocked the door of her pitiful rental car. She climbed in and started the engine, then looked heavenward. "God, I'm broke, barely employed, a suspect in two murders, I drive a ramshackle car, and the man I love might as well be living in your galaxy. Please let this be a low point. Send me a sign." She leaned forward, looking for shooting stars, a burning bush, a two-headed goat...something.
    And she got nothing.
    On the drive to the apartment complex she hummed to music on the radio to keep her mind occupied...off Gary...off Beck...off jail. It was just before 8 P.M. when she pulled into the parking lot.
    Residents had already decorated for Halloween, putting lighted jack-o'-lanterns in their windows and corn fodder shocks in the common areas. Her hand felt warm and tight beneath the bandage. Maybe Beck was right—maybe it was infected.
    Beck.
    She worked her mouth from side to side, conceding it would probably take some time to get out of the habit of thinking about him.
    She drove past Leann's apartment to check her own mailbox. After a couple of days, it probably would be full. She parked and walked to the bank of mailboxes, looking right and left, ever aware of her surroundings. Fatigue pulled at her lower back—the shoe department had been busier than usual today.
    The night air was cool—in the forties, she guessed. And so cloudless, the stars took her breath away. A rustling noise behind the boxes also took her breath away, until she realized it was the dry husks of the corn fodder shocks rubbing together. Still, she didn't dawdle checking the mail. As suspected, her box was full—one reason was because Mrs. Janklo's bank checks had been delivered to her by mistake. She looked up at the woman's window and noted that the lights were on. If she knew Mrs. Janklo, she'd be looking for these checks and worried that they hadn't arrived.
    Jolie heaved a sigh and opted for the elevator over the stairs. A couple of minutes later, she was ringing Mrs. Janklo's doorbell. She stood in front of the peephole and waved. "It's Jolie, Mrs. Janklo—I have your checks."
    The door opened and Mrs. Janklo squinted at her through the chain. "What do you want?"
    "Here are your checks," she said cheerfully. "The mail carrier put them in my box by mistake."
    The woman's plump hand appeared in the six-inch opening and Jolie gave her the box. "Thank you," her neighbor said begrudgingly.
    "You're welcome. Good night."
    "Wait, I have something for you." The door closed.
    Jolie tried to smile. Mrs. Janklo was famous for her frozen zucchini bread wrapped in layers and layers of aluminum foil. It was god-awful, and Jolie had lost a toenail last year when she'd dropped one on her foot.
    The door opened and Mrs. Janklo's disposition seemed much improved. "Here you go—some nice zucchini bread. It'll need to thaw for about three hours."
    Jolie juggled her mail and took the icy brick, which actually felt good against her injured hand. "Thank you, Mrs. Janklo."
    "And here's something