Fannie sat up straight, both hands on her knees now, jutting out her sizable chest in the tight velvet dress. In the bright light of the sheriff’s office it looked as if she’d been crying, mascara muddied around the corner of her eyes. He didn’t say a word. The window open in his office, letting in the cool night air.

“When someone close to you dies,” Fannie said, “you kind of take stock in your life, think on things you might want to do better. I hate we haven’t been better friends since I came to town. I blame most of it on Lillie Virgil, who did truly have some kind of hard-on for me. That woman looks at me like I’m dog shit on the bottom of her shoe.”

“Is that it?” Quinn said. “You want to be better friends?”

Fannie lifted her eyes and tilted her head. She was a pretty woman, striking as hell, with all that red hair and wide-set eyes and full red lips. Some might have said she was a little too voluptuous but not Quinn. Fannie Hathcock distributed what she had into all the right places. “I think you and I share a similar problem.”

Quinn didn’t answer, shutting his laptop and reaching for his mug of coffee at the edge of his desk. He let her finish, fill in the long pauses, with whatever she came to discuss.

“Ole Man Skinner chaps my ass,” Fannie said. “He doesn’t like either of us. And he’s done everything he can to run us both out of town.”

“How’s that working for him?” Quinn said.

“Don’t laugh,” Fannie said. “I’m goddamn serious. You and I both know who he’s friends with and what the man is capable of doing. All this horseshit about family values and turning back the clock to sucking your momma’s titty in Mayberry is crap. They don’t want morality, whatever that is. What they want is complete control. And Skinner and Vardaman won’t have it with us around.”

Quinn nodded. “You coming to me with a plan?”

“No,” Fannie said, whispering now and leaning into the desk, her violet eyes big and serious. They were co-conspirators now. She placed a hand on his desk and looked back at the open door. “I came to you with a warning.”

Quinn nodded. He didn’t touch his coffee, listening to what the truck stop madam had to offer.

“You know a punk kid named Bentley Vandeven from Jackson?”

“I do.”

“I heard he’s gotten real close to your sister,” Fannie said, now smoothing out the dress over her full thighs. “You do know who his people are and what they do?”

Quinn nodded.