A murder at the Kerrville Folk Festival is no way to celebrate life with music, especially when it puts Travis, known by Austin papers as the Blue-Eyed Indian, in the crosshairs of the kind of back country paramilitary enthusiasm that means stringing up "Injun" P.I.s like pinatas. Even the company of Cassie Winnick, a blond deputy who seems out to shake Travis' image as the detective who never gets the girl, doesn't keep this from being one of the scaliest cases he's ever handled. "Just remember," a friend tells Travis, "there are people out there who can give the cold wet willies to even your worst nightmares." Before it's over, Travis is going to crave solitude like he never has before . . . if he survives

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