Tashi felt her face color as she set her iPhone on record and set it across from Mary right by the salt and pepper shakers and Louisiana hot sauce bottle. She self-consciously touched the edges of her thick black glasses. “How?”

“What’s your name?”

“Tashi,” she said.

“What kind of name is that?”

“Indian.”

“Like Pocahontas?”

“My mother was a yogi,” Tashi said. “She told me it means ‘good fortune.’ You know, ‘auspicious.’ She said she always believed great things would happen to me. I guess she’s all but given up on it now.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mary tilted her head and studied her face. “Just where are you from, young lady?”

“New York,” Tashi said. “Brooklyn, actually. But I plan to be here for a long time. I really want to settle into Jericho.”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“You don’t like it here?” Tashi asked.

“’Course I like it,” Mary said, closing one eye with suspicion. “Just love it. Can’t you see it all over this old woman’s face?”

“I want people around here to know me,” she said. “I want everyone to know I’m not just some reporter passing through. I know some people down here don’t like strangers asking questions.”

“You’ve been watching too many damn movies,” Mary said, wiping her hands on her apron and taking a seat. “This ain’t no Mississippi Burning. Let me tell you, folks around here have nothing but time to talk and talk. Just don’t talk to someone about something you don’t want known. You say one thing on the Square and two hours later it’s out all over Tibbehah.”

“This is a rough place,” she said. “I’ve read a lot about it. Prostitution. Drug dealers. Wild West shoot-outs.”

“You mean those old Pritchard boys?” she said. “Unfortunate. Nicest damn boys you ever met in your life. They just got a little above their raising, trying to expand their farming on up to Memphis. Should’ve just stuck to what they knowed best.”

“And what was that?”

“Dirt track racin’,” Mary said. “Lord, Cody Pritchard could fly. Like a damn scalded cat.”

“You know some more people around here who wouldn’t mind being interviewed?”

“What kind of people?”

“People who’ve lived here their whole life,” Tashi said. “I’d like to know how this town used to run back in the nineties.”

“Way back then.” Mary tapped at her waitress pad with her pen. She closed up one eye thinking about it and just shook her head. “Lots of folks. But Mr. Stagg and some of the supervisors are all in jail. Mr. Stagg’s been gone for almost three years.”

“And who is Mr. Stagg?”