“Sure you didn’t,” Stagg said. “Sure you didn’t. Well, then. Best of luck with Quinn Colson and that ole sheriff from over in Parsham bird-dogging your ass. I won’t get in the way. No, sir. Johnny T. Stagg will back right off. You’re on your own.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Chester Pratt repeated. His eyes a serious deep blue, the finger marks on his throat starting to fade just a bit. “But . . .”

“I’m listening, son.” Stagg reached for the prune juice and rattled the ice in the glass. After five years of fried foods and soggy-ass vegetables at the federal lockup, it was gonna take months before he got his gut working right again. He finished the rest of the juice and set the glass aside, waiting for Pratt to go on and tell him what was on his mind.

“I know these ole boys in town,” said Chester Pratt. “A couple of roofers called the Nixes, father and son. You know ’em?”

Stagg shook his head, giving a noncommittal shrug, swiveling right to left in his chair, his eyes absently leaving Chester and looking back over at all the monitors at the Rebel. Just yesterday he’d set up cameras outside and inside of the Frontier Village, and right at that very moment the Haunted Gold Mine was being inflated and filling that big space. With any luck, they’d be opened up for Easter. Maybe get Mr. Bishop or Midnight Man to crawl into a bunny costume and hippy hop it all over Dodge City.

Stagg took a breath. “You might’ve heard I spent the last few years incarcerated over in Montgomery,” he said. “Lots of folks have come and gone in Tibbehah during that time. Can’t say I’ve ever had the displeasure to run across the Nix boys.”

“They weren’t supposed to kill her.”

Stagg understood now, lifting his eyes up to Bishop. Knowing they had the son of a bitch now. Without another word, Bishop snatched up Chester Pratt’s bony ass from behind, like a man going to cornhole a fella in the shower, and forced him to grab that fancy silver pen from Ole Miss. “Sign it,” Bishop said. “Sign it, you leathery ole fuck.”

Stagg grinned. “No need in getting personal about it, Bishop,” he said. “But I sure would sign that thing, Chester. ’Cause no matter if you drawn and quartered that woman or had it hired out, the law will be coming for your ass quick and hard, boy. If I were in your predicament, I’d sure as hell add us to your team.”

“Those boys are crazy,” Pratt said. “They want ten grand from me or they’re gonna turn over this cell phone they got. They say I may have texted some threats to Miss Byrd the night they came for her at the Southern Star.”