“Mom, you know Chester Pratt, don’t you?” Quinn asked.

“Chester Pratt?” Jean said. “Is he mixed up in all this mess?”

“He was seeing Gina Byrd.”

“Good Lord,” she said. “That man is nearly my age. What was he doing with a woman that young?”

“What do you think?”

“Hmm.” Jean Colson gave Quinn a look and shook her head. “She had to have been drawn to his money, because it sure wasn’t his looks. Chester Pratt hit the damn lottery when he got that liquor license out by the highway.”

“How’s that?”

“Chester was supposed to partner up with his brother,” Jean said. “But they had a falling-out. Real nasty from what I heard. Rough words between those two that maybe came to blows. You know his brother, don’t you?”

“Ronnie?” Quinn asked. “I thought Ronnie Pratt died.”

“He was real sick last year,” she said. “But he made it through. I think this whole business with Chester was what gave him the heart attack. I saw him at church two Sundays ago and he said he’d handed all his family troubles to the Lord.”

“Lay your burdens down,” Quinn said. “Especially one as heavy as Chester.”

“Don’t even joke about things like that, Quinn Colson,” Jean said. “Do you have any earthly idea how many folks prayed for you in this county after what happened?”

Jean still wasn’t able to say out loud that her son had been shot four times in the back. She only referred to his injuries as “the events” or “that time” even though she heard Quinn proudly kept the bullets in a mason jar on his desk. He thought of them as some kind of trophies.

“Ronnie Pratt,” Quinn said. “You think he’s still holding a grudge against Chester?”

“How many times must my brother sin against me and I forgive him?” Jean asked.

“I get the concept of seventy-seven times,” Quinn said. “Although it’s often a hard thing for me to wrap my head around.”

“Still,” Jean said, picking up the plate of fried pie. “I can’t imagine that Chester cheating him out of that liquor store business sits right with Ronnie. Why are you asking?”

“Just double-checking on some things.”

“I don’t like that look in your eyes.”

“Too many things are trying to force my hand with those kids,” Quinn said. “Like deep and clear footprints that lead your ass right into an ambush.”

“Must you use that vulgar language?”

“Only when it’s fitting,” Quinn said, smiling. “Appreciate the information, Momma. Sometimes it helps that everyone in this county knows each other’s private business.”

“Are you calling me a busybody?”

“No, ma’am,” Quinn said. “Just a well-informed woman of the community.”

*   *   *