“No idea,” Quinn said. “Sometimes I feel less like a sheriff than a damn babysitter around here. Sounds like some family business between the Byrds and Pratt. He’s too old to be catting around with that woman.”

“You’re older than me.”

“Only by a couple years,” Quinn said. “Chester Pratt is almost twice her age. And I don’t think he has any intention of making an honest woman out of her.”

“That would be a tall order.”

“Hard,” Quinn said. “But true.”

“Last time I saw Gina Byrd, I had to stitch up her forehead at the hospital,” Maggie said. “She was pretty doped up and we tried to get her to stay. I think she was on the edge of an OD. Someone had cracked a bottle over her head at the Southern Star. Wasn’t her first time in the ER.”

Quinn leaned down and pulled the sheet up around Maggie and over Halley. The little girl cuddled against her mother and nursed herself back to sleep, bow lips parted and softly snoring. Quinn gave his little girl the lightest kiss and reached for his boots and blue jeans.

*   *   *

A little after one a.m., Chester Pratt drove back to Bluebird Liquors to get his gun. He’d locked up and left without it earlier, clearly not thinking right, and knew he’d have to have some protection back home. Some crazy shit had been happening around Jericho, and he sure didn’t want to be caught with his pants around his ankles.

He parked his new black Mercedes, leased with an option to buy, behind the white cinder-block building and looked around to make sure no one had followed.

Pratt was kind of rangy looking, with a sallow face and the deep tan of a man who either owned a boat or cut grass for a living. Pratt had done both. His eyes were blue and clear, hair a light sun-faded blond compliments of Miss Nancy who worked at Shear Envy over on the Jericho Square. Miss Nancy made sure to help Chester get rid of the gray and keep the same shaggy look of the KA pledge he’d been back at Ole Miss in ’79. He’d only made it two semesters, but that had been two more than anyone in the Pratt family. Despite his short time in Oxford, he remained a true and steadfast Rebel fan, never missing a home game or a party in the Grove.