She glanced down at her watch. “I think it just might. We have a while before they bring him in. Let’s find a quiet place. I think you need to tell me the whole story.”

I didn’t think it would be possible to tell Phyllis Folliette everything that had happened in Sarne, but I did manage to arrange enough of it in a coherent narrative to bring it to a conclusion with Tolliver’s arrest.

“It’s definite that some force in this town is against you,” she said, after a silence. “It’s evident you’re being hounded. No matter what I think of the way you make your living, Miss Connelly, what’s being done to you is wrong. And your brother is apparently being held to reinforce the message that you’re unwelcome here. I’ll do my best to get him out. He was actually arrested in Montana last year, right?”

“Well, yes. This guy threw a rock at me. Tolliver got upset. Of course.”

“Of course,” she said, as if she routinely spoke to clients who’d been literally stoned. “Tolliver was upset enough to put the man in the hospital?”

“Hey, those charges were dismissed.”

“Um-hm. I think you had some luck with the judge on that one.”

“You have a sister?”

“Uh . . . yes.”

“Someone throws a rock at her, you’d go after the rock-thrower, right?”

“I think I’d probably be taking care of my sister. I’d let the cops arrest the rock-thrower.”

“Look at it from the guy point of view.”

“Okay, I see your drift.”

“You talked to Tolliver about this, right?”

“Yes, they let me see him this morning. He mentioned the incident, but didn’t give any details.”

I smiled. “That’s Tolliver.”

“You two are close,” she observed. “Why the different names? You’ve been married?”

“No,” I said. “His father married my mother when we were both in our teens.” I didn’t like explaining this.

She nodded, giving me a sideways look. She excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, and I stared at my feet for a while. When Phyllis emerged, she did a lot of meeting and greeting on her way back to our bench, in particular with a man with graying hair, probably in his early fifties, who was wearing glasses and a nice suit.

After he went into the courtroom, Phyllis Folliette made her way back to me, giving me a brisk nod. “Time to go in or we won’t get a seat,” she said, and we joined a stream of people passing through massive double doors to the courtroom.

The ceiling was somewhere in the clouds over our heads. There was no telling how many words were buzzing around under that high ceiling, trapped there over the years. Phyllis and I sat quietly, and people began filing in. The jailers brought a line of prisoners in, and I got to see Tolliver.