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though,” I said as I pulled my phone from my pocket.
    “I just tried. I suppose they’ll get back to us when they can, but they did say they’d see us here this morning.” Allison’s forehead wrinkled briefly. “Hey, I do have a bit of good news.”
    “Tell me. I could use some of that.”
    “I talked to the market owners. Not only are they going to put in a camera security system, they’re putting in a full mister system as well.”
    I blinked. “I don’t know what that is.”
    “Misters. They help keep the area cool by spraying a fine mist of cold water. It’s kind of like outdoor air-conditioning.”
    “That sounds great. When?” I was melting as we spoke. Misters might save me.
    “Cameras will be here tomorrow. Mister system work begins no later than next week.”
    “Excuse me, Becca Robins?” A woman approached the other side of my stall.
    “That’s me. What can I do for you?” I said as I stepped toward her. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place when or where we might have met. It wasn’t too difficult to spot the market regulars, but I didn’t think she was one of them. She was petite, dressed in short shorts and a white T-shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled into a long ponytail, and though her makeup was a little heavy for my taste, it was applied perfectly.
    “Betsy Francis. We met yesterday,” she said expectantly.
    I bit back the words “We did?” and thought about where we had met. It took a second, but I realized she was the same woman who’d been holding the notebook and pen and taking orders from Joan the day before. Yesterday, she’d worn no makeup and had on huge glasses that distorted her face. I remembered thinking she was probably cute underneath the large frames. I was right. She was cute, verging on pretty, but the look on her face didn’t say pretty.
    “Betsy, of course. Sorry, it’s been . . . crazy.”
    “I know.” She put her fists on her hips.
    “I’m very sorry about your . . .”— was Joan her boss?— “about Joan.”
    “You’re sorry?” she challenged.
    “Of course.”
    Allison stepped closer.
    “All she did was not like your stupid jams. You killed her for that?” Betsy might have been petite, but her voice wasn’t. The other vendors in the area were beginning to pay attention.
    “Betsy, I didn’t kill anyone. I found Joan, but I didn’t kill her.”
    “Ms. Francis,” Allison said, “this is terribly inappropriate and I need to ask you to leave. You may come to my office if you’d like, but you’re disrupting the market.”
    Betsy’s reaction to Allison was as close to a snarl as I’d seen any human pull off. Shortly after imitating a snake contemplating an attack, she turned on her heel and walked out of the market.
    I’d never heard the market so quiet. The aisles weren’t full, but there were a few customers and lots of vendors looking in my direction.
    “I should have called a meeting, but Bo’s stall put me off track this morning,” Allison said under her breath.
    I realized that being accused of murder was much worse than being insulted or having my products rejected.
    Fortunately, my sister knew exactly what to do, and before long she’d set up a skeleton crew to take care of the customers who hadn’t been frightened away by the heat or the angry woman, and had the rest of us gathered in a big tent meeting space. She lifted the tent walls to help create a small cross breeze, but that would only scratch the surface of the cooling off she was going to have to do.

Seven

    “The police have assured me that Becca isn’t under suspicion,” Allison lied firmly.
    She’d given the vendors a rundown of the events that had occurred the previous afternoon and evening. She explained how I found Joan’s body but offered as few details as possible. She didn’t mention anything about our mother. No one brought up or seemed to suspect that Bo’s tables might have something to do with the murder.
    But everyone was shocked at the