and Mr. Sweet, who were peering over my shoulder.
âI wonder who those unmarked cars belong to,â I said.
âItâs the Feds,â Winette said matter-of-factly. âYou can tell by those cheap suits and sunglasses.â
A gray-haired man in the lead car, along with his driver, had gone into the sheriffâs office, while the others waited outside. By this time, we werenât the only ones watching the spectacle. People from inside the barbershop, the diner, and other businesses were gathering in doorways and spilling out onto the sidewalks, gawking at the entourage.
In a couple of minutes, the sheriff emerged from the building with the gray-haired man and Deputy Ted Horton. A guy in a cheap suit and sunglasses opened the back door of one of the sedans and took the arm of an older man who was handcuffed and helped him out of the car.
Heat waves rising off the asphalt distorted the scene I was watching unfold. For a brief moment, I almost convinced myself it was a mirage, just a trick of the light. Voices behind me brought me back to reality.
Winette said, âWhaaa? Huh?â Mr. Sweet muttered something equally unintelligible.
I rushed into the parking area to get a closer look before gasping, âDaddy Wayne!â
In complete shock, I found myself crumpled on the curb. Then Winette and Mr. Sweet each grabbed one of my arms, helped me up, and led me into their office.
âThis canât be happening,â I said as Winette brought me a glass of water. âI need to call somebodyâa lawyer or my mother-in-law.â
âYou need to call Larry Joe,â Winette said calmly.
âYouâre right.â Just as I picked up my cell phone, it rang. It was Larry Joe.
âHoney, theyâve arrested your dad andââ
âI know. Iâm sorry I didnât have a chance to give you a heads-up. Iâve been on the phone with our attorney.â
âLarry Joe, whatâs this all about? There must be some mistake.â
âItâs something about some drugs they found on one of our trucks in Oklahoma.â
âBut thatâs crazy. How can they think your dad has anything to do with that?â
âI donât know. Iâm sure Bill Scott will have Dad out of jail within a few hours. What I really need you to do is to go over and be with Mama. I told her Dad had been taken in for questioning, but you know her phone will start ringing off the hook pretty soon.â
âSure. Iâll head over to your mamaâs right now. Keep me posted.â
In the car, on my way over to my mother-in-lawâs, I decided I had better call my own mother before she phoned Miss Betty or me. Since my husband and I had both grown up in Dixie, Iâd known his parents pretty much all my life. As seemed to be common in the South, I grew up calling all my mamaâs friends âMiss Betty,â âMiss Sylvia,â and so on, while I addressed most of their husbands as Mr. Smith, Mr. Brown, and so forth. When Larry Joe and I got married, it seemed a bit formal to keep calling his dad Mr. McKay, so he ended up being Daddy Wayne, while his mom remained Miss Betty to me.
âHi, Mama. . . .â
âDear Lord, Liv. What in the worldâs going on? I just had a call from Sue Maynard, saying she saw some men take Wayne McKay into the police stationâin handcuffs.â
âHeâs been taken in for questioning about drugs found on one of the trucks. But Larry Joe has already talked to their attorney, Bill Scott, and Iâm sure heâll have Daddy Wayne out of there soon. Iâm on my way over to be with Larry Joeâs mom right now.â
âOf course, hon. You tell her weâre praying for her and Wayne.â
Mama hung up, and I knew instinctively sheâd be right back on the phone, calling all the ladies in her prayer circle. That should keep her busy for a while , I thought.
I pulled into the driveway of Wayne