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and such.
At that moment, Butler s cell phone beeped. He read the
incoming text message.  My brother got the coffeepot
from your room and is headed back to the lab, He typed in
a speedy reply and then shoved his phone back into his
pocket.  And no, the stick isn t in Tom s room or his van.
It s not in your room, either.
Molly blinked in surprise.  What?
 Don t worry, I m not picking on you. My men are
searching the hotel rooms and vehicles of everyone con­
nected to this show for the two items missing from this
booth. No one gets to pack up tonight without being super­
vised by a member of the Nashville PD. The detective
made this pronouncement with authority, but the worry in
his eyes was evident.
 Why are you even interested in the snake cane? Molly
wondered.
 Because it s a loose end, and in my experience, loose
ends mean something. He paused to pick up a cane with a
carved ivory skull handle.  In murder investigations, one
little detail can make or break the case.
 What about Cotton? Is he still asleep? She shared in
the detective s frustration.  He must know something help­
ful.
Butler dropped the skull cane back into the umbrella
rack.  He s a bit groggy, but was coherent enough to write
down answers to my questions. That poor guy isn t going
to be talking for a while. Such an unusual wound. He
sighed, exasperated.  He couldn t help me, though. All he
saw was a dark shape in his room and then felt the pain in
his throat.
Molly frowned.  But why was Cotton attacked in the
first place? Was it because of what Tom told him Friday
A Deadly Dealer 169
night at the Jack Daniel s Saloon? That Tom had been at
the wrong place at the wrong time and had seen something
dangerous?
Butler threw his hands up in the air.  There s more in­
formation you ve withheld from me! I ought to throw you
in jail for obstruction, just to teach you a lesson! Lord, he
looked up to the ceiling in appeal,  spare me from ama­
teurs!
Backing away from Butler s growl, Molly said,  I didn t
say anything because all that conversation told me was that
the killer was a man! She panted,  Didn t Tom tell Cotton
the name of this guy he witnessed doing something. . .
bad?
Butler kicked at the floor and muttered,  No. Tom told
Cotton that it would be safer if he didn t mention any
names. He just gave Cotton the inventory book to hold un­
til he could figure out what to do.
Molly grew silent. It was looking grim for the detective,
and for her as well. The minutes were ticking away until
the show would be over.  I think the most likely suspect is
Howard Rose. He really wanted that dower chest.
 Rose was with the governor until very late Saturday
night and spent Friday night with a lady friend. He and his
lady were spotted in a restaurant downtown and then
checked into a bed-and-breakfast for the evening. The owner
saw them go up to their room at eleven and neither one re­
appeared until after seven the next morning. Rose is clear.
 I m sorry. Molly looked down at her hands, feeling
ashamed.  I was trying to figure this out for myself, but I
promise that I don t know anything else. I thought finding
the inventory book would solve all of the riddles. Her eye
traveled around the booth.  I guess there s no hope of find­
ing a nice set of prints on this apothecary box or on the
margarita glass Tom was poisoned with, is there?
Butler shook his head.  The only prints on the glass are
yours. The glass had been wiped clean. God knows how
170 J. B. Stanley
many people have touched this box since the show started,
but I d bet my badge that the killer left no traces here ei­
ther. No, prints won t help. We need the bottle or the stick.
 Is there anything I can do to help? Molly inquired
meekly.
 Yeah! Butler shouted.  Go to your room and stay
there!
A few hours later, Molly closed the lid to her laptop.
She had e-mailed Carl the Heart of Dixie article, including
the frightning conclusion that the killer who had attacked
two dealers had yet to be apprehended. She would write
the other Nashville piece featuring the tailgate show upon
her return to Durham.
Clara snapped shut the paperback she had been reading
and sighed.  I like this Lord Ambrose fellow. He s scarred,
hermitlike, rich, and completely eccentric. It s like having
Mr. Rochester and Sherlock Holmes wrapped into one per­
son. Have you got the second book in the series?
Molly shook her head.  Not yet; it s on order. Speaking
of orders, I wonder what happened with the coffeepot De­
tective Butler s brother picked up.
Clara suddenly grew very interested in the blurb written
on the back of her book.
 Ma?
 I didn t want to ruin your day any further, honey. I
talked to the other Butler after my little stroll with Darlene.
He found opium in that coffeepot. Enough to put us out of
commission for a few days. She fanned the books pages in
her hand and mumbled,  Or maybe longer.
Molly jumped up.  So the killer is after us! She
checked the lock on the door and applied the chain with
shaking fingers.  What are we going to do?
 Look outside the door, Clara replied calmly.  I think
you ll find we re under police protection.
A Deadly Dealer 171
 Whew, Molly said, waving to the bored officer seated
on an uncomfortable metal folding chair in the hallway.
 Still, no room service for us tonight. Let s eat at that Ital­
ian restaurant in the Garden section. It s got such a sooth­
ing atmosphere with soft lights, calm music, and a
signature tiramisu. I could go for some veal tortellini
tossed in a creamy cheese sauce and a big heel of home­
made bread.
 And a huge cocktail, Clara added.  I mean, my glass
had better be the size of a fishbowl.
 What are we going to do once we get home, Ma?
Molly fretted after giving the waiter her order. Despite the
calm and romantic setting Ristorante Volare provided,
Molly was unable to relax. She kept examining the faces of
the other diners, searching for traces of latent violence in
the body language or in the eyes of the strangers seated
around her. None of the other dealers were present. Those
who lived within driving distance had already packed up,
and having obtained permission from the police, promptly
left Nashville. Only a small handful were staying over an­
other night with plans to leave early the next morning.
Molly couldn t help but wonder: Was the killer gone or was
he still in the hotel somewhere, watching?
 Neither of us have alarms in our houses, she reminded
Clara.  We don t even have big dogs. Unless I cover the
killer with Reddi-wip, my cats won t bother themselves by
attacking him.
 I ve always got the option of staying with Lex and
Kitty, but they only have one spare bed, so there s only one
choice left for you, Clara said, ripping off a chunk of
warm bread from a napkin-lined basket.  You ll have to
make up with Mark and move in with him until things are
safe again.
Molly stopped chewing.  Fat chance. I m not quite
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