“Whatever happened, he started this church,” she said. “It was supposed to be a throwback to old country religion. He had a bluegrass band every Sunday and apparently did a lot of good for this county. He’d become an ordained minister while in Parchman and spent the rest of his life on the outside handing out food, clothes, and money to the poor.”

“And what happened to him?”

“All that money he gave away belonged to some other cellmates from an armored car job,” Tashi said. “When they found out he’d double-crossed them, they broke out of prison and murdered him.”

“Jesus,” Jessica said. “Just where have you taken me this time?”

“His last girlfriend is the woman I wanted you to run a background on today,” Tashi said, seeing the long wooden fence up ahead, a cattle gate wide open with a road curving into some small pine trees. “Caddy Colson.”

“Who is the sheriff’s sister.”

“Correct.”

“Not exactly an angel herself.”

“What’d you find out?” Tashi said, seeing the wooden barn and a big skeletal metal frame of a building under construction, surrounded by several trailers and little shotgun shacks at the end of the road. She let down her window and she could hear the high whine of the cicadas and chirping of birds. Great Southern background sounds that would go well with trucks rounding the Square blaring country music.

“Drug arrests stretching out more than five years,” Jessica said. “One arrest for solicitation.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Jessica said. “But apparently she’s clean and sober now. She’s done some interviews over the last few years, talking about what she does here and how she has compassion for people of all walks of life. One guy interviewed, some local politician, joked she had a Mary Magdalene complex. You know who that is. Right?”

“Do you recall my last boyfriend?” she said. “Rob? And his super-Christian parents?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jessica said, flipping through her notebook. “Super-Rob. What a dick. I thought they were Catholic?”

“They were.”

“Big difference,” Jessica said.

“What do you mean?”

“Give it a few days,” Jessica said. “You’ll see. When I was living in Georgia, I can’t tell you how many people tried to save my soul. I kept telling them I was on their side. We just had a different interpretation of the same message.”

“Didn’t the blue hair scare them off?”

“Ha,” Jessica said. “And for the record, back then it was pink. Only my tattoos were blue. Maybe I’ll get one down here? There’s a tattoo shop on the Square right by the Mexican restaurant. What do you think about Willie Nelson and a big fat joint?”