“Black women,” Dad says. “Maybe that’s the difference. He’s talking about our wives. White women.”

I watch him in silence for several seconds. “Maybe.”

“What did you and Quentin talk about?” he asks.

The change of subject irritates me. “Not his damn trial strategy, that’s for sure.”

Dad makes a sound of contempt. “Don’t worry about the trial. The trial isn’t important.”

This statement is so patently absurd that it takes me a few seconds to respond. “If you’re convicted, you will die in the Parchman penitentiary. How is that not important?”

My father winces, then begins scratching at a scaly patch of psoriasis on his arm.

“Penn, what if the charges against me were dismissed today? What would that accomplish?”

“You’d be free.”

“True enough. But as long as Snake Knox is breathing and roaming loose, we live under threat. All of us.”

“Why is that, Dad? Because you and Viola killed his brother?”

For the first time, he looks surprised.

“Yes, I know about that. Caitlin mentioned it in the phone recording she left behind at the Bone Tree.”

He sighs, then shakes his head. “Snake doesn’t know about Frank. He couldn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Because if he did, he wouldn’t have simply left me at the Bone Tree to die. He would have put a bullet in me. Or worse. Torture is his specialty, remember.”

Dad’s mention of the Bone Tree forces me to think of Caitlin’s last hour on earth. “Then why does Snake want you dead?”

“I don’t know. He’s afraid of me, for some reason.” Dad jabs a crooked finger at me. “But you’re a target, too. Don’t forget that. You killed Forrest Knox. And Snake knows that. That means anybody and everybody you hold dear is in Snake’s sights. Annie, Peggy, Jenny—even Mia Burke.”

“Wives and children don’t have immunity,” I murmur.

“Exactly. God, I wish Daniel Kelly were still around. You know what he would call Snake. Remember?”

“A one-bullet problem.”

“Damn right. Kelly’s still MIA in Afghanistan?”

“Presumed dead.”

“That is a tragedy on so many levels.”

A thought from a dark place rises to the surface. “Since we’re talking about this kind of extremity . . . what about Walt Garrity?”

A pensive look comes over Dad’s face. “On the morning of Caitlin’s funeral, I told Walt the time had come to kill Snake. I was certain that was our only option. Walt agreed, in principle, but he said he couldn’t risk the rest of his life to do it. I understood. He loves that Mexican wife of his, and he’s only been with her a little while.”