Kip sighed. “Not that again, Don Paul.”

“Well, it’s true, ain’t it?”

Savannah’s eyes shifted from one man to the other. “What? He’s a criminal? Like, seriously?”

“Ah, the boy got in a little trouble last year,” Kip answered. “Weren’t no big thing.”

“Only if you consider grand larceny little,” said Don Paul.

Kip shrugged. “This is old news, Don Paul. Logan was still seventeen at the time, couldn’t even be tried as an adult. They gave him the standard swift kick in the ass, threatened him with a one-way ticket to Parris Island if he didn’t straighten hisself out, and it was case closed.”

Savannah asked Kip what Cole had stolen.

“A set of TaylorMades and a Buick Reatta.”

“From the mayor,” Don Paul added.

“Can we move past this now?” Kip asked.

“Yeah,” Don Paul agreed. “Hell, I could care less if Logan’s a criminal, long as he can run a good bootleg.” He stood and went to plug the jukebox.

The chimes clanged above the front door. A woman entered, apparently already dressed for Halloween.

“Who is she?” Savannah asked.

“You don’t know Black Mona?” Bernice said. “She’s been a regular here for years. Stay in this town long enough, you’ll hear a lot about her. She’s an odd one, I’ll tell you that.”

“Odd?” Kip put on a fake smile, offered the old woman a wave. Through clenched teeth he muttered, “She’s crazier than a rat in a shithouse.”

Savannah watched the woman slide into the first booth by the window. She looked like a cross between a sideshow Gypsy and Norma Desmond. Even at a distance Savannah could hear the rattle of her earrings, which looked like tiny gold chandeliers dangling from sagging lobes. A tangled mass of matching necklaces hung from her neck.

“What’s her story, Kip?”

“All I know is that she’s a crazy old spinster that lives across the tracks and spends most of her time talking to her cats. Rumor in town is that she’s into black magic. You know, voodoo-mojo types of stuff.”

“Do you really believe any of that, Kip?” Bernice asked.

“Well, I don’t put much stock in it, but I can tell you one thing: Couple years back, old Chip Simmons accidentally scratched her station wagon with a shopping cart in the Kroger parking lot. Tight bastard that Chip is, he didn’t even leave a note. Next morning he wakes up with an unfortunate combination of shingles and lockjaw.”

“Coincidence?” Savannah asked.

Kip rolled his shoulders. “You tell me. Only other thing I know about her is that she never misses a Jackrabbits football game. The woman loves her football.”

“Well, I better go take her order,” Bernice said. “Keep the hexes away.” She winked at Savannah. “Coffee’s on the house, honey. Just make sure I get a copy of that dinosaur story, you hear?”