“Truck bed,” Daddy said. “I fit a big fat doe in that toolbox last week. Gag her up and she’ll ride high and nice.”

“You gonna eat that biscuit?” Dusty asked.

“Get any closer, son,” Daddy said, grinning, rice and beans all in his white beard. “And you’re gonna lose a finger right quick. Put you in your place faster than we did that Chester Pratt.”

*   *   *

Quinn parked the Big Green Machine in front of a tall metal building next to Chester Pratt’s new log cabin. Hondo was with him and he told the dog to stay, getting out of the big truck to find another dog, an aging chocolate lab coming up to sniff at his leg.

He patted the dog and headed up onto the big wraparound porch. All the lights were off, his breath clouding before him, as he knocked on the front door.

Quinn had tried Chester on his phone several times and over at Bluebird Liquors without luck. It gave him a fair amount of concern that all the lights were off in the house and it didn’t appear that Chester was around. Maybe his Mercedes was parked inside that big metal building.

He knocked on the door again, knowing he had every right to enter the house based on those crazy messages. A wellness check was most certainly in order for a man in that mindset. Fortunately, the side kitchen door was open, and Quinn walked on inside, turning on the kitchen and porch lights and allowing the lab to follow and get warm.

Nothing looked out of place. The kitchen was clean. The big open living room with a rock fireplace was empty. There had been a fire recently and the smell of woodsmoke was strong.

Quinn called out to Chester and walked deeper into the house. He heard a shower running and the bathroom door slightly open. He knocked at the door and again called out to Chester. Nothing.

He headed on in the small bathroom and pulled back the curtain. The tub was empty and the water ran cold.

He turned off the water and moved back into the hall where the dog had waited for him. Quinn patted the old dog on the head. “Where’s Chester, old boy?” he asked. “Chester. Where’s Chester?”

The dog wagged its tail, not showing much interest, but trotted down a long hall to the last door at the end and nosed open the door. Quinn followed the dog into a big bedroom, barely lit by a table light by the bed. Underneath a large woven blanket, he spotted the top of a man’s face.

Quinn moved closer. He was snoring. The breath reeked of bourbon and cigarettes.

“Chester?” Quinn said, shaking the hump in the bed. “You hear me?”

The hump moved and Quinn pulled back the sheet to see Chester Pratt curled up in a ball wearing only his tighty whiteys.