Free Dead Man Falls by Paula Boyd

and you two are circled up to be killed next. Well, I’ll tell you, I’m just not going to have it." She waggled a finger at Jerry. "You get that blond detective boy on the phone. I’ve got a thing or two to say to him."
    "Miz Jackson," Jerry said. "Detective Rankin is doing everything he can right now. He’s checking out every single person on every page that was found, but it’s going to take some time. That’s why we’re sitting here now, trying to help him with anything we can remember."
    She paced a little more, then sat down and gulped the rest of her tea. "Who else was marked up? I can’t sort through these things without all the facts."
    "I hate to admit it, Jerry, but after I saw your picture circled, I kind of zoned out on everything else. I really don’t know who else was there either."
    He flipped back a page and pointed to a guy who was the closest thing to a hippie Kickapoo High ever had, not that he got away with long hair or dressing slouchy. Still, he had a "look" about him. I think it was mostly the "Hey, man, peace, cool," talk and the marijuana haze, but it was enough to make him seem "really out there" to those of us who thought being radical meant wearing POW bracelets and bell-bottoms.
    "Russell Clements," Jerry said, tapping his finger on the photo of the shaggy-haired boy with pimples. "He was circled as well."
    I hadn’t thought of him in years either, until today. "He hasn’t changed much," I said. "Except that his hair is half gray and longer now. As long as mine, in fact."
    Jerry looked up and cocked a dark brow in my direction. "You saw Russell? Today?"
    I nodded. "Yeah, I was following Mother through the crowd and he stopped me. Wanted to tell me all about his new girlfriend and his new improved self. I didn’t really have time to chat."
    "How did he seem?"
    I shrugged. "Same old Russell, except he didn’t look high or anything that I could tell. He acted a little nervous, but I figured it was just me. I have that effect on people sometimes." Especially on people who think I should go make nice with Rhonda. "It’s a gift."
    Jerry grinned. "You can be pretty scary."
    Yeah, I could, and probably was, but I did not want to hear about Rhonda--the slutty or the saintly version--and he probably sensed it. "He was just overly chatty. I don’t know why." No, I really didn’t. "I guess it could have been from drugs, but I don’t know about those things. And I really didn’t pay that much attention. I just wanted to get away."
    Jerry rubbed his chin and thought about that for a few minutes. "Russell’s been busted for possession and petty theft about a dozen times since high school, but nothing in the last few years that I know about. He lives in a trailer out at his dad’s pipe yard."
    "What direction are we heading here, Jerry?"
    "Any one that connects to us or Calvin Holt. We need a common denominator."
    Lucille did a little "tsk, tsk," then said, "You really ought not get snippy with Jerry Don, Jolene. He’s only trying to get at the facts. We need to be helpful, not snotty."
    I shot Miss Helpful-and-Considerate a little glare. She was the last one to be casting stones about helping out law officials. It took at least three interrogations for Dirty Harriet to come clean on her withheld information two months ago when it was darned important that she do so. And I wasn’t even withholding any information--unless you counted avoiding talk about Rhonda. But maybe she was the common denominator. She was sure the lowest one I could think of.
    Lucille tapped her inch-long purple nails on the butcher block Formica tabletop and frowned thoughtfully. "Now, Jerry Don, was there anyone else with marks by their pictures?"
    My, my, but Miz Helpful was piling it on pretty deep. I was tempted to tell her so, but I kind of wanted to hear the answer to her question too.
    Jerry turned to the staff section and pointed to a dark-haired man with a cocky smile. "I can’t believe you didn’t notice