Slow Dollar by Margaret Maron

many and that I wrecked the perfect dozen Daddy was aiming for.) But he’s always walking in and out as if I were Beth or Nancy Faye.
    “I guess you want Sylvia’s dog, too?”
    He had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry about that. I could have sworn I left the truck unlocked.”
    “The dog you can have,” I said. “It’s still in my car, but I have to judge the yam contest at ten, so it’ll have to be a quick cup.”
    “I was wondering why you were so dressed up. That dress looks real nice on you.”
    “Don’t start,” I said. “Daddy’s always fussing that he never sees me in anything but shorts or jeans and am I sure I’m a girl?”
    He put up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t sniping. You can wear gunnysacks for all I care.”
    I thought about Sylvia, always so neat and feminine in dresses or pastel slacks. No cutoffs for her.
    As I refilled the coffeemaker and spooned fresh coffee into the basket, Dwight noticed my bracelet. “When did you start wearing that again?”
    “Today. I found it in the dresser just now. I’m surprised you remember it. I hadn’t thought about it in years myself.”
    “Does it still have the scissors?” he asked, his big hand reaching out to touch the small charms till he located it. “I was with Will and the little twins when they bought it for your birthday. I forget how old you were. Six? Seven?”
    (Even though Adam and Zach are a couple of inches taller now than Herman and Haywood, they’ll always be called the “little” twins because they’re younger.)
    “Why scissors?” I asked.
    “You don’t remember?”
    I shook my head.
    “Miss Sue used to put your hair in pigtails in the summer. She said it was cooler and neater. But you hated the way it pulled, so—”
    I burst into laughter as memory flooded in. “—so I took her sewing scissors and whacked them off!”
    “And then tried to get Zach to even it out before Miss Sue saw it, but she came in and caught y’all and thought at first that he was the one who’d done the whacking.”
    We both smiled, remembering Mother’s dismay. Fortunately, her sense of humor had kicked in and she decided that my butchered looks were punishment enough.
    “Daddy was the one that grumbled the most,” I said. “Mother took me to the barbershop and had it clipped almost as short as you boys, remember?”
    Dwight grinned. “Yeah, Mr. Kezzie wasn’t one bit happy till it grew back in.”
    As the coffee finished dripping, I asked how things were shaping up with Braz Ames’s death.
    “Brazos Hartley,” he said, pulling out a chair at my kitchen table. “He was from Mrs. Ames’s first marriage.”
    “Brazos?”
    “Born when the carnival played Texas,” Dwight explained. “And Val is for Valdosta, Georgia. I guess it helps keep track. I didn’t ask.”
    “Does that mean she was born in Tallahassee, Florida?” I sliced a bagel, slid it into the toaster, and set out cream cheese and a jar of strawberry jam that my sister-in-law Mae gave me this spring.
    “You might say. It’s where she joined the carnival, anyhow. You toasting that thing for me? You don’t have to feed me.”
    “Right,” I said sarcastically. “Like you didn’t tell me about Miss Emily not being home just so I’d feel sorry for you.”
    I poured coffee for both of us, not bothering with cream or sugar since we both drink it black. The toaster popped up with the bagel nicely browned, and I slid it onto a sandwich plate.
    Bagels instead of biscuits. What’s the South coming to? Smelled wonderful, though. After last night’s indulgence, my breakfast had been half a grapefruit. Without sugar.
    “So what’s the story with Brazos?” I asked. “From the way his mother was acting before she knew who was hurt, it was like she thought he was the perp instead of the victim.”
    “Yeah, I picked up on that, too. That’s why I had Mayleen run his name through NCIC as soon as we got back to the office.” He smeared cream cheese and