While plenty of people had motive to kill Diana, few had the opportunity. Margaret Scott was one of Diana's oldest friends and apparently Diana had wronged her enough to end the friendship decades ago. Could a grudge be so strong it drove you to murder decades after the fact?

          Even if she wanted to, could she pull it off?

          Maybe not, but it's better to cover my bases. Alexis  in her quest to be awesome had given me Margaret's phone number. I'd thought about calling and asking my questions, but I didn't like to do that over the phone. There was so much more information conveyed face to face. The raise of an eyebrow. The twitch of a lip. The darting of eyes. Body language was essential.

          That's how I found myself sitting in my car on the street in front of Ms. Scott's house, snacking on a burrito while staring intently through the driver's side window. With her phone number I'd been able to use a little internet magic and got her address. My original plan was to drive by on my lunch to get a feel for things before I came back after work when she was more likely to be home.

          But there was a car in the driveway.

          That didn't mean she was home mind you, but when opportunity knocks...

          I pondered this conundrum as I munched beef and beans thoughtfully. I could go with the original plan; go back to work and show up after five when she was more likely to be home. But then she was also more likely to be low on patience. Especially if she had a bad time at work. I could walk up there now but car or not, she might not be home. Or if she was, she might not be alone.

          The high jingle of my phone filled the car like music. I swallowed and picked up but my mind was distracted. "Yes?"

          "Hey girl. What you up to?" Alice's deep melodic rasp made the phone vibrate with her every word.

          "Staking out a house."

          "Oh yeah? How's your maybe murder going?"

          "Curiouser and curiouser."

          "I guess you're not available for lunch then?"

           "No, sorry."

          "Alright. Call me later."

          We said our goodbyes and I resumed thinking about the task at hand.

          Whatever I was doing I should do it fast before someone calls the cops on the crazy stalker lady watching a house from her car while eating a burrito. So what's it going to be? Do this now or come back later...

          ...Never do tomorrow what you can do today.

          I wrapped the remainder of my lunch back in its wrapper and took one last sip of sweet tea. Then I reapplied my chap stick, grabbed my purse, climbed out of my car, pulled my khaki short shorts out of my ass, and then strolled across the street like I was on a mission to sell Mary Kay products and not investigating a possible murder. All smiles, relaxed posture, pep in my step—nothing unusual here.

           Margaret lived in a one level four bedroom with a sizable yard. The car in the driveway was a well-cared for Lexus. The vegetation around the porch was calculated and intentional. When I rang the doorbell a dog barked from inside. Sounded small. Probably an arm breed like a yorkie or a chihuahua. Seems like the thirty years between Margaret and Diana's fallout had been kind enough to her. Not millionaire kind, but yorkies and Lexus's weren't cheap.

          After no sign of movement on the other side of the door, I got impatient and rang again. Might not be anyone home. Car could be parked for repairs. I was about to call it in and get back to Taste Teas when I heard a muffled voice talking to the dog on the other side of the door.

          The next thing I heard was the lock clicking open.

          The person who answered the door wasn't Margaret Scott, but a middle-aged man with thinning hair. The deep brown bald spot at his rapidly receding crown shined. He pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked. "Yes?" he said.

          "Could I speak with Margaret Scott, please?"

           "Oh, sure." He closed the door to a crack then bellowed out. "Margie!"

          The woman who came to the door was sober today, though the slump in her shoulders betrayed a certain world weariness that was absent in the photo of her and Diana from thirty years ago. Her every-auntie-ever pixie cut flopped unstyled to her ears. It sung an unsung song that said, 'give me the Fantasia.' "Yes?" She said.

          "Margaret Scott?" I shoved my hand toward her and greeted her with a wide smile. "I'm Evie Harper. I'm a huge fan."

          She grabbed my hand and shook cautiously. "Fan?"

          "Yeah. I'm an entrepreneur." It was a delicate game I was playing. I raised my voice and widened my eyes. Most days people thought I was in my early twenties at the oldest. Today, I wanted Margie to think I was a plucky college student in my late teens. "And, well, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

          "Questions about what?"

          I beamed brightly. "Dupont Cosmetics. You're the genius behind the brand."

          "I just made the product. DeeDee was the mind behind the business."

          "I know that but Ms. Dupont couldn't have even gotten it off the ground without your products."

          She looked me over slowly; her eyes taking me in. Maybe she didn't buy the young ingénue act or maybe she was recognizing me from the repass. "Come on in."

            I didn't outwardly react but inside a wave of relief about washed me off the porch. "Thank you so much." I said as I followed.

           Inside was a split-level living room decorated with tasteful contemporary furniture. The cherry hardwood of the floors shined like they'd been freshly waxed. The light blue walls were decorated with black framed photos that displayed a happy normal family—Margaret, the man who answered the door, three kids, and the dog who had taken to circling around my feet. On the far end of the room, hanging just behind the dinner table was a custom-made wooden shield, painted pink and green. Down the center, the lettering was gold and proud: AKA. It was an emblem I'd seen all my life.

           Margaret led me toward a spotless charcoal sectional sofa and eased her thick but shapely figure down on the cushions. I followed her lead and sat next to her. The yorkie stayed on the ground but stared up at me with curiosity.

          "Now, what did you want to know—I'm sorry, what was your name?"

           "Evie. Um, what I want to know is the secret to your success."

          "Secret?" She chuckled. "There's no secret but hard work."

          "There must be more than that." I insisted. "I'm thinking of starting my own business—me and my business partner, Henry."

          She took the bait with an irate wrinkling of her brow. "My first piece of advice: watch out for business partners."

          "What do you mean?"

          "I mean, just because you go into business together doesn't mean you're friends." Her eyes widened a bit and I noticed for the first time that they were a little lighter brown than assumed. "Hell, that's especially true in business."

          "But you and Ms. Dupont were the dream team."

         "Dream team! She stole that business right from under me."

          I put my hand to the base of my throat and gasped. "What?"

          "Oh yeah. She was a real shark."

           "None of this is in her biography." I inched a little closer but kept my hands folded across my knees. "It said you parted ways amicably."

          "She forced my hand. I never wanted to sell."

         "What happened?"

        "You didn't come here for this." She glowered and shook her head to swat away the bad memories. "Evie, the best I can tell you is look out for yourself. Business is a cutthroat endeavor."

          Who's she telling? "Oh, I know."

          "You don't. Not until you do it. The person you think of as your sister is the person that hurts you the most." She stared off into a painful memory and I remembered how angry she'd been at the repass. The barely disguised disgust. The rage in her eyes. None of that was present now. "I'm sorry. What did you want to know?"

          I decided to throw her a random easy question to try and loosen her up a bit. "How did you raise your startup capital?"

          "Some of it was loans. But some of it was savings."

          "That must have been a lot of savings."

          "It was. Part of it was my mother's." When she smiled a single dimple dotted her left cheek. "She'd spent her life saving. And when I told her about my dreams, she insisted she would help."

          "I'm sure she was proud once it became successful."

          "She didn't live to see it before DeeDee forced me out."

           "Oh, I'm sorry."

          She nodded her thanks. "She died of cancer. Ironic."

          "Ironic?"

         "I'm so sorry." She scoffed at herself and shrugged her shoulders almost to her ears. "I just talk and talk and talk."

          "No problem."

          "So anyway, getting the startup from the banks was the first hurdle. It's not just qualifying for the loan; it's getting the right one..."

          She gave me a brief explanation of banks vs microlenders vs venture capitalists as I tried desperately for my eyes not to glaze over in boredom. It was hard but I managed to nod about every fifteen seconds or so, so I think she bought it.

           "Oh wow. It's so much." I chuckled once she was wrapping it up.

            "Everyone would do it if it was easy."

          "True."

          She squinted her eyes suddenly and cocked her head just so. "You know you look kind of familiar."

            We were rapidly losing the plot and I was in danger of blowing my cover as an acquaintance of Alexis. What if she shuts down on me if she realizes I witnessed the embarrassing display last Saturday? I decided now was the time to play my trump card. "Ms. Scott—"

           "Margie."

          "Margie. I had no idea you pledged." I looked over pointedly at the sorority emblem hanging with pride above the dining room table. "You know my mother's AKA."

          Her eyes lit with interest. "Really? What's her name? Maybe I know her."

          Here we go. "Regina Harper."

          "Gina Harper! Everybody knows Gina." God, I know. We couldn't even go into Walmart without some rando coming up to her when I was a kid. 'Gina Harper! What's happening? Ain't seen you in twenty years!'  Spare me. "How is she doing? Still working over there at city hall?"

          "They moved them across the street a few years ago."

          "Oh, that's right."

          "Are you and my mom friends?"

          "I see her from time to time downtown." She squinted her eyes again; examining my features like an artist at canvas. "Now that you mention it, I see the resemblance."

          Good. Better she thinks that's where she's seen me before. "Everyone always says that."

          "Because it's true." After bonding over a sorority I wasn't even a part of her posture was much more relaxed and familiar. She leaned back against the couch like we were two old chums. Now was the opening I had been waiting for.

          "Uh, Margie. Could I ask why you and Diana parted ways? If that's not too personal of course."

          "It was complicated." She said it automatically like she'd explained it a thousand times. But something in her eyes darkened and she shook her with such a snap that for a moment she almost looked like a different person. "No. No, it wasn't."

           "What happened?"

          "My mom got sick. Cancer." She inhaled sharply; the words so heavy they hurt. "The bills were falling behind. I was taking time off to take care of her but we were drowning. Then Diana came to me and offered to buy out my half of the business. It would have been enough to pay off my mom's medical debt. I was grieving. I thought she was my friend, so I signed the contract. I got the money. Paid the bills. But mom died shortly after. There was just enough to bury her and when I was finished grieving, I looked over the contract. Diana had under sold just how much the company was worth at that point and how much the expected growth was to be. The worst part was that I'd signed over the patent for my formulas. There was little legal recourse. I had to start over from scratch."

           I absorbed the information and frowned. "Wow, what a bitch."

          "Who you telling?"

           "Why would she do that?"

          "Robert."

          "Who?"

          "Robert Davis. This slimy lawyer who went to school with us." Her face scrunched up in revulsion. "He's the one who wrote the contract. Deedee was a shark but he was a snake through and through. He'll do anything for a buck."

          Anything, like murder? "I'm sorry that happened. That's terrible."

          "Well, after a bankruptcy I got a job with the city, bought a house, got married, had kids. It's not all doom and gloom." She shrugged and smiled. "Though I miss being a millionaire."

          I would miss that too. "You must have been pretty mad at Diana."

          "I was. For a long time but then I forgave."

          "You forgave her?" Was she serious? Or was this one of those things people say but they don't really mean?

          "Yeah. You can't be mad forever. It's bad for your health."

          "But she swindled you out of millions—hundreds of millions in earning potential. I'd kill whoever did that to me."

           She laughed at my boldness. It was so light and carefree I believed her. Maybe the resentment had been washed away like dust a long time ago. Maybe she didn't like the burden. "I wanted to. But then I found forgiveness through Christ."

          Uh oh. On my life, I swear I started having 'Nam flashbacks to all the random people who suddenly started preaching for no reason all my life. 'Do you believe that Jesus Christ is your lord and savior?' 'Do you have a church home?' 'Are you saved?'

          And there's no limits. You don't have to be in a church or at their house or nothing. They'll ask in the grocery store. In line at the bank. While you're literally pumping gas. While they're flat ironing your hair. At work—uncomfortableness be damned!

          Someone get me out of here.

          "All things are possible with Christ." She was saying with a look of wonderment etched across her face. "All wounds are healed."

          "Uh huh." If I don't right the ship, I'm going to have to suffer through a thirty-minute timeshare presentation on Jesus. And that is just not the business. "But you didn't want to hurt her?"

          "Oh no. I was never a violent person. It's that Robert she should have looked out for."

          "What ever happened to him?"

          "Oh, he was her lawyer to the end."

          "'Til she died?"

          "Yep. Birds of a feather. He was even at the funeral talking some mess about how great she was. I wanted to swing on him but then I remembered I'm saved."

          So, Robert Davis scammed his way to being the lifelong lawyer of a multimillionaire, huh? But what reason could he have to kill his golden goose? Did someone so corrupt need one?

          "If you weren't friends with Diana anymore, why were you at the funeral?"

          "Her son Malik invited me." There's that name again. "He's always been such a kind boy. Still calls me Aunt Margie."

          "Do the others not do that?"

          "Destiny does. They were born when we were still close. The other two were born later."

          "Oh. Is that why they're named Dupont instead of Williams?" That was a common fact anyone could read on her wiki page. Diana Dupont, birth name: Deirdre Lynn Williams, nee Brown.

          "Yes. That was after DeeDee's name change."

          "I have to ask. Where did you come up with the name Diana Dupont?"

         She smiled and the dimple returned. A topic she likes, I take it. "From a phone book. We just flipped through and made a list of all the ones we liked for our company mascot. It was well after I left that she decided to take the name for herself and become the face of the company."

          "Thank you so much Margie."

          "No problem, baby."

          "I'm afraid I have to get back to work." I stood.

          "Oh. What do you do?"

         "I'm a barista. I'm thinking about opening my own café."

          "Don't do that. The restaurant business is murder."

          I smiled in reassurance as Margie walked me to the door while chattering about my mom's escapades as a college basketball star before the WNBA was invented, then made me swear I'd say hello for her and then invited me to her church.

          At the door she waved as I walked back toward my car. "Good luck," She called to me from the open door. "It's vicious in these streets."

          She had no idea.