“You’re that sure they did it?” Quinn said.

“I most certainly am,” Pratt said. “Just what are you getting at, Sheriff? I hope you’re not trying to make this whole deal into a real whodunit. You done already put out an arrest warrant for those delinquents. I don’t know why you’re harassing a grieving man just trying to run a small business in this town. Do I need to reach out to my lawyer?”

Reggie pushed off the doorway and walked around Quinn’s desk, taking a seat in another office chair not two feet from Chester Pratt. Pratt looked to the deputy and then across the desk to Quinn. His face shone with a little sweat, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Why would you need your lawyer?” Reggie asked.

“Shoot,” he said. “Sounds like y’all are trying to accuse me of something.”

“And what would we be accusing you of?” Quinn asked. “We’re just trying to understand a little more about Gina Byrd’s affairs.”

“What’s it matter about her money?” Pratt said. “She’s dead. It don’t matter if she was a millionaire or a gosh-dang pauper. Those kids sure as hell killed her and now are out running from the law. If I were you, I’d spend more time trying to track them down before they murder someone else, and stop harassing me.”

Quinn tapped his cigar. He looked over at Reggie, who just sat sideways by Chester, staring right at his profile, not shifting his eyes a bit. If Quinn had been on the hot seat, Reggie’s stare would’ve made him a little nervous, too.

“Anything else you’d like to tell us?” Quinn asked.

“No, sir,” Pratt said.

“You sure?” Quinn asked.

“I’m sure,” he said. “I mean, goddamn. I got a fucking funeral to put together. Ophelia Bundren told me the state people are bringing Gina back home tomorrow. After they finish up with whatever it is they’re doing.”

Quinn didn’t speak for a long while. He set down his cigar and picked up his coffee mug. Reggie sat still in the office chair, watching Chester Pratt go back to his phone scrolling and pecking, scrolling and pecking, his right leg jumping up and down like a piston.

“One thing, Chester,” Quinn said. “Was Gina your partner in Bluebird Liquors?”

“ ’Course not,” he said. “Where’d you hear something like that? My brother, Ronnie? Don’t put too much stock in his lies, Sheriff. He’s a goddamn used car salesman. Me and him been on the outs for a long while. Hell, he’d sell me down shit creek for a nickel.”

“Ronnie didn’t say that,” Quinn said. “I’m saying that. Gina Byrd gave you almost nineteen thousand dollars back in August. Just what was that about?”