I envision a tidal wave of one-dollar bills spilling out of the purse, like money at a crack bust, but Mrs. Payton has clutched the bag only to emphasize her statement. I cannot let this go any further.

“Ladies, I appreciate your thanks, but I don’t deserve them. As I said in the paper, I’m here for a vacation. I’m no longer involved in any criminal matters. What happened to your husband and son was a terrible tragedy, but I suspect that what the detectives told you is true. This crime happened thirty years ago. Nowadays, if the police don’t solve a homicide in the first forty-eight hours, they know they probably never will.”

“But sometimes they do,” Althea says doggedly. “I’ve read about murder cases that were solved years after the fact.”

“That’s true, but it’s rare. In all my years with the Houston D.A.’s office, we only had a couple of cases like that.”

“But you had them.”

“Yes. But what we had more of—a hundred times more of—was distraught relatives pleading with us to reopen old cases. Murder is a terrible thing, and no one knows that better than you. The repercussions reverberate through generations.”

“But there’s no statue of limitations on murder. Is there?”

Statue of limitations. I see no point in correcting her grammar; I’ve heard attorneys make the same mistake. Like congressmen referring to nucular war. “Everything hinges on evidence,” I explain. “Has any new evidence come to light?”

Her desolate look is answer enough.

“That’s what we were hoping you could do,” Althea says. “Look back over what the police did. Maybe they missed something. Maybe they buried something. I read in a book that sixty percent of the Natchez police force was Klan back then. God knows what they did or didn’t do. You might even get a book out of it. There’s a lot nobody knows about those times. About what Del was doing for his people.”

I fight the urge to glance at my parents for assistance. “I’m actually in the middle of a book now, and I’m behind. I—”

“I’ve read your books,” Althea breaks in. “All of them. In paperback, of course. I read them on the late shift, when the babies are resting well.”

I never know what to say in these moments. If you say, Did you like them? you’re putting the person on the spot. But what else can you say?

“I liked the first one the best,” Althea offers. “I liked the others too, but I couldn’t help feeling. . . .”

“Be honest,” I urge her, dreading what will follow.