“I said you’re a liar, Royce,” he said. “I need you to shake the cobwebs out of your busted old head, even if it means finishing that pint on your front seat. I need to know what you heard from Hubie Phillips. You and Uncle Hamp brought him in before y’all found the body.”

“That old queer?” Royce said, cackling. “Just where’d you hear some bullshit like that?”

“Lillie Virgil.”

“Oh.”

“Now, you want to tell me what you know?”

Royce reached into the car and grabbed the small bottle of Fighting Cock. He took a long swallow and wiped off his white-whiskered chin with the back of his hand. “She ain’t still around,” he said. “Is she?”

*   *   *

“Is this about us feeding workers here?” Caddy said. “Did Old Man Skinner send you out to make trouble about taking money away from hardworking Americans?”

Tashi shook her head. Jessica said, “No way.”

“Because folks around here have gotten scared to use vouchers,” Caddy said. “Some fool has passed a regulation saying if you’re a legal immigrant and you try and get government-assisted food, even for WIC, you might get in trouble with the Feds. Can you imagine? New mothers who can’t feed their babies are afraid to go out and get the food they need. Do you have any idea what that does to early development? Sometimes I can’t even keep track of the evil set loose in this world.”

“We met with Skinner,” Tashi said. “But only to hear about his plans to build the big cross on the highway.”

Caddy Colson stood there, in cutoff jeans and a tank top, mud boots up to her knees, hands on her hips. “Did you women just drive out here to make me puke or do y’all have something to discuss?”

“We know who you are and what you do,” Jessica said. “But this has nothing to do with The River or your charity work, Miss Colson. We just need a little bit of your time to talk about your uncle. Hamp Beckett.”

“My uncle?” Caddy said, pushing her hands in her pockets and lifting up on the toes of her boots. “He’s been dead for almost ten years now.”

“We’re working on a podcast about the disappearance of Brandon Taylor,” Jessica said, smiling. “We’re trying to learn anything we can about Brandon before he died. Your uncle didn’t leave many files or notes behind.”

“He never did,” Caddy said. “Maybe y’all should talk to my brother. He’s the sheriff. If he can help, he will.”

“I have,” Jessica said. “And he said he knew about as much as we did. He told us most of the files were lost.”