I wasn't sure what to do. Roxanne's brown eyes glowed with a feverish intensity, her fat fish lips were drawn together like purse strings, and her mousy brown hair stood out from her head like a fright wig. She looked more dangerous than usual.

"You are responsible for my Jimmy's death," she pronounced in a raspy voice that seemed to originate from deep within her chest. "He wouldn't have had to die like a sorry yard dog if he'd been able to stay away from you! I warned him time and again, but no, he had to keep sniffing around you!"

I didn't move, but I didn't look away either. If she sprang at me, I'd run back through the house and out my bedroom into the backyard.

Roxanne looked down just then and gasped, jumping quicker than I would've thought her mighty frame could move. "Agggh!" she squawked. She had realized where she was standing.

"Roxanne," I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, "why don't you…"

"Shut up," Roxanne snarled. She took a step closer to me and I tensed up, preparing to make a run for it. "Now you know how it feels," she said, a slight smile crossing her crazed face.

"What are you saying, Roxanne?"

"Years," she said slowly. "For years I watched you two. Neither one of you knowing I was there." Her voice drifted off and her eyes glazed over. I took a tiny step sideways, toward the dining room archway.

"Now you won't have him, ever!" she said, her eyes focusing on my face. "But I'll have him!"

"Roxanne, I don't know what you're talking about," I said slowly.

"Shut up!" she screamed, startling me into jumping. Roxanne may have looked like two hundred pounds of couch potato, but I knew from Jimmy that she was as strong as a bull. Roxanne harbored a secret desire to be a pro wrestler on the newly created women's circuit.

"You think I didn't know about you and him?" she said. I started to speak, but she rushed on, ignoring me. "You were planning to run off with him, weren't you? You done lost one rich Spivey brother, now you was aiming for the other. Well, it didn't happen, did it?"

I gave up. Roxanne was out of her mind with grief and nothing I did or said would change how she felt about me. I took a small step toward the dining room, but she grabbed me, whipping my arm behind me and pushing me off balance against the edge of the mantelpiece.

"I ain't done with you," she said. She was bending my arm painfully up behind my back. Her breath reeked of stale liquor.

I brought my foot up sharply, biting into Roxanne's fleshy shin. She shrieked and dropped my arm. I slipped away from her, leaving her moaning and massaging pink skin that was rapidly turning purple.

"Jimmy's dead," I said, and Roxanne's attention returned to me. "And yes, I loved him, but not in the twisted, sick way you think. He was like a brother to me!" I was breathing hard, my heart pounding against my chest.

"He didn't love me!" Roxanne yelled. "He never had the chance, not with you and his mother always there to tell him how wrong I was!" Roxanne had it all twisted to suit herself. "The two of you must've had a high old time, thinking dumb Roxanne didn't know, thinking you could just run off and leave me in the lurch!"

A dangerous glint came into Roxanne's eyes and I knew she was seconds from attacking me again.

"Mrs. Reid?" a voice said, and Roxanne whipped around, instantly on alert to the intruder standing in the open front doorway.

"Keith," I said, pushing past Roxanne and walking over to the door. Sheila's wanna-be boyfriend, the one I'd prayed thousands of times would somehow be banished from this earth, was staring from Roxanne to me, disbelief written all over his twenty-year-old, acne-pocked face. Maybe he was shocked by the scene he'd come upon, but more likely he was shocked by my warm reception.

"Is this a bad time?" he squeaked, looking for all the world like a tall, scrawny rat.

"No, son," I said loudly, "Sheila's aunt was just leaving." I glared at Roxanne, trying to look like I wasn't afraid when in reality, I knew Keith and I rolled into one couldn't have taken her.

Roxanne was making up her mind. She eyed Keith up and down, taking in the saggy, ripped blue jeans, the metal dog collar around his neck, and the tattoo of a dragon that sprawled up and down his forearm.

"I've done all I needed to do here," she said, lowering her head and charging toward Keith and the open front door like an angry bull.

Keith scampered out of the way, letting her pass and fade off into the night.

"She looked upset, huh?" he said, dodging me as I rushed up to slam the door. I had hoped he would've stayed on the outside, but he jumped into my tiny living room like a dog avoiding a lick with a broom.

"No flies on you, son," I said. "It was her husband that was killed here."

"Oh." He nodded, his eyes following the floor to the blood stain. He had to have known about Jimmy. He only lived three doors down. But maybe he was stupider than I gave him credit for.

"I heard that woman yelling at you," he said finally. "I was just walking by, you know, and I, er, thought you might be in trouble or something. So I just came on up." He looked at me expectantly, like maybe I was going to tip him, or worse yet, decide to like him.

"Thank you," I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. "I'm fine." Did he really think that coming to my rescue with Roxanne would make me suddenly decide that a twenty-year-old unemployed skater/musician/dope dealer was a suitable boyfriend for my seventeen-year-old daughter?

Keith was walking around the living room, his eyes rooted to the floor, as if maybe he'd lost something. Always his attention returned to the blood stain. I didn't have time for this. I was going to be even later for work if I didn't get my clothes and get out of here.

"Keith," I said, "if you don't mind, Fin kind of in a hurry. I've gotta go to work." I moved toward the door, but for some reason, Keith moved toward the dining room.

"Keith? The door's this way." Mama would've hated my manners, but then, I think if the situation had been reversed, she might've taken the same course.

"Oh," he said absently, still wandering into the dining room. "You know, Mrs. Reid, I believe you've changed the furniture around in here."

"No, Keith, I…" But Keith was suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing.

"Water," he gasped, collapsing into one of my dining room chairs.

"Oh, for pity's sake," I muttered. "Come on."

I swept by him and on into the kitchen. He followed me, coughing up a storm, his face reddening. I ran the tap, filled a glass with water, and shoved it into his outstretched hand. His fingernails were too long and they were dirty. What had Sheila seen in him?

I ducked into the walk-in closet that was just off the tiny galley kitchen. Maybe if I emerged with my outfit and started turning off the lights, he would take the hint and leave, He followed me, sipping on his water, his eyes darting around the room like a nervous cat.

"So, Mrs. Reid," he said quickly, "Sheila says you're the lead singer down at the Golden Stallion."

"That's right," I said, my face buried in the clothes rack.

"Well, that gives us something in common."

"How's that, Keith?" I said. I'd grabbed the purple denim outfit and was heading out into the kitchen when I stopped, staring at Keith. He had moved past the kitchen and the closet and was in Sheila's bedroom, down on his hands and knees, peering under her bed.

"Did you lose something?" I asked. He jumped, startled by my sudden presence, banging his head against the iron bedpost.

He jumped to his feet, his face beet-red. "I, uh, um, well, to be honest, Mrs. Reid…" I went on triple-guard when I heard that phrase. Mama used to say, sure as shooting, when a fella said "to be honest", whatever followed was sure to be a lie.