Quinn placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. He turned to look inside the plate-glass window of the El Dorado and saw the back of Brandon’s head and Maggie laughing at something the boy had said. He hadn’t eaten since five that morning and that was just a tall cup of hot coffee and a cold biscuit.

“I appreciate what y’all are trying to do,” Quinn said. “Come back to see me when you have better sources.”

“So you deny it all?” Tashi said. “We need to be clear on this. It’s why we’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Every damn word. My family appreciates what y’all are doing. I know the Taylor family does, too. But some bad folks are playing with your good intentions. This county has a way of messing with your head. Stick around a while longer and you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

“We plan on it, Sheriff.” Jessica nodded at Quinn. “We’re not going anywhere.”

FOURTEEN

It was mid-September when Quinn and Lillie arrived at the annual Good Ole Boy, a big gathering of every swindler, huckster, and elected official in north Mississippi. Quinn parked his big green truck on a far hill under a pecan tree, both of them walking down a winding gravel road to Old Man Skinner’s work barn. Skinner had been hosting the big event, which kicked off the fall elections, ever since Johnny Stagg went to jail. It was early night and the air smelled of barbecue chicken and woodsmoke, summer edging toward fall. A large bonfire blazed in an open field. Gray-headed men in plaid shirts and jeans with fancy-ass pockets warmed their hands by the flames. There was a lot of laughter and backslapping, everyone wanting to be seen and heard.

“I can’t believe you talked me into coming with you to Bullshit City,” Lillie said. “I hated this thing when I worked for the sheriff’s office and hate it even more now.”

“Don’t you want to hear how Mississippi is about to become the next Utopia of the South?”

“Sure,” Lillie said. “But after you make the rounds and we get to eat some of that good chicken, let’s get the fuck out of here. Only reason I come here is for the goddamn chicken.”

“Sheriff has to be looking ahead,” Quinn said. “Election next year. My uncle always said it never hurt to shake a few hands.”

“Just disinfect when you get home,” Lillie said. “I should’ve worn a hazmat suit instead of my good jeans. Goddamn. Would you look at Ole Man Skinner over by the fire, grinning like a fucking idiot, eating up this shit like it was vanilla ice cream. Does he really think he looks good in that old Stetson? He reminds me of the goddamn Crypt-Keeper.”