"We were talking about Indian trails," Virgil said.

"Mmm. Well, he knows them," Slibe said. He hefted the gun: "You done with us?"

"Not completely," Virgil said, with a smile. "Me'n a friend are gonna go see Wendy tonight. He's sort of a big shot in the country music world, wants to take a look at her."

"Yeah, well," Slibe said, and he walked up to the kennel door, then looked back and said, "You know what I think about that horseshit."

HE DISAPPEARED into the barn, after his son; Virgil waited for a moment, thinking they might come back out, but then he heard them knocking around, and doors started opening down the side of the barn, and fuzzy yellow dogs began moving into their separate cages.

Virgil turned and left. Fuck 'em, he thought, I know where they are if I need them.

Nothing to do; nobody to talk to-Sig was working, Zoe was pissed off. And he had things to think about, so he went back to the motel and took a nap.

GOT UP GROGGY, looked at the clock: time to move. But toothpaste was critical, he thought, smacking his lips.

Virgil and Jud Windrow hooked up at the Wild Goose at ten minutes to seven, found a booth, talked to Chuck the bartender for a couple of minutes, were comped the first two beers on grounds of good-bar fellowship, and paid for two more before Wendy went on.

Virgil had briefed Windrow on the exact nature of the band, the crowd, and the bar, and when Wendy and the other women climbed on the stage, he said, "They got a good look. That dyke vibe works. Is that black eye from the fight?"

"Yeah. You'll notice a big scratch healing up on Berni's cheek…"

Wendy growled into the microphone, "It's been a heck of a week, so instead of getting everyone riled up all over again, we're going to start out slow. So grab a hunny-bunny and let's do the 'Art ists' Waltz.'…"

They did and Virgil watched Windrow sit back in the booth, a skeptical sideways tilt to his head, and watched the skepticism drain away as Wendy did a number on him. When they finished, they went into some soft-rock bullshit that Virgil didn't know, and Windrow leaned across the table and said, "She can do it."

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah. Gotta do something about the drummer," he said. "She sort of hits around the beat, but not exactly on it."

Virgil nodded. "Everybody says that, but she and Wendy are, you know, whatever."

"She's the one who punched her out?"

"Yeah. Right in this very booth," Virgil said.

Windrow did a low coughing laugh, like a bear, looking at Berni pounding away on her drums, and said, "I could get a big old hard-on thinking about that. Wish I'd been here."

"No, you wouldn't. This wasn't a wrestling match, this was like watching a couple of bobcats go after each other," Virgil said.

Windrow turned back to the band, listened for a bit, then asked, "The first song-where'd they get that? Is that local up here?"

"She wrote it," Virgil said.

"Better and better," Windrow said. "Gotta do something about the drummer."

"Somebody told me that she's okay as a backup singer, and her tits are good enough to put her out front, singing. Maybe with a tambourine or something," Virgil said.

"Could do that, if you had to keep her," Windrow said.

Wendy finished the bullshit soft-rocker and looked out over the crowd at Virgil and Windrow, and said, "Here's another one of ours; we were just working it out today… it's called, 'Doggin' Me Around.' "

She had Windrow playing the air drum before she finished, and he said to Virgil, "Goddamn. I kinda didn't believe the story, but I'll sign her up if I can."

THE FIRST SET LASTED forty minutes, ending with a quiet cheek-to-cheeker ballad, and then they climbed off the bandstand and Virgil saw Wendy heading straight for them. When she came up, they both stood and she asked Virgil, "This the guy?"

"How'd you know?"

"Daddy said you were bringing up some guy…" And she said, as they sat down, and she slid in beside Virgil, "You're Jud Windrow. I looked you up on your website."

"You got a nice act," Windrow said. "Let me buy you something."

Chuck comped them another three beers and Windrow interviewed her about the band: who everybody was, how long they'd been playing together, how many country songs they could cover, what else they could play.

Wendy told him about her mom dragging her around to polka fests and about singing in polka bands, and Windrow's head was bobbing, and he was saying, "That's good, that's good, nothing is better than playing a lot, especially when you're young."

"I was doing that-when Mom was taking me around, I was singing twice a week for two years," Wendy said. "She was going to take me to Hollywood."

"What happened?" Virgil asked.

"What happened was a guy named Hector Avila. They had an affair, and everything blew up and they took off. Went to bed one night with a mom and dad, and woke up with a dad and a note. Blew us off. Went to Arizona. Never even called to say good-bye."

"How old were you?" Windrow asked.

"Nine," she said. "It was like the end of the fuckin' world. The Deuce cried for three days, and Dad wouldn't talk to anybody. He went out and started the garden and worked in it day and night for two straight months and wouldn't talk to anyone. I thought he was going to take us to an orphanage or something. Then, you know, it got better. Took time."

"Hard times make good singers," Windrow said. Then, "You got a problem with your drummer."

Wendy winced. "I know. That can be fixed, if we can find somebody better."

"I got drummers," Windrow said. "I know a female-person drummer from Normal, Illinois, who can drum your ass off, and she's looking for a new band. The one she's got ain't going nowhere: they shot their bolt."

VIRGIL HADN' TSEEN ZOE come in, but suddenly she was standing next to Wendy, and she said over Wendy's head, to Virgil, "You're so mean. I've been crying all afternoon."

"I'm sorry. I was too harsh. But I was pissed," Virgil said.

Zoe said to Wendy, "He says I'm still a suspect, because I'm in love with you and because I want to buy the Eagle Nest and McDill was sleeping with you and she might have bought the Eagle Nest out from under me, and…"

She started to blubber, and Wendy patted her thigh and said to Virgil, "Asshole."

"Hey…"

"You can solve the murder without being an asshole," Wendy said.

"That's r-r-right," Zoe said.

Berni came up and said to Wendy, "Get your hand off her ass." "Shut up," Wendy said. "We got a problem here."

Zoe said to Berni, "If she wants to put her hand on my ass, she has my permission."

Berni backed up a step and Virgil said, "Aw Christ…"

Wendy shouted, "No!"

Berni was about to smack Zoe, and Zoe's teeth were bared-she was ready to go, Virgil thought, as he tried to push past Wendy to get out of the booth. Wendy lurched forward and put herself between Zoe and Berni, and Virgil got out and put an arm around Zoe's waist, and Chuck the bartender came running over and Windrow laughed out loud and cried out, "Rock 'n' roll…"

VIRGIL GOT ZOE out the door, kissed her on the forehead, and asked, "Are we made up now?"

"No."

"I won't call you a suspect again unless I've really got something on you," Virgil said, which he thought was a reasonable compromise.

"Thanks a lot, jerk," she said.

"Look: go home, take a Xanax, go to bed. It'll be better in the morning."

"That's right: take drugs. That's everybody's solution," Zoe said. "Nobody takes responsibility for their feelings."

She rambled on for a while, and Virgil lost the thread, because he noticed a moth the size of a saucer flapping around one of the bar lights, and he'd always had an interest in moths. He kept nodding and watching the moth, in silhouette, circling toward the light, and she said something and he said, "I hope so. Look, get some sleep," and whatever she'd said, his response was apparently okay, because she said, "Thanks…"