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to see the sedan behind them. The man reached inside it and came out with an object of some kind. In the dim light it resembled a can of beans. He stepped to the front of his car and held the object in the illumination of the headlight, as if reading the list of ingredients. Then he strode to the hearse, twisted something on the top of the can, and tossed it behind Alton next to the casket. In the next instant, he reached in the window, cut the wheel to the left, and punched the old Caddy into drive.
    The vehicle lurched forward, headed to the other side of the bridge toward the rail. Although Alton seemed to be breathing, his eyes were closed, his face a jaundiced death mask. Harpo didn't know what might happen now, but he knew it’d be bad, and he willed his hand to move to the door handle. He also took the radio preacher's advice and prayed. As he felt the snap of the latch, everything turned a blinding white, and he wondered if this might be the crossing-over light he'd heard about. But then he felt the heat and a sense of flying, and the light went out.

Chapter Five
    Chief Boozler arrived for work at 9:30 a.m. He hadn’t gotten to bed until after five. Lonnie Cates met him at the door.
    “The mayor came by to see you, Chief. He wants you to stop in. And there's something I need to tell you when you have a chance.”
    Chief Boozler knew the mayor would come around as soon as he heard about the murder. “Lonnie, will you get me a cup of coffee and bring it to me in his office? I might as well get this over with.”
    The chief winked at him as he walked by and Lonnie broke into a big grin. Boozler sauntered into the mayor's outer office and told the secretary he needed to see her boss.
    “Go on in. He's expecting you.”
    Sighing, Boozler entered and sat down, rubbing his sleepy eyes, acknowledging the mayor only after he got completely situated.
    “Morning, Rich. I understand you were busy last night. Have time to tell me about it?”
    “That’s why I’m here. I guess you know it was Jake Bell who got murdered. His father was beside himself when I called him, but he seemed more angry than hurt. Course, people express their grief in different ways. Morton ranted and raved over the phone about how we'd better fry the animal that did it or he’ll do it himself.”
    Lonnie Cates came through the open door and handed the cup of coffee to the chief. Boozler thanked him and took a sip.
    Donald Meyer’s eyes narrowed. Probably jealous. Word was his secretary would never bring him coffee.
    “It sounds like you have a good suspect. I heard about the guy from Miami.”
    Boozler tried not to smile. “You must have been talking to Lonnie.”
    Meyer nodded.
    “You know,” the chief said, “there's no shortage of people around here who might kill Jake Bell.”
    “Yes, well, that might be true, but we need to make sure Morton knows we're doing our jobs. Maybe you should arrest the man from Miami until you find more evidence.”
    Bell had bought the mayor’s office with campaign funds, and satisfying him was Meyer’s number one priority. “Sorry, but it doesn't work that way.” Boozler took a sip of coffee and glanced at his watch. The mayor’s time was up.
    Back in his office, Boozler turned on the computer and brought up his e-mail. He hated electronic systems and didn't use them often. There were a couple of messages from fraternal police organizations, probably wanting money from him, one from the Iguana Key Chamber of Commerce, one from the mayor, and one from a parole officer with the Florida Department of Corrections. The last message probably deserved his attention most because Boozler had already ignored it for a few days. The parole officer was searching for a man named Fletcher Spikes, who had been paroled a couple of months before and had disappeared. A report in the Tallahassee office mentioned a dead John Doe in Iguana Key. Doe had a tattoo on his arm, and the parole officer asked in the e-mail if any