“Yes, sir,” Reggie said, standing and stretching, tucking his notebook in the back pocket of his uniform. “Still trying to make some headway with Wes Taggart. Brought him a sack of burgers and fries from the Sonic last night, just like you said. He ate the burger, but wouldn’t say two words to me. I tried just to shoot the breeze, talk about the weather and where he was staying down on the Coast. But he wouldn’t even look at me while he ate. Looked like something rough was on his mind.”

“Man’s looking at a long stay at Parchman.”

“I seen that look,” Reggie said. “Wasn’t it. This man looked scared as hell. Real nervous about me just standing close to his cell.”

“Keep working on him,” Quinn said, standing now, too, and reaching for his ball cap and what was left of his cigar. “I backed way the hell off the other day. If Lillie hadn’t been there, I would’ve taken his head off.”

“Probably what he’s scared of.”

“Maybe.”

“Where you headed, Sheriff?”

“Something’s come up,” Quinn said. “Headed out to see Rhonda Taylor. I guess you know all about that story.”

“Some,” Reggie said. “I was just a kid when the boy went missing. You think there’s anything at all to some kind of cover-up?”

“In Tibbehah County?” Quinn asked. “Hell, yes. But I got too much on my plate right now to reopen a twenty-year-old probable suicide. Wes Taggart knows the goddamn road map from those crooks on the Coast on up here to Vardaman. Maybe he’ll break.”

“You think?”

“I haven’t met many crooks not willing to save their own ass,” Quinn said. “He’s all about money. Vardaman and his people are after something else.”

“But they go hand in hand?”

“Long before you and I got home from the Sandbox.”

*   *   *

“Miss Hathcock,” Old Man Skinner said. “One of your waitresses—the surly woman named Christy—said you had some issue with me putting out a donation box for the Tibbehah Cross.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Fannie said, taking a seat in a red vinyl booth across from him at the Rebel Truck Stop. “Has a real ring to it. Almost like y’all have a real purpose to this whole damn project.”

“Sounds like you disapprove.”

“Thought the supervisors might concentrate on fixing our shit roads and broke-down bridges before rolling out the welcome mat for His Second Coming.”

“That’s not what the cross is about,” he said. “And as far as county projects, our work is limited to state and federal funding. For a poor county like Tibbehah, I think we’re making a fine effort. We’ve poured more than a million dollars into improvement projects since I became head of the supervisors.”