“I don’t want to talk about it, Momma.”

“You said he warned you about Quinn?” Jean Colson said. “Just what did he mean?”

“I told Quinn about it.”

“Now tell me.”

“Bentley said some friends of his dad had been talking,” she said. “He said they’d do anything they could to get rid of that cocky son of a bitch up in Tibbehah County. They called out Quinn personal.”

“Why?” she said.

“Bentley swore up and down he didn’t know,” Caddy said. “But he believed it had something to do with the man shot dead at the jail. And maybe something to do with Brandon Taylor.”

“Brandon Taylor?” Jean said. “What on earth?”

“Nobody in this county wants to talk about unpleasant things,” Caddy said. “It doesn’t matter if we have schools that can’t pay the light bill or buy books or even if half of Mississippi is going hungry, we’re supposed to smile and talk about hospitality. When Brandon Taylor was found, y’all told us kids not to talk about it. Like it was some kind of nasty disease needing to be contained. Everybody just wants those kinds of things to disappear without ever trying to find what went wrong. Maybe that’s why we can’t do a damn thing to get better.”

Jean kept walking, silent for several minutes. Caddy pretty sure Jean was about to deliver the Sermon on the Mount or pass along a bit of wisdom Elvis told the Memphis Mafia. Still pumping her arms, Jean turned full onto Caddy and said, “But did you really have to tear up that check?”

*   *   *

Quinn had already left the sheriff’s office for home when Tashi Coleman called, rambling and out of breath, scared, asking if he could stop by the Traveler’s Rest Motel. As he drove, the sky broke purple and black, scattered wild clouds over the rolling hills toward the north part of Tibbehah.

“Slow down,” Quinn said. “Who and what happened?”

“Those damn Watchmen people,” Tashi said. “They followed us all the way from Tupelo. We didn’t see them until we stopped off at this Chick-fil-A and they were there, watching us in the parking lot. They followed us all the way back to Jericho. I can see them right now from across the street.”

“Why were they following you?”

“I tried to talk to Vardaman at his rally,” Tashi said. “They pushed Jessica down and stole our equipment. We filed charges in Tupelo. But they’re not quitting.”

“What are they driving?”

“Black Chevy Tahoe,” she said. “It has a cracked windshield, one side kind of scraped up. I see two of them. But there may be more.”

“Roger that,” Quinn said, making a U-turn on Highway 9, ten minutes from the farm. Hondo was riding shotgun. Quinn rubbed his neck and told him supper was going to have to wait.

*   *   *