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so firmly his knuckles were white.
    “How’d you figure out who did it?”
    “That was my idea.” The young deputy grinned proud of his accomplishment. “The service station across the street has security cameras. We ran them backwards till we saw them two felons running from the scene of the crime. So we went out and picked ‘em up this morning.”
    “How did you know where to find them?”
    “Hell, we all went to high school together. I don’t know why they would’ve killed Ellie though. She was a nice girl.”
    D’Sean and John exchanged a look. Their partnership had been forged in fire. Without a word, John knew his friend’s next move would be to get away before he leaned over the desk snatched the deputy from his chair and explained which side of the bread the butter was on.
    Heading off Carl’s trip down memory lane, D’Sean stood. “Got the video tapes here?”
    “Yeah, ask Tillie.” Carl jerked his head in the direction of the dispatcher’s desk.
    When D’Sean opened the door to escape the deputy, John rose also. “I need to ask the prisoners a couple of questions while he’s looking at the tapes.”
    Somehow John had crossed the line of friendliness because the deputy’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “’Bout what?”
    “Black limo.”
    The deputy slammed his hand against the wooden desk, producing a loud smacking sound as he leapt to his feet. “I stated in the report she’s an unreliable witness. Un-re-lie-a-bull. She called you, didn’t she? I knew it.”
    “Who?”
    “I’ll bet she thinks she’s going over my head.” He paced around the desk, before yelling, “Bobby Joe, get in here.”
    Bobby Joe stuck his head in the door. “Wha…?”
    “FBI wants to know about the black limo. What exactly did that bitch say?”
    Bobby Joe blinked a couple of times. “She said the guys in the limo were responsible for Ellie’s death. Only Fred and Charlie don’t own no black limo.”
    John raised his voice. “Who said this?”
    Both the deputies looked surprised; whether it was by his question or the fact he was still in the room was difficult to determine.
    “The gypsy bitch,” Bobby Joe said.
    “Does the gypsy bitch have a name?”
    In unison both men nodded. “E-Z Romney.”
    The derogatory joke, which did not take a rocket scientist to figure out, had the deputies snickering like Beavis and Butthead, followed by a round of high-fiving. John grit his teeth annoyed to have to pry each piece of information out of them.
    “Her real name?” Oh, yeah, these guys were the pride of Armadillo Creek.
    Bobby Joe shrugged. “Cezi Romney.”
    “What kind of name is Cezi? Does it stand for something?”
    “Thieving gypsy,” Carl chimed in much to Bobby Joe’s amusement.
    “Where will I find her?” 
    The deputies exchanged a suspicious look. Finally Carl shrugged and cleared his throat. “The gypsies live in a compound outside of town. Follow farm road 82 past the Quick Stop and Sabrina’s Dress Shop. About five miles south.”
    John jotted down the directions.
    Bobby Joe sneezed and wiped his tan uniform sleeve across his nose. “But at this time of day she’ll be at work over on Marshall Street, past the Parsons’ Grocery Store that burned down last year. You’ll know it when you see the yellow dog out front.”
    A yellow dog? What the hell kind of directions were these? John tried another tactic. “What’s the name of the company?” He’d Google it.
    “All Seeing Eye. Her father and uncle own it. They’re PIs. She’s the one who called, but they’ll all be involved. You don’t see one without another.”
    Bobby Joe’s head bobbled in agreement. “They’re thick as fleas on a barnyard dog.”
    John’s patience at an end, he lowered his voice and enunciated each word. “What does this woman do?”
    Judging by the startled look that crossed Carl’s face, John was finally getting through to him. “Cause trouble.”
    Bobby Joe laughed, oblivious to the