“Red Heffner was an insurance man. Ex–air force. He invited a northern civil rights worker and a liberal preacher to his house for dinner. Next thing you know, the men in his neighborhood formed a vigilante association and started terrorizing his family. Red had to move them out of town. And his wife’s daughter by her first husband—who’d been killed in the Battle of the Bulge—had been elected Miss Mississippi that year. Can you imagine? Miss Mississippi was like royalty back then. Compared to the Heffners, we were nobody, in the social scheme of things. I wish I’d had his moral courage, the courage to get involved, but I was fresh out the army, and you were only four years old.”

I sense that Dad is leading me away from the central subject—cleverly, but doing it all the same. My patience has almost evaporated when my cell phone rings in my pocket. The screen reads HENRY SEXTON.

“I need to take this, Dad. Hello?”

“Penn, it’s Henry. We need to talk.” The reporter’s voice quavers with fear. “I’ve learned a lot since this morning. You need to know about it, and the sooner the better.”

My pulse picks up. “What is it?”

“Not on a cell phone. It’s too easy to eavesdrop on these things, or so my FBI friends tell me.”

“Where are you?”

“At the Beacon office. Is there any way you can drive over here? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it could help your father.”

My heart thuds in my chest. “My father?”

Dad looks up with interest.

“That’s all I can say on the phone. I know Dr. Cage is in trouble, and this can help him. But you’ve got to come here to hear it.”

I look at my watch. Annie has a basketball game in half an hour. If I drive to Ferriday, I’ll miss it. But what choice do I have? At least her grandmother will make the game. “I’m on my way, Henry. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Call my cell when you get here. The door’s locked.”

“Was that Henry Sexton?” Dad asks as I pocket my phone.

“Yes. He says he may be able to help you. I’m glad somebody wants to, since you refuse to help yourself.”

Dad gives me an unpleasant look. “How could Henry possibly help me? What does he know about any of this?”

“I don’t know. But he interviewed Viola a couple of times in the weeks before she died. By the way, do you have any idea what happened to the videotape that was in Henry’s camera?”

Dad just stares back at me, saying nothing.