“Yep. Went to college at Anderson and Sheriff Huggins said a few years working here would give me the experience I’d need to work for the Feds.” Frost wiggled his fingers like he was typing on the air. “Magic fingers.”

“Does anyone else know you’re a genius?”

Deep red melted Frost’s freckles into a blotchy blush. He pushed up his glasses. “Besides the sheriff, you’re the only person to ever ask.”

Charlie took the exit to Savannah. Long moss dripped from the limbs of the large oak trees shading the old streets. People crowded the sidewalks outside boutiques or gathered on benches in the small parks tucked between Georgian style homes with their tall chimneys standing sentry.

“You ready to use that brain for some police work?” Charlie pulled into a tight spot in front of the Bohemian Signature Gallery.

“Oh yeah.”

After they climbed out of the car, Frost hitched his thumbs into his gun belt and appeared to be assessing the storefront. The building had large colonnades of aged redbrick that framed wide windows displaying several painted canvases in gold-gilded frames.

“Oh, that’s the antique store from the photo.” Frost’s exuberance grabbed a few curious stares.

“That magic brain of yours know anything about art?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.” Charlie opened the door and a bell jingled, announcing their entrance. “I’m going to ask the owner some questions. If you think of anything or if I forget something, I want you to speak up. Got it?”

Frost nodded and strolled into the gallery like an Earp brother would stroll into Tombstone. Hiding his grin, Charlie followed him in.

The interior of the gallery was larger than it appeared from the outside. Temporary walls positioned in the middle of the room held art of varying sizes. Some had wild strokes of bright colors while others depicted scenery or portraits.

A young man with a small goatee was eyeing them instead of the framed prints he was pretending to look at. Charlie walked over. The wall was covered with black-and-white photos of people sitting on stoops, buildings falling apart, and live oaks bending beneath dark clouds. It reminded him of Lane’s photos.

“Did you take any of these?”

Goatee man shook his head. “Nah, man. I’m into oils and acrylics. Metal too if the urge is there.”

“Cool.” Charlie raised his eyebrows. He had no idea what goatee man meant, so he left him to his musings.

“Can I help you?” Black heels clicked against the polished wood floor. A tall woman with black hair cut to match the angle of her thin jawline approached.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Deputy Lynch and this is Deputy Frost. Do you work here?”

“I’m Annika Benedict, the owner.” It took a second for her dark eyes to do a sweep of them. “How can I help you?”