“And then tried to get Zach to even it out before Miss Sue saw it, but she came in and caught y’all and thought at first that he was the one who’d done the whacking.”

We both smiled, remembering Mother’s dismay. Fortunately, her sense of humor had kicked in and she decided that my butchered looks were punishment enough.

“Daddy was the one that grumbled the most,” I said. “Mother took me to the barbershop and had it clipped almost as short as you boys, remember?”

Dwight grinned. “Yeah, Mr. Kezzie wasn’t one bit happy till it grew back in.”

As the coffee finished dripping, I asked how things were shaping up with Braz Ames’s death.

“Brazos Hartley,” he said, pulling out a chair at my kitchen table. “He was from Mrs. Ames’s first marriage.”

“Brazos?”

“Born when the carnival played Texas,” Dwight explained. “And Val is for Valdosta, Georgia. I guess it helps keep track. I didn’t ask.”

“Does that mean she was born in Tallahassee, Florida?” I sliced a bagel, slid it into the toaster, and set out cream cheese and a jar of strawberry jam that my sister-in-law Mae gave me this spring.

“You might say. It’s where she joined the carnival, anyhow. You toasting that thing for me? You don’t have to feed me.”

“Right,” I said sarcastically. “Like you didn’t tell me about Miss Emily not being home just so I’d feel sorry for you.”

I poured coffee for both of us, not bothering with cream or sugar since we both drink it black. The toaster popped up with the bagel nicely browned, and I slid it onto a sandwich plate.

Bagels instead of biscuits. What’s the South coming to? Smelled wonderful, though. After last night’s indulgence, my breakfast had been half a grapefruit. Without sugar.

“So what’s the story with Brazos?” I asked. “From the way his mother was acting before she knew who was hurt, it was like she thought he was the perp instead of the victim.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that, too. That’s why I had Mayleen run his name through NCIC as soon as we got back to the office.” He smeared cream cheese and jam on both halves of the bagel. “Don’t you want some of this?”

“Couldn’t eat another bite,” I lied as I sipped my coffee. “Mayleen find anything on him?”

“Juvenile records were sealed, of course, but there’s been an incident or two these last eight years, ever since he turned sixteen.”

“He was twenty-four? But Mrs. Ames can’t be forty yet.”

“Your point being?”

True. Children with babies turned up in my court every week. Since her son Val was so clearly no more than fifteen or sixteen, I’d just assumed the other son was a teenager, too.

“What sort of crimes?” I asked.

“Breaking and entering. A little possession of stolen property. Nothing major yet. Did six months on one of those possessions. Only crimes against property, though. No assaults. None that show up in his records anyhow and, oddly enough, no drugs or alcohol, either. According to his mother, he didn’t smoke or drink beyond an occasional beer. She sounds a little proud of that.”