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was, resting on my lap. I considered putting it in my purse for the dance, but reluctantly rejected the idea as a bad accident waiting to happen.
    Up ahead, Cora Mae steered right at a ditch, then overcorrected and aimed toward the other side of the median. I returned the Glock to the floor, turned on the truck’s lights and siren, came alongside Kitty’s Lincoln, and forced Cora Mae to a stop on the side of the road.
    “Kitty,” I said, after stomping around the front of our vehicles and wrenching open the passenger door. “I’m going to have a heart attack watching this. Let’s teach Cora Mae to drive another time when we aren’t in a hurry. The dance will be over before we get there.”
“I’m just starting to get the hang of it,” Driving Momma said with some defensive huff in her voice.
“We’re out on the highway, and you’re going fifteen miles an hour in a sorry excuse for a straight line.”
Kitty’s curls bobbed to the beat while she came around the car and traded places with Cora Mae.
    In spite of the initial delays, we made it to the dance in record time. Kitty’s hot foot led the way, while my truck’s lights and sirens cleared a path right down the middle of US 41.
    The dance crowd had loosened up thanks to a keg of beer behind a makeshift bar in the corner of a large open room. One or two couples swung across the dance floor. Another group made up mostly of men clumped around the keg of beer. Long metal tables beside the dance floor were filled with women gossiping about this and that.
    “Where are the single unattached men?” Cora Mae asked over the din, her head swiveling like a she-cat picking her night’s prey. “I don’t see a single one.”
“Focus, Cora Mae,” I said, watching her chest puff up in attack mode. “We aren’t here for the men. We’re working tonight.”
“I’ll see if I can find Tony,” she said, stalking toward the male gathering.
“Look at that woman’s walk,” Kitty said, watching her. “I should take lessons.”
“What’s our plan?” I said, studying the crowd.
“We’re winging it,” she replied. “Let’s spread out.”
    Sue, the credit union manager’s wife, sat at one of the tables. She was as good a place to start as any. “Hi, Gertie,” she said when I sat down next to her. Judging by the glassy cast to her eyes, she’d had a few beers already. “Heard you were in the credit union when that robber was killed.”
    I nodded. “How’s Dave doing?”
    “He’s having a hard time of it. The sheriff is treating it like Dave masterminded the whole thing. Sheriff Snell is convinced he did it and has been following him around.”
    The beat of the music stepped up a notch. Cora Mae swung onto the dance floor with a man I’d never seen before and did some kind of tango thing in her spiked heels. The entire room of people stopped what they were doing to watch her moves.
    I had to practically shout to be heard. “I didn’t notice Dickey around tonight. Someone on the roof killed the guy who robbed the credit union. I witnessed it. Why would Dickey bothering Dave?”
    I knew about the missing money, but wanted to hear her version.
    “I’m surprised you don’t know, what with the gossips in this town. Some money’s missing and Dave can’t account for it. They think he stole it.”
    “We all know that couldn’t be true,” I said to reassure her, even though he was the most likely candidate. I scanned Sue’s outfit—worn stretch pants, scoffed shoes, and not a bit of jewelry other than her wedding ring. If Dave stole the money, he wasn’t spending it on his wife.
    Cora Mae’s theatrics and a lively song drew out a group of women. Kitty danced by, her seldom-combed-out curls formed into bouncing ringlets that reminded me of miniature slinkys.
    “You help out at the credit union, right?” I had to roar over the music the DJ had cranked up several notches.
    “Good thing I didn’t work yesterday.” She took a chug of beer, long and