“You wouldn’t know Chanel from a bottle of Jean Naté cooter splash, Lillie Virgil,” Fannie said, blowing out smoke and pointing toward the door. “Y’all tell Skinner he’ll be hearing from my attorney. Nude dancing is a First Amendment issue and we got every right to do our thing twenty-four/seven, three hundred sixty-four days a year. Even a stripper needs a break on Christmas.”

“Like you cut Mingo a break?” Lillie asked. “Can’t let anyone get close to you. Can you? That boy treated you better than he treated his own momma. And then one day he just up and disappears. Fell off the face of God’s green earth. That’s on you, woman. Your hands are filthy with that boy’s blood.”

“People come and go,” Fannie said. “This is the service industry.”

Lillie nodded to Fannie Hathcock, watching the woman give her a hard stare from behind the glass desk, cigarillo trembling in her fingers. “Stick to that tall tale, Fannie,” Lillie said. “A simple businesswoman just trying to earn a dollar with jiggling boobies and watered-down cocktails. That’s some real sob sister shit right there. Just don’t forget a lot of folks know who you really are and that’s gonna be your undoing. See you on the run. It’s gonna be a hard-ass fall.”

*   *   *

Quinn Colson had insisted Tashi and Jessica move out of the Traveler’s Rest, knowing they didn’t feel safe, weren’t safe, and had few options in Tibbehah County. The only other motel was a place called the Golden Cherry across the street from the strip club, a flea trap renting rooms by the hour according to what people in Jericho had told her. The sheriff offered them a bed at his farm until they could get settled somewhere in town or else based out of Tupelo. Maggie Colson gave them her son’s room, Tashi already thinking of the possibilities of telling part of the story from Brandon Taylor’s namesake. The small room had a double bed, which Jessica and Tashi had shared for the last few nights, the walls decorated with pictures and posters of Westerns and Native American art. An old rifle that looked like a relic hung over the bed Maggie said had belonged to her great-grandparents. Old hardcover editions of Huck Finn, Treasure Island, White Fang, and Kim were stacked neatly on top of the headboard.