Anderson growled and pushed my arm off the dash of his Grand Cherokee. He may have agreed to my amazing deduction of the case and the plan on how to get a confession, but he was not as eager as me to get out there and get it.

"We're not going tonight," Anderson bit back and wiped his arm over the spot on his dash I'd hit.

Apparently, he was really protective of the car's interior.

"Why not?" We had the manpower-him and me. It was time to bust up in there and take down a homegirl.

Another sigh left him. He'd been doing that a lot during our talk. "It's a coordinated effort."

I frowned and put my hand in front of the vent. "But I'm on a hot streak."

We couldn't stop now, or my luck might run out. I'd caught Tony's mark, rescued Brent, and returned Katy's box. Jalinda's murder was my last case. The big hurrah.

Anderson shook his head. "And almost burned down the bakery."

Oh. That.

"You heard about that, huh?"

He pursed his lips in a duh expression. It was Pelican Bay. Probably everyone heard already, especially after the phone tree started up for the evening.

Shit.

A scary thought hit me, and my eyes popped open as wide as saucers. I'd forgotten to tell Katy about the bakery fire. She'd kill me once she got her phone tree call and found out. Darn it. I'd have to fake brain damage.

"You'll have to hope your hot streak lasts another day. We'll meet here at ten tomorrow morning."

"Ugh, but Anderson, that's so long."

"Didn't I tell you once to call me Detective Anderson?"

Funny. I laughed. "Yeah, that's too long." Not going to happen. "Fine. I'll meet you here, but make sure you're ready for me because I'm going in hot."

I'd get that confession if I had to pry it from Mrs. Jones' throat myself.

"Now, Vonnie?" Anderson asked, leaning back into his seat.

I got comfy too. Maybe we were going to strategize. "Yeah?"

"Get out of my car."

"Right." I popped open the door and zipped up my coat. "See you tomorrow."

**

Twenty-seven billion hours later or fourteen hours and seven minutes later, we were together again.

Anderson and Vonnie.

No.

Vonnie and Anderson.

Solving crimes, kicking ass.

He'd make a super grumpy partner, but television taught us those were the best kinds.

"What are you thinking about?" Anderson asked, tossing me from my thoughts.

I smiled at my new grumpy partner. "Nothing."

He scowled. "Don't even think of doing something stupid in there."

Crabby. Maybe he'd be my partner from afar.

A beep came from the far corner of the white kidnapper van we'd driven to Mrs. Jones' house. They had all kinds of fancy technology in the thing. I wanted to hit all the buttons, but every time I reached for one, Anderson raised an eyebrow at me and shook his head.

I needed to find a fun partner. Someone looking for adventure.

Officer Timmens from the county, who drove the van and appeared to know all the technology, finished clipping the wire to my shirt. He tugged the hem lower and stood back to admire his work. These days, the microphones didn't actually use wires, and he'd hooked me up with three different ones at various points of my outfit. One attached to the hem of my shirt like a fake button, another clipped to the side of my sunglasses, and the third on the back of my phone like a fake camera.

Real technical new age crap.

Truthfully, though, I was a little sad I wasn't getting wired up like they did in movies from the eighties. Without that wire, the entire operation was missing a little something. We had no pizzazz.

"You realize this van is suspicious as hell. Right?"

It had no windows or any markings on the outside, but three different antennas pointed off the front window. Why not just paint "the police" on the side?

Anyone who looked at it immediately had two options. Kidnapper van or the cops.

Officer Timmens laughed at my joke.

"I like him," I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Maybe he'd become my new partner. Someone who appreciated your jokes was important.

Anderson's perpetual frown deepened. "This cost me a favor and a large pizza from Buddy's, so don't waste the opportunity, Vonnie."

I saluted him. The van came from the county or somewhere else lower in Maine. No way did Pelican Bay have kidnapper van resources. They barely had a police force. How they got a tox screen back on Jalinda's murder candies still baffled me. Anderson had to be hiding something.

"All done. You're ready to go on my end," Timmens said.

Anderson handed me my phone, screen up, showcasing the already running timer. "Ten minutes and not a second longer. You better get a move on."

I hurried from the van, hauling ass across the road while looking for cars. The guys already announced their presence with the kidnapper's van, but I didn't have to associate with them.

I knocked on Mrs. Jones' door right as my timer hit nine minutes remaining. Fingers crossed, the woman opened the door and immediately confessed.

When she didn't run to answer my knock with her hands raised and a confession falling from her lips, I knocked again. Harder and faster.

Finally, a deadbolt disengaged on the other side of the door and she gave a quick, "I'm coming."

Ruth Jones had curly dirty blonde hair, and while she was obviously going for the messy look, it appeared as if she'd styled every piece perfectly. She tucked one of her curls behind her ear. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Vonnie. Can I come in?" I asked, while already stepping into her house. Time was literally ticking away on us.

At certain times it was better to be aggressive in getting what you needed, and this was one of those times.

"Excuse you," she said, but I'd already gained access to her space and didn't plan to make it easy for her to get rid of me. "What do you need?"

"I'm here on behalf of the newspaper," I said, hoping Anderson wouldn't charge in and call me a liar. My first thought had been to say I was working with the police department, but I figured he'd really hate that. This was our compromise. He just didn't know about it yet.

I strolled through the front hallway into a tiny sitting room. It held nothing more than a loveseat, one floral patterned matching chair and a small secretary desk for furniture. Sparse, but clean. "I just have a few questions about your daughter-in-law, Jalinda."

She shook her head, following me into the room, and rested her hands on the back of the chair. "Poor Jalinda. I can't believe it. And my son. He'll never get over her loss. It breaks my heart that I wasn't here when it happened so he'd have had someone to console him."

That perked me up, and I leaned forward to make sure any of the cameras on my body caught her words. "You weren't here at the time of the murder?"

Ruth patted her chair like it was an animal. "No, I was out west on a vacation. I didn't return home until the next afternoon. My poor Jimmy had to face it alone."

Interesting.

So she admitted to being out west. Ruth Jones might just walk into her confession easier than I planned. The time on my phone read six minutes and thirty seconds remaining.

"Would you like some coffee, dear?" she asked, making a move to turn.

I considered it for nine seconds. My time calculations were exact because I watched the seconds tick down on the phone time before flipping it back over to hide the screen. I didn't always work best under such time constraints.

"No, thank you." I plopped down on the couch. If I couldn't get her to confess in time, I'd force Anderson to pick me up and carry me out of the home. "I don't have any extra time today."

Ruth's head perked up at that and she rounded the chair, almost taking a seat in it but choosing to stand. "Well then, let me answer your questions so you can get on your way."

A coffee smell drifted in from the kitchen. She'd already had the pot made, so it may not have taken any time off our timeline to get me a mug. I instantly regretted turning it down. Warm coffee wasn't my favorite, but I'd fake sip the shit out of it. Broadrick never showed back up to the house the night before, which meant I didn't have my big SEAL to pour any hot chocolate into my new thirty-dollar mug.

It was a shame. I'd have to go back to making my own. It wouldn't taste as good when I made it, even in the pricy metal container.

"Were you and Jalinda close?" I asked, spearing Ruth with my gaze to watch her every move.

She blinked once. "Of course, she was my favorite daughter-in-law."