So far, Miranda has been pulled over for doing seventy miles per hour in a forty-five mph zone. She admitted to Mitch she was investigating Dougie Wilcox's disappearance. She did not tell him she was going to find out if Rita's husband, Bill, was cheating on Rita.

**********************************

I've met Rita's husband a few times. Not enough to be good buds with him, but enough to recognize him if I see him.

My day off plans fell through. It was supposed to be lunch with Momma and then going to watch Mitch and some of his deputies bowl. They're in a league that plays once a week. None of them are very good. Hate to say it, but it's actually comical to see them hype each other up over scores in the low eighties. Hopefully, they're better at law enforcement than they are at bowling.

But, Momma had to help a friend who is clearing out her house to downsize, and Mitch had to cover someone's shift. Even Waylon had plans ... school.

Perfect day to hop in my car and see if I can find Mr. Bill. I know his truck. It has a dent in the driver's door panel. Who am I kidding? It's not a dent, the door looks like crumpled aluminum foil. Driving around Patterson Proper, I spot it at the Ace Hardware. I pull into an empty spot near the edge of the parking lot and wait. My wait goes on longer than expected. Over an hour passes before he finally comes out. He has one small bag in his hand.

Who spends an hour in the hardware store? I slouch down as he backs up, then start my car. I follow him, making sure to stay a few car lengths behind him. He makes a few random stops before he makes a turn into his final destination.

Dammit. Bill gets out of his car, looks around, then crosses the parking lot to walk into Llarado's Gentlemen's Club. There are two things I believe to be true. No happily married man goes in there at two in the afternoon, and the name is misleading, the word gentleman, to be exact.

I wait for about forty-five minutes then give up. Tomorrow I'll ask Rita what time he gets home. I don't have a good feeling about this.

**********************************

I love autumn. No I'm not a pumpkin spice latte kind of girl. I'm a thank goodness I can shut off the air conditioning and open the windows kind of girl.

Waylon teases me that despite getting that reward money from the Justin Toblerone case, I still act like I'm broke. In all fairness, I did spend some of the money. I paid off what remained on the trailer, got my car professionally detailed and four brand new tires. I have never been able to afford all four tires to be replaced at the same time.

But, money doesn't grow on trees. I'll likely never see that much money again. Why piss it away? There's going to come a day when Waylon is going to pick a college, and I don't want his choices limited by how much we can afford. That kid is smart, he needs to go to college. And, he will, if I have anything to do with it.

I pull into the Garden of Eden Mobile Home Park. Wave at old Mrs. Fine as she surveys the land, a cheap cigarette dangling between her wrinkle etched lips. A while back I thought we were at the start of an odd friendship, but I was wrong. She still treats me with disdain. Waylon hates her. She always tells him she's watching him. But then again, she watches everybody.

I walk back to the mailboxes by the main road and open mine to check. It's jam packed with fliers, requests for donations, and my daily letter from the Women's Correctional Center. I can't help but look at the envelope. She's drawn smiley faces on the back, two, to be exact, inside a lopsided heart. Missy Toblerone, doesn't understand boundaries.

What began in the tenth grade, and ended in the tenth grade for me, is still flourishing for her. Despite the fact that I have never written back, even went so far as to return the first few letters that made their way into my mailbox. It's Missy's world.

I walk into to the trailer and toss the fliers into the trash, toss Missy's unopened letter into the banker's box with the others, then grab a beer from the fridge, and go sit on the porch to wait for Waylon.

He looks like he's coming home from the war, the way he's walking. His eyes cast down, shoulders slumped, dust kicking up in little faded brown clouds as he drags his feet. He looks broken down and defeated.

"How was school?" I call as soon as he's in earshot distance.

"Boring."

"How'd you do on your geometry test?" I ask as he climbs the steps to plop down next to me.

"Eh. Fine. My teacher likes to test us on stuff that she hasn't covered yet. I passed but I don't think I aced it."

"That's not fair. Have you talked to her about it?"

"She's not real big on talking to us."

I take a liberal swig of my beer and shrug. "As long as you did the best you could. Do you want me to talk to her?"

Waylon shakes his head quickly. "No. No thank you. Dragon lady has me on her radar, don't need anyone else pissed off at me." He drags his back pack around and unzips it. "Wasn't this the kind of beer my dad drank?" He holds up an empty bottle. It's clean and looks like someone just finished it.

"Where'd you get that?" I reach over to take it from him. I look it over.

"I stopped to check the mail and it was propped up against the post of our box."

Who would do something like this? Missy is in prison, but she could have someone on the outside. Surprisingly, she had a courtroom full of supporters.

I start to toss the bottle into the outside trashcan but stop. Maybe it's evidence. Of course, maybe it's just a sick game that Missy is trying to play.

Either way, someone is toying with me and I aim to find out who and why.