Her face broke into a smile. “Yes. I was glad to have something else to work on. Sounds like a winner.”

“We’ll see,” Bo said, but he was also happy to start building a case list again. Last week, Jess Reynolds, the dancer at the Sundowners that he’d seen with Clete Sartain a month ago, came in complaining that she’d been rear-ended on College Street at the intersection on Ninth Street. She had busted her mouth and had sprained her neck in the accident, and her fifteen-year-old son, who had been riding shotgun, had broken his arm. The case wouldn’t set the world on fire, but a clear liability car wreck with medicals that would likely be $25,000 to $50,000 each would likely result in a settlement of around $300,000 if Bo’s instincts were still true. Not a bad case at all and certainly worth taking old Clete to dinner to repay him. He would do that as soon as he got back from his trip. He still needed to talk with Clete about Michael Zannick and Finn Pusser.

“You headed out tomorrow for the beach?” Lona asked.

“Right after lunch, I’m driving to Huntsville to pick up Lila and T. J., and then we’re off to Destin for Memorial Day weekend.”

“And you’re going to meet with that potential witness I mentioned?”

Bo nodded. “Seeing Darla Sunday afternoon. I hope she’s of help.”

“No one would know more about the secrets of Pulaski than Darla. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

“Sounds good. Listen, it’s late. You should probably be getting home.”

“Right after I finish this complaint.”

Bo smiled and shook his head. “You’re a machine.”

A minute later, he was in the library of the office, which he’d converted into his bedroom. He pulled a cold Yuengling out of the minifridge in the corner and plopped down on the sofa, which converted to a bed at night. He pressed the cold bottle to his forehead and closed his eyes, wondering if the General was going to make him walk in the morning.

If she won’t tell me the deal, then I’m gone.

“Bo?”

He looked up to see Lona standing in the doorway, wringing her hands together. “Can I ask you a small favor?”

“Anything.”

“Next Thursday afternoon, there’s a settlement docket for Michael Zannick’s rape charge. I haven’t heard a peep from Sack Glover or anyone else in the DA’s office about it, and I’m worried that Zannick is going to buy his way out of it. He and Glover are thick as thieves.”

“The case normally wouldn’t be pled out or dismissed unless the victim agrees. Who’s the judge?”

Her face fell. “Page.”

“Damn.”