It took a long time to process out a prisoner, and Phyllis Folliette stayed with me faithfully. Of course, I knew she was billing me for her time, but most lawyers would have given me a pat on the back and sped on their way to their office. She pulled something out of her briefcase to study when I showed I’d rather be silent. I sat with my eyes closed, letting the world go by, and I thought about all the people I’d met in Sarne, how closely they all seemed connected, how the repugnant stereotype of uneducated, inbred, unsophisticated-but-surprisingly wise hillbilly was both mined for tourist money and denigrated by the people who lived here. What had begun as a way of life determined by geographic isolation and poverty had become simplified and mythologized and made fun of for the world’s consumption. And all of the people we’d been dealing with had been living in this town for several generations, except Hollis.

I let the incidents of the past week flow through my mind, not trying to sort them out. I thought it might help to make a list. That would be our program for tonight, maybe.

Then I heard footsteps I knew, and I opened my eyes. Tolliver was coming toward me, and I jumped up. We hugged, hard and fast, before I introduced him to Phyllis, who was looking at him with some curiosity. Tolliver thanked her, and she again protested that she hadn’t done anything at all other than show up.

“But you called the sheriff yesterday,” Tolliver said. I was eyeing him anxiously, but he only looked tired and in need of a shower.

“Yes, I did that,” she said, smiling slightly. “I figured it couldn’t hurt for the sheriff’s department to know that someone from out of town was keeping an eye on the situation, someone with a little legal clout. Don’t worry, you’ll be billed for it.”

“It was worth the money,” I said, and after shaking our hands, Phyllis got back into her BMW and left Sarne. Lucky Phyllis.

While we drove to the motel, I explained to Tolliver about his room, and he said, “I don’t care. I’m going to have a shower and some decent food, and then I think I’ll sleep for a few hours. Then I’ll get up and shower again and eat more decent food and sleep again.”

“And this, after being in jail all of thirty-six hours! What if you’d had to stay in all week?”

He made a big production of shuddering. “You wouldn’t believe how bad that jail is. I think they’re trying to feed the prisoners on a dime a day, or something.”

“You’ve been in jail before,” I said, a little puzzled by his violent reaction.