“You’re kidding.”

Her nose scrunched up. “Why would I be kidding?”

The door started to open, and I tensed as a guy’s face poked around the corner. “Whaddaya want?”

My best friend lifted her chin. “Billy Jack? It’s Neely Kate, Dolly Parton’s cousin.”

The door opened wider, and five white Chihuahuas rushed out the crack and started jumping up on our legs.

He stood in the space, wearing a white wife-beater T-shirt and a pair of jeans, holding a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in his hand. Several days’ growth of beard covered his face, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Whaddaya want?” he repeated.

“I want to talk to Dolly. Where is she?”

One of the Chihuahuas pressed against my leg and started humping. Horrified, I gave my leg a tiny shake, but he just wrapped his front legs around my shin. The other four ran around Neely Kate and me like Indians circling a wagon train in an old Western.

Billy Jack looked at Neely Kate as though she was a horde of ants eating his chocolate cake. “How would I know where she is?”

Anger filled Neely Kate’s voice. “Because the last time anyone talked to her was when she was with you.”

The dog on my leg was still going to town, so I gave a harder shake, but he hung on for dear life.

He laughed, but it was a humorless sound. “Well, she ain’t here.”

She moved to the door. “Then you won’t mind me comin’ in and lookin’ around.” She shoved it open with the palm of her hand, and Billy Jack stumbled out of the way.

I stomped my foot hard, finally managing to dislodge the dog before I hurried inside after Neely Kate.

“Well come on in, then,” he sneered, downing the beer as we walked past him.

“Don’t mind if we do,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet.

I sent up a little prayer that the dogs would stay outside, but they all came in, the last one barely making it through the crack before Billy Jack slammed the door shut.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Neely Kate waved her hand in front of her face. I couldn’t blame her. It smelled like a rat had crawled up inside the tattered sofa and died. “What in tarnation are you cooking in this trailer, Billy Jack?” she asked.

He crushed the beer can with his hand, then tossed it over his shoulder into the kitchen, where it landed on the floor. “I’m working on my super-secret muskrat jerky recipe.”

She shook her head in irritation. “Everybody and his brother knows the only reason you started seeing Dolly Parton was to get at Aunt Thelma’s jerky recipes.”

“That right there’s a bunch of bullshit! I was making jerky for years before Dolly started hangin’ around.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared. “So where is she now?”

“I done told you. I. Don’t. Know.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Two days ago. We got into a big-ass fight and she took off with some guy.”

“What guy?”

“How the hell would I know?”

She turned her head and gave him a sideways glare. “You’re standin’ there tellin’ me that you let Dolly Parton go out that door—” she pointed at the front door, “and get into a car with some guy you didn’t know nothin’ about?” Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead at his silence. “Huh?”

“All right.” He opened a baby gate separating the kitchen from the living room, and the dogs immediately followed him. He moved over to the sink and opened a window, then reached through the opening and grabbed a can of beer.

The dogs ran deeper into the room and began snarling.

Billy Jack cast a backward glance at the dogs as he popped the beer open. “Go on now. Git.” He shooed them out of the kitchen and sauntered into the living room while taking a big gulp of his beverage.

The dogs skidded to a halt next to a nasty leather recliner, still snarling, and piled in a heap.

I felt a vision coming, and I nearly groaned out loud. Talk about poor timing. The nasty trailer faded away, and suddenly I was in a tiny room covered in cheap paneling. An old metal desk sat in the corner. A pretty brunette wearing something that looked like a two-piece swimsuit covered in sequins leaned against it, and she looked ticked off.

“I’ve done my part, and I want my money,” I said in Billy Jack’s voice.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, you didn’t really deliver in the end, did you?” Her face softened, but her mouth puckered into a pout. “Besides, I thought you did it for me, sugar.”

“I did,” I grunted. “But I still got bills to pay.”

She sighed, gliding toward me, trailing her fingertips down the side of my face. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of you.” The vision quickly faded.

“You did it for her,” I blurted out as Billy Jack’s living room came back into focus.

“What are you on about?” he hollered. “If she wanted to leave, I couldn’t do much to stop her.”

Neely Kate shot me a weird look, then turned back to him. “Cut the stalling, Billy Jack.” She tapped her foot. “I ain’t got all day. I got a boss nosier than a cat sniffing out a ball of catnip, wondering where in Sam Hill I am. Who’d Dolly Parton leave with?”

“Some guy from her work.”

Neely Kate’s back stiffened. “What guy?”