Again, he held up his hand, "I have no interest in what you don't know, of which I'm sure there is much." Barnett sipped the water. "Now, I am interested in anything you may find out about their whereabouts." He leaned forward, and both drew back "The money stolen is only of an ancillary concern," he tapped the table, "it is the act itself. I want you to find out everything you can, and I don't care where rats build their nests, only they run the maze. You see, Miss Chaney, all of this is odd. They disappeared, yet, you are still here. You benefitted from an arrangement, even helped coerced some of the women."

"Hey," Tracy looked at her daughter.

"What," Barnett tapped the table, and the dishes jumped. "Does saying the truth bother you? Maybe, she should hear everything." Tracy fell silent. He tapped the glass, "We still haven't found Kayden Stone."

"No one has seen him," she whined.

"I know," he growled. "We want to find him." Barnett had spoken to people that had seen him that day. Like he was fading in and out of reality, he mused. He had dismissed it as a drug addled delusion, until four others mentioned the same phenomenon.

"I will," she beamed though more sweat fell, "I'll ask everyone."

"You're assurance is heartening," he sipped the water again. "Now, last of all, there are the oddities in the books."

"I didn't know about the ties to the Van Lear family," she squealed, and almost bounced out of her seat.

"Some of the money still ended up in your account," he tapped the table. "All of that money will be returned by the end of the business day tomorrow." Barnett stilled, but a broad smile shifted stony features. "Sheriff, I'm glad you could make it."

Rutger stood beside the table, and all the sons of the Union smiled across Confederates. He rested a hand on his revolver. "Barnett," he looked about the bar, "I don't see your masters. I'm surprised to see such a long leash."

"Is that what passes for wit for you," he tapped the glass, smile broader. Barnett's hat tilted towards the Sheriff, "You'll do nothing, but please, bluster and bravado are always amusing."

Rutger's eyes narrowed, jaw flexed, but he turned towards Tracy. "I've been hearing things, Ma'am," his tone softened, but his knuckles were white on the revolver. "I've already spoken to the women about their experiences at the factory," he studied Tracy, "and your name came up a lot."

"People talk, Sheriff," she kept her eyes everywhere, except Barnett.

"I don't know that the Van Lear promised or threatened," he jerked a thumb at the big man in the trilby hat. "They are NOT the law around here."

"Maybe, she is afraid your men will shoot her," Barnett cut in, smile broader.

"I just don't know everything," Tracy smiled but wiped her brow of sweat.

The Sheriff's mouth worked, and glanced at Barnett. "Well, I'll be coming around tomorrow, so your memory better improve." He turned to the man in the trilby hat, "I've heard money is involved, Lear money, and rumors of fraud."

"All of our dealings are above board," he sipped the water again, "and we are the victims here."

Rutger's grin hardened, but he looked to Tracy, "If you want to be neutral, be neutral, or pick a side."

"Sheriff," Barnett held up a hand, smile broad and satisfied, and "I feel you should be reminded of one fact." He pointed a thick finger at the Guitarist, "The court case is still ongoing, and you are to stay clear of him. Unless, of course, you are actually here to intimidate the man YOUR men shot."

He glanced at Iggy, who had stopped playing. Police from the township were at the home along with his men, but no one seemed to care about that. The Van Lear family had them on their payroll, Rutger was sure. The Guitarist kept his eyes on the Sheriff's revolver. "I'll get to the heart of this, Barnett," he growled.

Barnett stood, "My business here is done, Sheriff." The trilby hat turned to Tracy, "We'll speak again, Madam, but I must leave you, so I can talk to a lawyer about the violation of a restraining order." Barnett turned away.

Tracy watched the Sheriff follow the well-dressed man. She looked about the bar, and saw the patrons staring. "Leah," she fished some quarters out of her purse, "could you get something started on the juke box? That…MAN appears to have stepped off the stage.

Leah took the coins, and fought the urge to recoil from her mother's touch. "Alright," she said at a high whisper. Sons of the Union and Confederates looked at the women like something found under a rock. She stood, but kept her gaze from Tracy. The door banged open, but she concentrated on the juke box.

Head down, she trudged through the bar indifferent to the commotion. The jukebox was old but in fine condition, and had a wide arrangement of music, if one loved country or Western. Leah looked at the selection, and a heavy sigh slipped out. Through the list she read, but finally found an artist. "At least they have Cash," she squinted, though unable to read the song. Closer she leaned to read the title. A woman stepped up beside her, but she drew closer to read.

Leah jumped. A hard hand had pinched her, and she whirled to see the chest of a large man. "Hey," she barked, but he towered over her. "Don't touch me, pervert!" she swallowed but held her chin up. No one seemed to care, when the daughter of Tracy Chaney was violated.

Harry stepped closer, and she bumped against the jukebox. "A woman comes into a bar," he grinned, "she is looking for something." The other woman looked at the selection, though wild eyes flew to another man across the bar. She bent over to read the titles. He grabbed her too, but kept mean eyes on Leah.