“That may be so, but I bet, coming from New York, you buy people you talk to lunches and what not. Seems only right we get something for our trouble.”

“All right,” Wyatt lifted his palms. “How about afterward, I make a donation for your time?”

“Seems fair. Take a seat.” Cass sighed, then sat.

Wyatt took out his notebook and pen, then joined her.

“So, to be sure, you are Cass?”

“That’s what I go by.”

“What’s your full name?”

She shifted her lower jaw deciding to answer.

“It’s Gina Rose Gangel. I use Cass after my favorite singer, Cass Elliot from the Mamas and the Papas.”

Wyatt made a note, then asked her about the night they gave Kevin Tatum a ride.

“Gibby and I were headed to Newport when we saw him walking with a gas can, and decided to help. Just like it says in the Good Book, you gotta help those in need.”

Wyatt glanced at her Bible.

“Then we saw the girl alone in the truck. I can tell you, she was relieved and mighty thankful. I told her it wasn’t good to be alone in these parts, especially at night.”

“Why’s that?”

“Lot of strange things.” Cass looked off beyond the hills to the forests. “Many years ago, I lost Joey, my little boy, and then my husband to this land. It just took them. And almost took me, too. But I hung on to the Good Book, got help from my church, and that’s how I met Gibby.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He was lost, too, in prison to atone for his mistakes. But when my church group showed me his picture, I saw that he looked exactly like how my Joey would look, and—” Cass put one hand on her heart, held out a palm, closed her eyes, and raised her face to the sky “—I swear, I felt Joey’s spirit in Gibby, and so I wrote to him. Then I visited him. We’ve been together ever since he got out.”

“What was Gibby in prison for?”

“A mistake. A misunderstanding with a woman and her car. I don’t want to get into it, but Gibby did his time. Paid his bill, so to speak, and atoned. He’s nearly done with his parole. And like the Good Book says, you got to forgive.”

“I see.” Wyatt cast around. “And how do you make ends meet?”

“Oh, we collect things and sell them. Gibby does odd jobs for folks, delivers wood, watches over their property, fixes things. He hunts. The money helps pay for our medicine. The Lord provides, and we get by.”

“But isn’t this private land that we’re on right now? Isn’t this illegal squatting?”

“Not if the owner don’t mind—and they don’t.”

“So, you have permission to be here?”