Children with sparklers, neon glow necklaces and safety glow sticks flew by, trailing shouts of laughter in their wake. The kicky Tex-Mex beat of Tejano music thumped through the air from the live band situated atop a well-lit flatbed truck. The vigorous call of the accordion, drums, violins and trumpet tempted revelers to grab a partner and dance under the endless strings of tiny white lights. The mingling scents of flaming tiki torches and mesquite-stoked barrel smokers had Payton breathing it in as appreciatively as she would an expensive perfume. This was small-town Southern life at its finest, and she wanted to savor every bit of it. As they worked their way toward the Rodriguez house farther down the block, Payton found herself the recipient of more than a few pointed looks. After she nodded to a staring man she vaguely recognized as the pharmacist, Payton inched closer to Wiley. “Am I paranoid, or are people watching us a little too closely?”
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