Samantha's corner cut into my boob as I leaned against her to get a better view out the passenger side window. I approached Ashley's house the wrong way, and it forced me to park at a shit angle. I just couldn't risk turning around and being noticed, so I had to make do.

Every light in Ashley's home-a cute little bungalow on the outskirts of town-flared from the windows. Frigid air ghosted into the home via the propped open front door, and two different men removed boxes from inside, placing them in an idling truck in her driveway. Maine's Best Movers written in bold font on the side.

"See me tomorrow morning, huh? What bullshit," I whispered to Samantha, even though it was only me and the box in the car.

Samantha didn't answer my rant. The coffee I spilled on her top earlier permeated the space and I took a big whiff, letting the caffeine help me decide my next course of action.

I wouldn't let Ashley get in the truck and drive out of town.

"I knew something fishy was going on." Ashley had strong killer vibes on the phone.

The woman in question walked out of her home, directing one mover back into her space. He set his box on the porch and headed inside, leaving Ashley to retrieve the box he left behind. She held it high in her arms, hiding half her face.

"You're a much cuter box, Samantha. That cardboard has nothing on you." I gave Samantha a few pats on her now dried top flaps. Hopefully, she wouldn't resent me for the mishap forever.

Ashley opened the back door to her car-a late model Impala-and set the box on the seat. She slammed the door and looked back at her home, staring at it for a moment. I couldn't see her face, but I knew the expression.

She was saying goodbye.

Shit. If I let her leave now, I'd miss my chance. Possibly forever.

Ashley couldn't leave Maine. I had to stop her. Get a confession. Solve Jalinda's murder. She deserved justice, and I'd be the one to get it for her.

I opened my Camaro's door, planning to slip out and meander my way to Ashley's front yard undetected.

An icy patch lay in wait for me like a stealthy invisible assassin. As soon as my foot hit the concrete, it whipped out from under me and I crashed half in the car and half on top of the hard, frozen curb.

"Ugh," I moaned as the winter snow seeped through my clothes, freezing my skin.

My ass stung, but I jumped up trying to throw a karate move into the mix, but failing. At least it got my ass off the cold ground. I glanced once over the hood of the car and sighed when I spotted no one looking in my direction. Fingers crossed, no one saw my ungraceful tumble or at least didn't get it on camera.

Ashely took up a spot leaning against her car, and I approached her with caution. You never knew what might set a person off and make them flee. I had to handle her with kid gloves until I assessed the situation.

"Girl, what's up?" I asked and took a spot next to her by the vehicle. We were both staring at her house while one man used a dolly to cart a load of boxes to the truck.

She turned toward me with a hand held out. "Um, do I know you?" Her white coat crinkled with her movements and she shoved her hand back in her pocket after mistakenly determining I wasn't a threat. She had on the same outfit she'd worn to the funeral from the look of the black hem hanging below her coat.

"It's Vonnie. We just talked." Did she forget so easily?

Her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. "I'm kind of busy right now. We said nine tomorrow. You're early." She sneered the last sentence.

I played dumb. PI101: When caught in a lie, always play dumb.

"Ohhhh. I thought you meant nine tonight. My bad." Ops... not.

If I waited until tomorrow, she'd already be out of town and halfway to Mexico.

Ashely flipped her wrist over to check her watch. "It's barely six." Her arm stilled in the air, her body frozen mid-movement waiting for my response.

It definitely looked like she was about to become a fleer. Flyer? I'd have to Google that later. Either way, she was half a truck away from leaving Pelican Bay.

I rubbed my hands over my arms. "It's so cold out here tonight." I added a teeth chatter for emphasis. "Can we go inside?"

Ashley released a deep sigh and dropped her hand. "Sure."

She led us up to the home, the front door still propped open. I gently slid the box out of the way and shut the door. Not only would it keep the chill out from the inside, but it'd be a deterrent to her making a run for it.

Boxes littered the front entryway of Ashley's home. We side stepped a few as she led me to the opening archway to the living room, but not a single step into the actual room.

"Going somewhere?" I asked, eyeing the boxes in our path.

Her forehead creased. "Obviously."

"A planned trip."

"A move," she answered quickly but with no details. "I thought you said you wanted info on a missing dog?"

Girl was going to make it hard on both of us.

I searched for a way to bring up Jalinda's murder or her attendance at the funeral earlier that day without giving away my motives. Slamming her body against the wall and demanding she tell me why she offed Jalinda didn't seem like it would work.

I mean, I'd definitely try it as my last resort, but I needed a few other attempts first.

From the corner of my eye, inspiration struck. Actually, I walked next to it and my foot kicked the corner of a frame. As I leaned over to stop it from tumbling on its glass, the picture caught my attention.

"What's this?" I asked, standing to my full height and meeting her gaze.

We both knew what the photo contained.

She reached out for it. "Give that to me."

I pulled the photo back. "I don't think so. You want to tell me why you have a photo of you and Jimmy Jones framed?"

I held the photo between us, taking longer to scan the smiling couple before Ashley tore it from my hands. She'd wore a long sparkly dress, and Jimmy had on a black and white tux. It was clearly a prom or some other school dance. She'd held on to it for a while.

She stroked the side of the frame and then returned it to the pile stacked against the wall. "It's none of your business."

Yeah, homegirl was definitely a suspect.

"So, where are you going?" And are you taking Jimmy with you?

Ashley rolled her eyes and positioned herself in front of the picture, but her skinny legs didn't hide what I'd already seen. "Last year before Christmas, I accepted a job in California."

A job in California.

Interesting.

And I'd been so right. Had I waited till tomorrow morning, she'd be halfway across the country. California was close to Mexico. They were fucking touching. All she had to do was wait till the heat was off and then she'd slip across the border and begin her life as a black widow.

"When do you start this supposed new job?"

Ashley glanced at me, her forehead furrowed, but she answered anyway. "In a week. Why are you here?"

It wasn't a good sign when the suspect starting asking questions as well. Especially when I didn't want to answer them. I stepped back.

My heel caught on the edge of a box, and glass clinked as the box skated across the floor an inch or two. Ashley flinched as I regained my footing but did nothing to help me.

"Can you please stop touching my stuff? I'm already worried about most of it being broken in the move." She glared at the box and then at me like I'd purposely picked up one of her knickknacks and thrown it across the room.

She flicked a piece of her hair back and crossed her arms over her chest, giving me every single indication in the book that my time was running low.

"Fine," I said, crossing my own arms to mimic her stance. "I'll cut to the chase."

"That would be nice," she said, her head bobbing along, reminding me of the bakery girls.

But those women didn't murder people.

"I'm here because I read the Christmas Card you sent Jimmy."

Rather than Ashley's face sobering or her breaking into tears and confessing to the crime, she laughed. Turned her head to the ceiling, rolled her eyes, and outright chuckled. Like what I'd said was the dumbest joke.

What the hell?

"It's not funny, Ms. Hart. His wife is dead."

That made her sober.

One mover stepped behind me and retrieved the box I'd disturbed. "The truck is almost full, ma'am."

"Thanks, Rick," she returned.

Already on a first name basis with the movers? Were they her next targets? Get rid of anyone associated with her crime.

"The letter, Ms. Hart?" I couldn't let her forget the important reason I'd left the bakery mid shift.