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with the bodies. “It was under a log which is probably floating in the Gulf of Mexico by now.”
    “Did someone hide the ring in the log?”
    “Got me.”
    Ollie said, “You’re withholding a clue you found at a crime scene.”
    “I’ll show it to Frizz.” Rosswell took the ring from Ollie. “Eventually,” Rosswell added. Every time he touched the thing, it felt heavier. “Let me get this straight. This belonged to a Mason?” Rosswell stuffed the ring into his pocket.
    “Got me.”
    “That’s my line.” Rosswell tapped his head with a forefinger. “I’ve got an idea.”
    “Listening here.”
    The only thing to listen to now was a gentle breeze, not what Rosswell admitted to himself was the lukewarm air he spouted. “We need to find the bodies.” That was brilliant.
    “Do you expect us to do what the twenty people Frizz called out can’t do?”
    “Twenty-six.”
    “Whatever. Wait. Something.” Ollie held up his hand and shut his eyes. “Something,” he repeated. Rosswell began to speak, but Ollie shushed him with a wave of his hand. Bowing his head, Ollie covered his ears with his hands, and then covered his eyes. Was he praying for divine guidance? Was he going into some kind of mystical fit? Was Rosswell’s smell bothering him? Ollie had strange—strange to Rosswell’s way of thinking—ideas about the “ worlds we cannot see” (Ollie’s words), although Rosswell doubted that Ollie thought those worlds were going to solve a double murder.
    “Judge,” he said, his eyes still closed, “we’ve missed the mother of all clues. Maybe. Anyway, I guess we should both turn in our Junior G Men badges, we’re so dense.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Ollie opened his eyes and pointed. “Tires.”
    “Damnation.” Rosswell whipped out his cell phone. No bars. “Ollie, don’t move.”
    Rosswell touched the peace symbol on his car, then jumped in, and raced down the hill to Hermie’s gazebo.
    When he got there, Hermie sprinted to his car. “Judge, this morning after y’all left—”
    “Okay, Hermie. Thanks.”
    Rosswell punched in the speed dial and said, “Come on, come on, come on,” until he heard her answer.

Chapter Six

Monday afternoon, continued
    “Tina, I need your help. ” He’d called on her personal cell number. No sense in calling on the official line, the one recorded for all posterity. If he did that, there would be evidence he was playing detective.
    Tina said in a soft voice, “I hope you need my help.” She gave a little growl. She didn’t sound like an official dispatcher for a sheriff’s department. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
    “No,” Rosswell said. “I mean your help legally. As a cop, I mean.”
    Static buzzed in the heartbeat of silence that followed. Then, “What kind of help?”
    “You went to the academy and learned all that forensic stuff, didn’t you?”
    “Yes, but I had to do that for my job as dispatcher.” Rosswell heard the radio crackling in the background. Someone was looking for somebody. He heard Tina rustling papers, then tell someone where somebody was. “I’m not a cop,” she eventually said to Rosswell. “Not in the strict sense of the word. I’m a deputy, but not one who goes out on the street.” Her tone of voice deepened, grew more tense. “You’re worrying me. What do you need?”
    “Do you know how to pour a mold of tire tracks?”
    “Sure.”
    “Then come out here to the death scene and do it.”
    He heard Frizz in the background say something to Tina. Why wasn’t he with the search party? She said, “Sheriff, I’ll be right with you.” Then to Rosswell she said, “Let me talk this over with Frizz. I’ll get back with you. We’re hugely busy.” The line went dead.
    Hermie tapped Rosswell’s shoulder. “Judge, I was trying to tell you. There was a car out here earlier that drove up to where the bodies were found.”
    “I know. I called the sheriff to tell him.” In truth, he’d called