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“We need to find out if she was the last person to see Tory alive. He died on Saturday—Josie was already gone after the big fight—and that makes blondie our new number one suspect.”

Sheriff’s Office.

“Let’s go back to the shop and talk to Josie.”

“She going to be in a talking mood?” asked Harlan.

“Hope so. I’m going to try to get something out of her.”

Harlan went into the break room for coffee, and I unlocked the run. I walked down to the end and let myself into Josie Masters’ cell.

She was lying face down on her bunk.

“Hey, Josie. You feeling better?”

She rolled over and sat up on the side of the cot. “You can’t keep me and Grant in here. We haven’t done anything to be in jail for.”

“Oh, I think you have, Josie. Even if you didn’t succeed in burning down your own house, you knew Tory was lying dead in his bed for two fucking days, and you ignored that. You never called me or the fire department or anybody else. You just let your husband decompose in his bedroom. Didn’t the flies and the maggots bother you, Josie? What’s going on in your head?”

“I didn’t notice Tory in the bedroom at first. We don’t sleep in the same room no more. Tory wanted a divorce, and I was thinking it over and talking to Grant about it.”

“Uh huh. Was Tory seeing someone else too?”

“It was all Tory’s fault. He cheated first with Tanya and messed our marriage up. It wasn’t me.”

“Tanya have a last name?”

“Boyd. She was married to that prick, Floyd. He’s an asshole, but that didn’t mean she could take my husband.”

“You’re right.”

“Would Tanya have a reason to kill Tory?” I asked.

“Don’t know the reason. But I know he’s dead.” Josie started to cry. “Can I have a lawyer to get me out of here?”

“Yes. I’ll get you a Public Defender, Josie.”

“Thanks.”

Dry Run Roadhouse.

After work, Harlan and I went home to the ranch for our ride while it was still daylight, then we fed the horses and drove back to the roadhouse for a pitcher and some dinner. The girls were away, and Billy had gone to rehab. Harlan and I were on our own.

We were sitting in a booth finishing the Philly steak special when Art Andrews swaggered over and stood at the end of our table.

“I heard you got my kin locked up in your mini-jail.”

“So what? He’s implicated in a murder.”

“I want you to let him out of there right now. Grant ain’t done nothing.”

“He’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning. You can see him at the courthouse.”

Andrews grabbed my shirt and yanked me out of the booth. I grabbed for my cuffs, wrapped the chain around my fist and pounded Art in the side of the head.

He roared but he didn’t go down. He charged towards Harlan, and I threw my body in front of him. Andrews threw his weight at both of us, and Harlan ended up flattened on the bench of the booth underneath us.

I rammed my chain-wrapped fist into Art Andrews package, and he went sailing backwards into the arms of one of Jack’s bouncers.