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evidence hidden away somewhere, producing it like an evil magician when he wanted to apply a little pressure—as he had with Boyd earlier that day.
    The fat toad had been walking around town all day with that damned note in his pants pocket.
Boyd Ellstrom: $18,700
. He'd slipped it out and set it on the table at the Coffee Cup just that morning while pretending to hunt for change for a tip. Boyd had just about died at the sight. For the minute and a half that slip of paper had lain on the table, in plain sight of half the town, he had seen his whole cursed life pass before his eyes and swirl right down the toilet. If anyone in Still Creek got wind of him owing Jarvis—or, more important,
why
he owed Jarvis—he could just bend over and kiss his political ass good-bye. Jarvis had merely smiled at him over the rim of his coffee cup, the pig.
    Well, he'd died like a pig too, hadn't he? Boyd thought. Like a pig at the slaughterhouse. Poetic justice, that's what that was.
    Elizabeth studied the deputy from the corner of her eye, not liking what she could see of his face in the light from the dashboard instruments. He kind of favored Fred Flintstone with his big square head and droopy shoulders. He had the look of a bully about him, the kind of man who sought out positions of authority to give him a sense of power over other people.
    She had learned early on in her life to be a quick and shrewd judge of character. It had been essential to her survival as she'd come of age around Bardette, a dusty, hopeless place where the honky-tonk and whorehouse were the only thriving businesses and most of the men were meaner than the rattlesnakes that coiled behind every rock. She had learned to size up a man at glance. Deputy Ellstrom fit into the same category as Jarrold Jarvis had.
    The image of Dane Jantzen filled her head in Technicolor memory—handsome, predatory, churlish. What category did he fit into? One all his own, she thought, doing her best
to ignore the disturbing shift of feelings inside her—heat and uneasiness, wariness and anger. The last thing she needed right now was to run afoul of a man like Dane
Jantzen.
    She had come to Still Creek to start her life over, to build up a business and her self-respect and her relationship with her son. They hadn't been here three weeks and she was embroiled in a murder investigation and on the bad side of the sheriff. Pure damn wonderful.
    “Did you know him?” she said abruptly, needing to break the silence and her train of thought.
    Ellstrom jerked his head in her direction as if he'd forgotten she was sitting there. “Jarrold? Sure I knew him. Everybody did.” He said it almost defiantly, daring her to dispute the fact that the dead man had been well known if not well loved.
    “This is quite a shock, I guess,” she said, intrigued.
    He shifted on the seat and mumbled something under his breath as he adjusted the volume control on the police radio. The crackle of static rose like the noise from one of those mechanical ocean wave sound devices guaranteed in the backs of cheap magazines to put people to sleep. It put Elizabeth's teeth on edge. She flinched at the discordant screeching but tuned in automatically when word of the BCA mobile lab's imminent arrival came across the airwaves.
    Ellstrom chewed on a swear word, clenching his jaw, his hands on the steering wheel.
    “I take it you don't approve,” Elizabeth commented, turning sideways on the seat so she could better gauge his responses.
    “We could handle this ourselves,” he said, still defensive. “Jantzen brings in those city boys and we'll be nothing but gofers. We don't need a bunch of college dickheads poking around.”
    A sly smile tugged at one corner of Elizabeth's mouth. Dissension among the ranks. She knew without having to ask, Jantzen would hate it. He had the air of the absolute ruler about him.
    “Can I quote you on that, Deputy?” she asked, her tone curling automatically into honey and smoke. She