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“Are you sure that’s what she said?” Grandma asked. “Maybe she just meant volunteer hours to look good on a school application or a resume.”

“Hmm. That could be.” Now I was doubting the actual wording Sara had used. “At any rate, I don’t feel like she could survive jail. She was more squeamish than me.”

“You’re not squeamish at all,” Grandma said. “Who says you’re squeamish?”

I was kind of squeamish. At least when it came to blood. “I don’t like blood.”

“No onelikesblood but sociopaths,” Jake commented. “Some of us just get used to it.” He fished a few strands of pasta out of boiling water. “Here, taste these and see if they’re ready.”

He shoved the noodles into my mouth before I was ready so I was slurping and chewing. I tried to talk around them. “So you don’t think Sara meant to stab Clifford, do you?”

“I have no idea,” Jake said. “Why would she stab an old man and then freak out about it? Did anyone secure the scene and the knife?”

I looked over at Grandma as I swallowed. “Did you see what happened to the knife?”

“Anne washed it and put it in the prop box. That cop said she could.”

“Two patrolmen showed up,” I told Jake. “No detectives.”

He shrugged. “Suburban cops. They must have figured it was an accident. There were what, thirty witnesses that it was an accident?”

Something about the whole thing didn’t sit right with me. “What if someone changed out a prop knife for a real knife?”

“Now you’re just looking for murder,” Jake said. “Is the pasta good?”

I nodded. “It’s good. And I’m not looking for murder. But it’s just weird. Now does a prop knife malfunction like that? I think I should talk to Sara.”

No one said anything. I took that as they agreed that it was a brilliant idea. “I need to go change and use stain stick on this blouse. Blood is hard to get out.”

“It’s a real bitch,” Grandma agreed. “Soak it with hydrogen peroxide.”

Jake’s eyebrows went up. I knew what he was thinking. Grandma was allowed to swear but he wasn’t? Maybe there were just gradations to cursing.

I kissed his cheek. “Be right back, love you.”

“Love you too. Hey, what do you want to do for your birthday?”

I wrinkled my nose. “No surprises. That’s what I want.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Can’t put a bow on that.”

My life was already full of surprises. I didn’t need my friends and family popping out from behind furniture too.

“All I want is a very cute and chic cupcake.”

“What the hell is a chic cupcake?”

“Not one from the grocery store. Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out!” I went down the hall unbuttoning my top as I went.

Two dayslater I stared at Sara Murphy across a nicked up wooden table at a coffee shop that everyone seemed to love but me. The bathroom was always filthy, the tables had old crumbs collecting dust between the wooden slats of the farmhouse tables, and the baristas always acted like they were doing you a favor by fixing the drink you paid eight dollars for.

They were coasting on the fact that they were fair trade and people wanted to turn up for that. I wanted to turn up for that aswell, but with clean tables and staff that could crack a smile once in a while.

It didn’t seem like a Sara Murphy coffee shop. She seemed like a Starbucks kind of girl with her hair extensions and her workout clothes.

“How are you doing?” I asked her, sympathetically.

“I’m a mess,” she said, raising her coffee mug to her full lips. “A total mess.”