Muffins & Murder (Sweet Bites Book 3) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) by Heather Justesen

is, and embarrassed that you all think she’d do such a despicable thing. She probably wonders if her own friends will support her. And you’re showin’ well enough that you won’t, aren’t you?”
    There was a long moment of silence from the group. “She was pretty mad about the patterns,” a soft, hesitant voice said finally.
    “Well until the detective arrests her, I’ll call her innocent,” Hetty stated. “And you all ought to get back to work, you should. There’s plenty of other things to discuss without telling tales on your friends.”
    I liked Hetty even more in that moment than I had before. The gory speculations ended and attention turned to people’s projects again, though I still heard occasional murmurs about who might have done something so terrible to Francine.
    I didn’t find any of it very useful.

    After quilt guild ended, Kat and I headed to Mary Ellen’s house. She lived in a twin home in a neighborhood filled with cookie-cutter siblings of her place. The only distinguishing characteristic was the welcome sign hanging on the door with a quilt-block pattern painted in the background.
    When I knocked at the front door, I could hear movement inside: footsteps on the floor, the clink of glass. There was a long pause, like she was trying to decide whether or not to answer before we heard the sound of the lock unbolting, and then the door opened a few inches. Mary Ellen stood on the other side wearing sweat pants, an over-sized T-shirt, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. I’ve never seen her wear so little makeup or such comfortable clothes, but her face was unnaturally pale and I didn’t think it was all due to the lack of cosmetics.
    “What do you want?” she asked.
    I was still trying to figure out how to respond when Kat, her voice bright as ever, piped up, “We wanted to make sure you were okay. We missed you at guild meeting tonight, and I know you said you’d help me with my applique, so we decided to stop by to see if there was another time when you’re available.”
    The furrows between Mary Ellen’s brows loosened. She hesitated for a moment, then opened the door wider. “I can help you now. It doesn’t take long.”
    She eyed me as we walked in. “You don’t sew at all, do you? Why did you come along?”
    “I was curious,” I said. About so many things. The way she narrowed her eyes stated that she suspected what I was curious about.
     Mary Ellen’s living room was exactly as I’d expected: everything in place, with a few cutesy crafty things on the walls and surfaces, but not cluttered. The furniture was inexpensive, but tasteful and in good condition, and she had an unfinished pink baby quilt on a set of frames in the corner of the room.
    “You want to know if I killed Francine,” Mary Ellen said flatly.
    I turned back to face her. “Of course not. I know you didn’t kill her.”
    Her mouth dropped open for a few seconds before she spoke. “How do you know that? You are investigating again, aren’t you?” Hope brightened her eyes.
    “Yes, I’m checking into it. And I suppose you could say I don’t know that you’re not the killer, but I think it’s highly improbable. I know what it’s like to be a murder suspect even though I had virtually no motive. You weren’t happy with Francine, but that doesn’t mean you’d hurt her.”
    Mary Ellen’s shoulder’s sagged. “Thank you. I’ve been getting so many questions yesterday and today. People won’t let me alone. I don’t understand how they can think I’d do something like that.”
    “Well, rest assured that I don’t think it’s you—no matter where the evidence points.” I took the seat she offered.
    She grew wary again. “What evidence?”
    I paused for a moment, wishing I hadn’t said that much and trying to decide if Detective Tingey would arrest me for interfering in an investigation if I mentioned the murder weapon—which hadn’t been released to the press. “The weapon used was