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undercurrents. “Always has.”
    In order to avoid another high school reminiscing drama, he cut them off. “I need to talk to the prisoners.”
    The deputies exchanged a look. Finally, Carl shrugged. “Go ahead, but we don’t have no interview room, you’ll have to talk to them in their cell.”
    “No problem.”
    # # #
    An hour later John and D’Sean sat in their rented vehicle. D’Sean’s elbow was propped against the door and supported his head as he flipped through pages of notes.
    “This town gets what it pays for,” John said, seething from his encounter with the incompetent deputies. “Bobby Joe claims his salary’s so small he has to live at home with his mother. Which, according to him, is hell on his sex life.”
    D’Sean snarled, holding up a hand in warning. “Don’t tell me what goes on in the back of the patrol car.” He sat up straight and tossed the pages onto the dashboard. “Let’s go see this hag and then hit the road.”
    Not that it mattered, but John hated to let a challenge go. “You think she’s going to be a hag?”
    “If she was a looker, those crackers would forgive her anything. As it stands they hate her.”
    “Twenty bucks says she not only a looker but she’s smart as hell.”
    D’Sean hesitated, but John knew he couldn’t resist a bet. “You’re on, but she’s gotta be both. It’s almost five. Still at work, do you think?”
    “Let’s hope so, I suspect it’ll be more difficult to get into their gated housing compound.”

 
     
     
    Chapter Five
    The All-Seeing Eye was a fairly innocuous building. Black brick, two story with solid steel doors. No signage. The yellow dog sprawled across the sidewalk, thumped his tail in greeting, too lazy to rise.
    “You sure this is it?”
    John verified the address. “Why no sign on the door?”
    He turned the handle, pushed open the heavy door and stepped out of the wind into an enclosed alcove. Bullet-proof glass ran from the waist-high counter to the ceiling broken by only a speaker vent displaying an empty receptionist work station.
    To the right of the counter was another steel door. John pushed the handle and shoved his shoulder against the un-giving surface.  
    “Eye in the sky,” D’Sean murmured and tilted his head in the direction of the security camera.
    “Hello,” John raised his voice.
    A plump woman shuffled around the corner. Her dark hair was bound in a messy top-knot, ink stained her fingers as though she’d been writing with an old fashioned fountain pen. She wasn’t old, maybe mid-forties, but her black dress made her look frumpy and out of date. “Sorry, I was catching up on the filing and didn’t hear the door open.” She peered over the teal blue and hot pink frames of her eyeglasses, studying both men from foot to head. “We’ve been expecting you. Please come in.” She pushed a button. Behind the door, the men heard a loud click.
    This time the door swung open. They were expected? The animosity had been so extreme he hadn’t thought the Sheriff’s office would call. But maybe he’d misjudged how a small town operated.
    “Take a seat in the conference room, others will be right with you.” She pointed toward a door. “There’s coffee already made and apple strudel’s on the counter. Help yourself.”
    They were being handled. John hated being handled. What was with this town? How long would it take to get down to the facts of the situation? He glared at the woman. Dark hair, dark eyes. She could be the gypsy bitch. “Are you Cezi Romney?”
    She moved past them. Despite her weight her movements were graceful. John and D’Sean were forced to follow her swaying hips simply to continue the questioning.
    By the time they entered the small conference room, she had a cup in one hand and the coffee pot in the other. She thrust the cup in John’s direction and bent to open a small refrigerator and held out a Mountain Dew to Lassiter. A thousand ants crawled up John’s spine.
    “Do