“You bet.” Kelly takes the phone and dials the number, watching me in the mirror. “Hello, I’m calling for Noble. . . . It is? This is Sergeant Kelly, Noble. Daniel Kelly . . . You don’t recognize my voice? From Bragg? . . . Fort Bragg. I’m trying to track down some members of our old unit. . . . You’re kidding me, right? . . . Never been in the service? You’re shining me, man. Well, Noble always said he was going to get out of Mississippi as soon as he could. . . . Yeah? How old are you? . . . Well, that’s the right age. What you do for a living? . . . Ha. Noble sure didn’t know nothing about engines. You married? . . . No kidding. Man, I’m sorry I bothered you. My mistake all the way. You have a good Sunday, chief.”

Kelly hangs up, and the bartender puts the phone back in front of the mirror.

“Noble Jackson works as a mechanic for Goodyear. He’s thirty-eight years old, married with four kids, and he’s lived in Natchez his whole life. He sounds happier about it than a lot of people would be.”

This knowledge, mundane as it sounds, somehow eases my grief over Ruby. “Kelly, you’re a funny guy.”

His eyes twinkle. “That has been said.”

He looks past me, and I hear the restaurant door open behind me. His expression tells me that whoever came in is a woman, an attractive one. I find myself hoping it’s Caitlin.

“Female inbound on your six,” he says. “You know her?”

I rotate my stool and watch a tanned brunette walk toward me. It’s Jenny, the waitress. She’s wearing black jeans and a T-shirt that says LILITH FAIR. Her dark hair is swept back from her neck, and her large brown eyes are shining. She gives me a shy wave as she reaches us.

“Jenny, this is Daniel Kelly.”

She smiles and shakes Kelly’s hand, then looks back at me. “I’m surprised to see you here. Isn’t the funeral today?”

“We just came from there.”

“Oh. Um, could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

She looks furtively at Kelly. “Alone, I mean?”

Kelly starts to slide off his stool, but Jenny takes his arm and holds him there. “I didn’t mean for you to leave.”

“How about one of those booths?” I suggest.

“Well . . . I was hoping you’d come upstairs. To my apartment. Just for a minute.”

My mental alarm is ringing now, soft but steady. Even modest fame can attract some strange people and propositions, and legal complications often follow. Caitlin pegged Jenny as having a fixation on me the first time she saw her. Maybe she’s right.

“It’s practically deserted in here,” I say. “Let’s just grab a booth.”

Jenny suddenly looks on the verge of tears. “It’s nothing weird, I promise. It’s . . . personal. It has to do with what you’re working on. Your case.”