Charlie brought his attention back to the mission at hand and pressed the doorbell. A couple minutes passed and he tried again. The door opened and Floyd Hollins stood there in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up.

“Mr. Hollins?”

“Who wants to know?” The man ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He didn’t seem to be aware that he was in his underwear—or he didn’t care.

“I’m Deputy Lynch and this is Sheriff Huggins. Would you mind if we talked to you for a few minutes?”

“Who’s the suit?”

Charlie wasn’t sure if there was a protocol for protecting a DEA agent’s identity and he hadn’t asked.

“I’m Agent Edmonds. Just here for observation.”

“Uh, okay.” Floyd disappeared down the hall.

“I guess we show ourselves in?” Charlie looked at Sheriff Huggins. He shrugged before nodding his head.

They entered the foyer and walked down the hall, past a living room with a television the size of one wall. Pizza boxes and empty cans and bottles littered the leather furniture. Charlie thought he heard Agent Edmonds mutter something about ungrateful kids, but he kept walking.

Floyd was in the kitchen scooping a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, his eyes on another flat-screen TV.

“Can you believe it? I lost five grand on those losers.” Floyd threw a piece of cereal at the TV. “Braves decide to start winning.”

“Mr. Hollins?” Charlie said, trying to get the kid’s attention.

“That’s my dad. You can call me Floyd or F-Dawg.”

Agent Edmonds’s cheek flinched as Charlie fought the urge to roll his eyes. What was wrong with kids these days?

“I’ll stick with Floyd.” Annoyance colored Charlie’s words. “Does anyone else live here besides you?”

“My parents own the home if that’s what you’re asking, but they haven’t lived here since I graduated from Tech.” Floyd picked up the remote and turned up the volume. “And you can tell my neighbor that I have the same rights as he does to entertain friends.”

Charlie flicked a look at Sheriff Huggins before asking, “Any of those friends in the house right now?”

“Nope.”

“How long have you known Sydney Donovan?”

“Who?”

“Sydney Donovan,” Charlie repeated, stepping in front of the television. “A high school student from Walton.”

“I don’t know any Sydney whatever you said her last name was.” Floyd’s head bobbed side to side as he tried to see the television over Charlie’s shoulders. “I know better than to touch jailbait.”

“How many times have you been to Bohemian Signature Gallery?”

“Do I look like someone who likes art?” Floyd spoke around another mouthful. “Is that why you’re here? To check out my decorating?”

“Actually, we’re investigating a murder.”

“And drugs,” Agent Edmonds added.