SEVEN

Three days later, Quinn was behind his desk at the sheriff’s office listening to Reggie Caruthers run down the overnight events: a bad wreck on County Road 229 with minor injuries, two domestic situations involving the same man and two different women, and an attempted robbery at the Dixie Gas out on Jericho Road. When Quinn had asked why the robber didn’t get the money, Reggie explained the kid who walked into the store had been bluffing. He only had a pocketknife and a bad attitude and the clerk had chased him out of the store with her .357.

“And who was the clerk?” Quinn asked, drinking his third cup of coffee that morning. Still waking up, trying to get Reggie off shift and back home to rest.

“Miss Peaches.”

“Peaches?” he asked. “When’d she quit Varner’s Quick Mart?”

“Must’ve been three months back,” Reggie said. “She and Mr. Varner got into it over her cut with the kitchen. You know how the woman can cook.”

“Damn straight,” Quinn said. “That’s why I haven’t seen her lately. I gained five pounds just by walking in the door and smelling what was for lunch.”

“Varner is one tough old nut,” Reggie said. “Miss Peaches left and took all her business on over to Dixie Gas. You know Varner is regretting it now. But you know how the old man can get.”

“What’s she have for lunch today?”

“Hamburger steak and butter beans,” Reggie said, flipping through his notes on the attempted robbery. “Don’t you want to know who did it?”

“Pookie Williams.”

“Damn,” Reggie said, closing his notebook. “Just how’d you know that, Sheriff?”

Reggie had left the 10th Mountain Division three years ago, already married with two kids at home and needing work. Since then, he’d turned out to be the best deputy Quinn had since Lillie left. Smaller than Quinn, muscular and tough, and good with the people out in the county. A black man born and raised on a farm, he could talk with rednecks up in Carthage or black folks down in the Ditch with equal ease. Everyone liked and respected Reggie Caruthers. He had a God-given cool, easygoing way about him.

“I heard Pookie’s mom tossed him out,” Quinn said. “He’s been sleeping on his sister Latasha’s sofa, smoking weed and playing video games. His momma called me and told me he’d be doing something stupid again soon and to please not shoot him.”

“I went over to his sister’s last night, but she said he was gone,” Reggie said. “She kicked his ass out.”

“Won’t be hard to find,” Quinn said. “Pookie doesn’t have a car anymore. Ran the damn thing into a tree. Probably just hanging out at the Ditch. Maybe you could check up on it? Down at the gas station or at Club Disco?”