"Frank actually…" I paused. "Lorraine, maybe you should tell it. I only have it secondhand."
She nodded, still staring at the list. "Frank McKee was Bubba's great grandfather, and didn't have the brains God gave a goose."
"This should be good," Jack murmured, smiling.
"One day Frank decided he'd like to get some help chopping wood."
"But he was too cheap to throw a few bucks at the neighborhood kids to get them to help," I put in.
Lorraine put her hands on her hips. "Am I telling this or not?"
I made a go-ahead motion. "Sorry."
"So what did he do? Rig up a chainsaw to be self-propelling and cut his own head off?"
Lorraine scoffed. "Frank was far too lazy for that. He got help the old-fashioned way."
"What old-fashioned way?"
"He summoned a demon."
Jack's mouth fell open, and then he whistled, long and low. "I'd say you've got to be kidding, but I have more than ten years of seeing every kind of supernatural stupidity out in the world. Plus, no offense, this is Dead End."
"You say that like you don't live here too, young man," Lorraine said smartly.
He grinned and held up his hands in surrender. "You're right. I'm sorry. What happened to Frank? Or, should I say, how long did he live?"
"Maybe five minutes after he called that demon, as far as we can figure." Lorraine said.
"Damn fool," Jack said.
"Right?" I shook my head at his foolishness. "Anybody in town could have told him that demons hate chopping wood. Now what about Emeril? Is that Mr. Peterson from Dead End Hardware?"
"Wait," Jack said. "Wait. Demons don't like to chop wood? That's what you got out of this? How do you know what demons—no. You know what, never mind. I'm assuming that somebody in town banished the demon, at least."
"Oh, Frank Junior? No, he decided he didn't want to go back to hell," Lorraine told him.
"FrankJunior?"
"We had to call him something," she told Jack. "Nobody could pronounce his demon name. And he's reformed. Tess, is he still over in Daytona Beach?"
"Last I heard. He runs the drive-in movies. Shows stuff likeNight of the Living Dead. I hear he laughs like crazy at any movie involving exorcists. Kind of like you with werewolf and vampire movies, Jack. Hollywood gets it all wrong, apparently."
Jack stood, speechless, for a long moment, and then he sighed and plopped down in a chair. "Every time I think this town can't get any stranger…"
I ignored him. "What about Emeril, though? I can't imagine either of the Misters Peterson being big gamblers."
Lorraine nodded, looking thoughtful. "I remember that there was some strife between them back then. They'd just taken over the shop from their parents, who wanted to go traveling while they were still fairly young. But I never heard what it was about. If Emeril was wasting the shop's income, that could have been a big problem. Especially since…"
She shook her head and turned away, an embarrassed flush rising in her cheeks.
"Especially since what?" I touched her arm. "I'm sorry. I know this is hard. But the more we know, the more chance we have to find out the truth and exonerate you."
"Especially since Earl worked for them," she whispered. "And he… I think he was stealing from them. They fired him that day. It's what triggered everything."
"Any of them could be the killer. If there's a way to find out if any of them had guns back then," Jack began.
"Guns?" Lorraine looked at us. "Why guns?"
