Chris, the lead guitar player, picked out a harmony lead and laid it right down under my vocals.

We were good, my boys and me, and there ain't nothing like a tune well done to draw a crowd out onto the dance floor.

"When tears fall down, like falling rain," I sang, and looked out at the dancers. For a moment my mind replayed the image of Bess King, standing outside her barn door, watching Weathers lead Vernell away. And in that same instant I realized who Tony Carlucci worked for. It was as plain as the nose on my face. Bess had hired Tony to find Vernell before her husband or anyone else could.

I was startled to hear Sugar Bear's strong baritone come in behind me, and realized that I'd stopped singing. Sparks was giving me the evil eye and Jack looked plain worried. I shrugged my shoulders and grinned, like maybe I'd suddenly forgotten the words, but nobody seemed fooled. I sang that song every single night, and I'd never messed up, not once.

"You all right?" Jack murmured, dancing right up to my shoulder.

"Yeah, fine, just a little distracted." Behind us, Sparks was playing his solo.

"You staying with me tonight or what?"

I held the mike down at my side and looked at him. "It might get dangerous, Jack. I don't want to jeopardize your safety. I could never forgive…"

"Maggie," he interrupted, "I'm younger than you, but I'm not a child. I know what's going on, and I think we can handle it. Now sing, you're up."

The words came automatically this time, and all the while I was looking at my friend. When everything else went to hell in a handcart, there he was. He didn't try and sweet-talk me or manipulate me or leave me in the dark. No, he was just himself, calm and steady. Just what I needed when my entire world was up in the air.

Bess King was at the top of my list for tomorrow, along with Vernell Spivey. Between the two of them, I knew I'd find the key to whatever was going on. I all of a sudden had a business to run. If Vernell was arrested or otherwise incapacitated, I had a 49 percent share of a mobile home lot that was going to one day send Sheila to college. I had to find the money Vernell had run off with and square things with the employees before the Mobile Home Kingdom folded. And if anyone was going to prove to Weathers that Sheila's father was not a murderer, it would have to be me. As for Marshall Weathers, well, it was best not to dwell on him. For a second I felt what it was like to let go of him, to know that he wasn't the one, and that was enough for me. All I needed was my music, and to forget.

I sang and sang. It wasn't until the third set, the last set of the night, that I noticed Tony Carlucci had come in and somehow gotten himself backstage to stand in the wings, watching.

He made the band nervous. They kept looking over at him, and he made it worse by staring right back, no smile, no give to his expression. He stood with his muscular arms crossed, wearing a black motorcycle jacket, black jeans, and a very black attitude. When I made eye contact, his facial expression remained unchanged. His eyes flickered from me, to the band, to the house. This wasn't a social call. Carlucci was working, or whatever it was that he did.

Harmonica Jack edged closer. "You see that guy?"

I frowned at Carlucci. "Don't worry about him. He's an idiot."

Jack looked at Carlucci and ran the harmonica along his lips, then pulled it away and started talking. "Well, he sure seemed friendly with Cletus. Two of them were just a-laughin' and slappin' each other on the back awhile ago. Maybe he's a new hire."

I was watching the crowd. A silver-haired man in new jeans and boots was making his way closer to the stage. He looked out of place and ill at ease, like he was slumming.

"He's a private investigator," I said. "He wants to find Vernell."

Jack laughed. "Well, he ain't here!"

"I know. He thinks if he sticks to me like tape, Vernell will show up. Must not know Vernell's down at the jail-house, entertaining a certain detective."

Jack played a line or two of the break and then danced toward me again. "That ain't necessarily stupid, Maggie." Then he broke off and stared at me. "What do you mean Vernell's in jail?"

But I was singing, looking at the young cowboys who danced below me and belting out "Feeling Single and Seeing Double." The silver-haired man was staring at me, his ice-blue eyes almost as pale as his hair.

"I need to talk to you," he mouthed.

I looked back at Carlucci, saw him watching, and felt covered. Whoever this guy was, he wouldn't get far if he intended to hurt me. When the song ended, we were done for the night. I looked at the newcomer and nodded him toward the edge of the stage.

Carlucci took it all in, and Harmonica Jack watched Carlucci, and over it all, Cletus the bouncer was watching. I couldn't have been safer.

"Archer VanScoy, Ms. Reid," the silver-haired man said. His voice was as cool and slippery as ice. "I tried to reach you at home, but you haven't returned my calls."

Something about him made me mad straight off. I didn't like him. Didn't like his tone, the way he seemed to be trying to make up to me. So I didn't apologize.

"What can I do for you, Mr. VanScoy?"

"Archer, honey, just call me Archer."

I said nothing. This one here was a snake.

He didn't seem to mind my obvious coolness toward him. He stared at my breasts and began to talk.

"Vernell and I were trying to set up a little deal," he said. "I wanted his mobile home lot and Vernell wanted to sell it." VanScoy smiled broadly. "Would've worked out right nice for the both of us. However…" Here he stopped smiling, easing his face into a Teflon-coated expression of sympathy. "I understand Vernell's in a bit of a bind. Now I know you're the other partner, and while we still need Vernell's John Hancock, I feel sure we can wrap this deal up and cut you a check. Money's what Vernell needs now, I'm sure."

I took another step lower on the stage stairway and stared at him.

"I'm not sure what bind you mean," I said.

VanScoy nodded, as if he understood why I might be leery of him. "Well, between us," he said, looking around like a co-conspirator, "Vernell's taking all the cash assets out of the bank, and then disappearing with a large sum given to him by what you call investors is a bit of a bind. Being arrested for Nosmo King's murder, on the other hand, is a legal emergency as well as a bind."

"I think you've got your facts wrong," I said. "Vernell is not under arrest."

He leaned back a little, his eyes flashing from my breasts to my face.

"Honey," he said, "you might want to call down to the police station. The eleven o'clock news was covered over with it. Vernell's been arrested for Nosmo King's murder. They got him locked up tighter than Houdini's trunk."

Archer VanScoy fished into his suit coat pocket and drew out an embossed business card.

"Why don't you get up with your husband and then call me? Vernell's gonna need all the help he can get." He hesitated, before he handed me the card. "Of course, some time's elapsed. My original terms have changed. It's one hundred thousand now."

I turned my back on him and walked up the stairs and onto the stage. All around people moved like ants, disassembling cables and equipment, packing up instruments, and closing up for the night. The house lights were on and the last few customers were clearing out. Tony Carlucci hadn't moved.

I walked over and stood in front of him, looking right into his eyes without flinching.

"Vernell's in jail," I said. "If you want him, go get him."

Carlucci was unreadable. "I know."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Vernell's in jail, but the money isn't. They're not going to ease up any with him in jail, they'll just come after you."

Jack walked around us, behind Carlucci, standing just out of Carlucci's sight, but where he knew I could see him.