She lifted her eyes to the rearview again and saw the boy give a big enthusiastic nod. She reached for the paper sack on the console and passed it back to him. Just then, she heard a big tumble and clunk under the hood, a hot revving sound coming from the engine. She checked the gauges, just like her daddy taught her, and didn’t see anything. The minivan kept on trucking along past another exit and more big billboards for the ole-time country cookin’ at the Cracker Barrel and signs for folks who had got themselves hooked on meth.

When she looked back down, the temperature gauge had shot up in the red. Warning lights flashing on her dash. Holly cussed some and slowed down the car, not sure what else she could do. Ladarius was up now, wiping the sleep from his eyes, and looking over Holly’s shoulder.

“Goddamn, girl,” he said. “You better pull over.”

“We can’t stop,” Holly said. “Not now.”

“Holly, this old piece of shit is about to blow its engine,” he said. “We don’t have no choice.”

*   *   *

The McCade family had a forty-acre slice of property down in Sugar Ditch shared by dozens of families but ruled by one woman: Della Mae McCade. The McCade land was two miles south of the Quick Stop and another three miles down County Road 121. The trailers and houses stood back to back, winding along a curved road that some say was the best in the county. Any supervisor who wanted to turn out the vote in Sugar Ditch had always made sure of it. There was a machine shop and appliance repair on the land, an illegal pool hall, and a meat processor. Miss Della Mae’s house sat at the top of the hill, appearing large and almost feudal to Lillie Virgil as she wheeled onto the smooth black asphalt of the McCade compound.

Miss McCade had been running things, taking rent from her people and keeping order since her husband, “Big Jack,” died about twenty years ago. Lillie liked the old woman and respected her hard-edged cynicism of the law. When she walked up to the door of the home, a fine brick ranch with black shutters and a concrete porch, Miss Della Mae was already there, standing in front of a glass storm door, hands crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face.

“What is it?” she said, cracking the door slightly.

“Wonder if I can have a minute of your time, Miss McCade.”

“I heard you was gone, Lillie Virgil,” she said. “Quit the sheriff’s office and moved up to Memphis.”

“I joined the U.S. Marshals Service,” Lillie said, showing her the badge that hung around her neck.

“And what’s that have to do with me?” Della Mae said.

“Came to talk to you about your grandson,” Lillie said. “Ladarius.”