Curiosity muffles the alarm in my head. “The Payton case? What do you know about that?”

She glances at the bartender, who’s totaling numbers on a calculator a few feet away. “It has to do with the Marston family.”

I’m convinced. “Okay. Upstairs it is. Have another on me, Kelly.”

“Glad to, boss. Keep your pants on.”

Jenny leads me to the rear of the restaurant, where a spiral staircase winds up to the second floor. We pass some long tables set up for a party, then climb a short flight of stairs to a small landing and a red door. Jenny takes a key from her pocket, opens the door, and waits for me to go through.

Her apartment is as spartan as the cell of a lifer. You could bounce a quarter off the bed, and the linens are surprisingly masculine. A tall set of shelves stands against the wall to my right, and it’s filled from top to bottom with books. Literary novels mostly, though the familiar spines of my books are among them, along with Martin Cruz Smith, Donna Tartt, and Peter Hoeg. There’s no television, but a boom box sits beside the bed, an Indigo Girls concert flyer tacked to the wall above it. Caitlin’s suspicion that Jenny has a crush on me is looking less accurate by the second.

With careful steps Jenny crosses the room to the far corner, where a microwave oven and coffeemaker stand on a table beside a lavatory. She pours water from a Kentwood bottle into the coffee carafe, then from the carafe to the coffeemaker. Her back is to me, but she appears to be concentrating on her movements.

“Is green tea okay?” she asks.

“It’s fine.”

A spoon jangles loudly in a cup. Jenny’s hands are shaking.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods quickly, still facing away from me. “Just nervous.”

“How do you know the Marston family? Are you originally from Natchez?”

“No.” She turns and faces me, revealing the anxiety in her eyes. I have a sudden intuition that she’s about to tell me Leo Marston forced her to commit some sexual act, or perhaps got her pregnant. She’s far too young for him, but if an impoverished killer like Ray Presley can rob the cradle, why can’t Leo Marston?

“But you know the Marstons,” I press her.

“I know Olivia.”

Olivia. “Does Livy have something to do with the Payton case?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jenny, why don’t you just tell me what you know? Start at the beginning, and let me decide how important it is.”

She shakes her head. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I mean—I misled you a little. This isn’t about your case.”

My alarm is ringing again, full volume now. “Then what’s it about?”