Quinn and Maggie headed back to their cabin, passing by the Spinner and the Tilt-A-Whirl, the daiquiri and margarita stands. They stopped briefly at a shooting game and Quinn quickly won a giant stuffed dog for Maggie. He started to go for a second prize, but the old Mexican man who worked the game, looking lonely and sad with his ancient chihuahua, finally held up his hand to Quinn and said, “No más.”

It wasn’t noon yet but damn-near one hundred. Quinn had promised to stop by a few cabins and shake a few hands. Not his favorite part of the job, but a necessary part of being sheriff.

“What are you gonna name him?” Quinn said, nodding to the big dog as they walked back toward her family cabin.

“Cujo,” Maggie said.

“That movie always scared the hell out of me,” Quinn said. “I never looked at a Saint Bernard the same way again.”

“My mother didn’t like me watching scary movies,” Maggie said. “Especially anything with the supernatural. I wasn’t even allowed to watch Gremlins until I was fifteen. I was told those little bastards were satanic.”

“Only when they got wet.”

“My daddy didn’t care so much,” Maggie said. “Especially when he was home from the road. We’d watch all kinds of movies late at night. He loved Smokey and the Bandit. Convoy. White Line Fever. Did I tell you he named his truck The Blue Mule? Just like in the movie.”

“Many times,” Quinn said.

“Well, if we stay married, we’re bound to hear the same stories,” Maggie said. “I’ve heard all about your dad and his time out in Los Angeles. About how he jumped those Pintos back before you were born and how he worked as a double for both Burt Reynolds and Lee Majors.”

“Did a lot of work on The Fall Guy,” Quinn said. “He used to always tell me and Caddy the show was based on his life.”

“Was it?”

“Hell no,” Quinn said. “If you’re ever unlucky enough to meet him, you’ll understand why.”

“I’m just proud we got through our wedding without any family drama,” Maggie said. “I won’t ever forget Lillie Virgil stepping up like she did, standing in for Boom as your best man. It was a hell of a thing.”

“Best woman,” Quinn said, walking with her side by side down a dusty path, back toward the cabins. The food trucks already starting to grill sausage and peppers, chicken on a stick, and barbecue, the air thick with grease. “She still thinks she can find the son of a bitch who did that to Boom.”

“Hope she does.”

“Me, too,” Quinn said. “I have a few questions for him.”

“I bet.”