“It’ll never happen. That’s what’s scary about what Shad Johnson is doing. Because the day of reckoning always comes, when everything you’ve tried to repress rears up in the road to meet you. Whatever you bury deepest is always waiting for the moment of greatest stress to explode to the surface.”

“You’re the only white person in this town who’s said anything like this to me. How did you turn out so different?”

“That’s a story for another day. But I want you to be clear that I think the North is as guilty as the South when it comes to blacks.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“You’re damn right I do. I may criticize the South when I’m in it, but when I’m in the North, I defend Mississippi to the point of blows. Prejudice in the North isn’t as open, but it’s just as destructive. Most Yankees have no concept of living in a town—I mean in a town—that is fifty percent black. No idea of the warmth that can exist between black and white on a daily basis, and has here for years.”

“Oh, come on.”

“What happened in Boston when they tried busing?”

“That’s a different issue.”

“Watts. Detroit. Skokie. Rodney King. O.J.”

She sighs. “Are we going to refight the Civil War here?”

“How long have you lived here, Caitlin?”

“Sixteen months.”

“You could live here sixteen years and you’d still be on the outside. And you can’t understand this place until you see it from the inside.”

“You’re talking about the social cliques?”

“Not exactly. Society is different here. It’s not just tiers of wealth. Old money may run out, but the power lingers. Blood still means something down here. Not to me, but to a lot of people.”

“Sounds like Boston.”

“I imagine it is. The structure is concentric circles, and as you move toward the center, the levels of knowledge increase.”

“Were your parents born here?”

“No, but my father’s a doctor, and doctors get a backstage pass. Probably because their profession puts them in a position to learn secrets anyway. And there are a thousand secrets in this town.”

“Name one.”

“Well . . . what about the Del Payton case?”

“Who’s Del Payton?”

“Delano Payton was a black factory worker who got blown up in his car outside the Triton Battery plant in 1968. It was a race murder, like a dozen others in Mississippi, only it was never solved. I’m not sure anybody really tried to solve it. Payton was a decorated combat veteran of the Korean War. And I’ll bet you a thousand dollars we’re sitting within five miles of his murderers right now.”

Excitement and awe fill her eyes. “Are you serious? Did the Examiner cover the murder?”