“Nothing is climate-controlled in Mississippi,” Jessica said, walking up the hill through the weeds and little trees to the abandoned brick school. Windows covered with plywood spray-painted with pictures of penises and satanic symbols. Words sprayed in streaky paint letters: CHRIST FORGIVES. LOVE YOU FOREVER, PATTI. STAY IN DRUGS/DON’T DO SCHOOL. SUCK IT PUSSIES. 21-17.

“They’d have been better off burning everything,” Jessica said, heading up to what had probably been an entrance, the wide expanse of sun-curled and faded plywood in the shape of a door. They’d brought along a crowbar, but the closer they got, they knew they wouldn’t need it. A large section had been torn back, the sunlight shining into a hallway.

“That doesn’t smell pleasant,” Tashi said.

“Nope,” Jessica said. “It sure doesn’t. How about you go first? You brought the flashlight.”

Tashi didn’t answer, only stepped inside out of the sunlight and moved into the brick structure over a spreading puddle and what had been a long hallway. Lockers collapsed down the expanse, busted boards and pieces of the ceiling fallen into heaps on the old linoleum.

“Did she say where they put the file cabinets?”

“Nope,” Jessica said. “More like a tip. I heard they might have this kind of thing. God. Smells like a dead animal in here.”

“Seems like the perfect place to get murdered,” Tashi said, laughing, flicking on the flashlight with her thumb. “Right?”

They walked the hallways, stepping over fallen bricks and soggy insulation, more lockers, and broken glass. It looked like a few people had started small fires, empty bottles of cheap booze and cigarette butts everywhere. Shoes, boots, some old clothing, underwear. More graffiti along the inside walls, Tashi reading it aloud for the recording as they continued to wander. ARM THE TEACHERS and EVERYONE IS DEAD.

“Here,” Jessica said, calling out. “In here.”

Tashi followed her voice to another classroom, this one filled with dozens of four-drawer filing cabinets. Some neatly aligned against a far wall, others toppled onto the floor, the contents scattered into dirty puddles from the leaky roof. Tashi waved the flashlight over all the cabinets and loose papers, not knowing where in the hell they should begin.

Jessica, being Jessica, had already started, rifling through the top drawer of the first upright cabinet. A swath of daylight cut into the center of the dark room like a white-hot laser. Kudzu had started to crawl and grow between the broken slats of plywood over the windows. Water continued to drip from above. “Jail records from 1982,” she said. “That’s something. I’ll take this first row and you take the next. Let me know when you hit the nineties.”