Clete Sartain pulled back from the dancer and squinted up at Bo with eyes glazed over from what appeared to be, based on the bottle on his table, one of several Natural Lights he’d consumed since his arrival. He rubbed his snow-white beard, which, taken with his thick similarly colored hair, had made him the obvious choice to play Santa Claus during the Christmas festival held every December in downtown Pulaski for as long as Bo could remember. As Bo peered down at him, he figured that Clete must be pushing eighty years old now, though he didn’t seem quite as heavy as he used to be.

“Bocephus Haynes,” Clete said, smiling and standing up. “I will be damned.”

Bo shook the man’s hand. “You will be if you spend much more time in here,” Bo joked, and Clete let out a hearty cackle.

“You got that right.”

“You still working at Johnson’s Foodtown?”

Clete had been a fixture at the grocery store for years as a salesclerk. “Nah, retired last November. My back couldn’t take the sweeping anymore.” He rubbed his beard. “I thought I’d be able to spend a few years traveling with my wife, but she had a brain aneurysm in January.” He jerked his head. “Dead before she hit the ground.”

“I’m sorry,” Bo said. “I know what that’s like.”

“I know you do.” Clete squeezed Bo’s shoulder, and his grip was feeble. “I’m sorry about Jasmine. She was always nice to me at the store.”

Bo nodded and smiled toward the stage. “If you don’t mind me asking, Clete, what are you doing in here?”

He frowned. “I got nobody in town no more. My son’s family is here, but they don’t pay me any mind. With Edna gone, there’s no one for me to talk to.” He glanced at the stage. “Jess is good company.”

“It didn’t look like y’all were doing much talking.”

“We do,” Clete said, scratching his beard again. “All that gyrating she’s doing is just for show.” He cocked his head toward the back. “Boss man gets mad at her if she doesn’t rub her boobies in my face every once in a while.” He shook his head. “Don’t do no good. I haven’t felt the slightest tingle of a boner since George W. was president.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. Bo could smell the beer on his breath. “You got business with the two guys in the back?”

“You might say that.”

“Well, watch yourself. Everyone in this town sings the praises of that boy, but I think he’s trouble.” Clete was now whispering. “And I’d bet a case of Natty Light that he did rape that Burks girl.”