“And now you’re cavorting with that Hillbilly fella,” said Willie. “That don’t look good neither. And I saw you kiss him, out the window, I seen it.”

“Mama?” Karen said.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Sunset said.

“It looked like something to me,” Willie said.

“That’s enough. You’ve upset my daughter, and you’re upsetting me, and it’s just wind. You’re just blowing wind.”

Karen ran inside the tent, crying.

“Happy?” Sunset asked.

“No,” Willie said. “Just saying it looks bad, that’s all.”

“I don’t think that’s what either of you are saying. And as for Hillbilly, he just works for me.”

“I bet he does some work, all right,” said Willie.

“Sure you’re a preacher?” Sunset said.

“You know I am.”

“Can preachers run from dogs? Are they fast?”

“What?”

“Ben. Get him.”

Ben barked and leaped forward. Willie let out a yelp, turned and darted around the car, made it inside before the dog caught him, but in the rush, he lost his hat. Ben leaped on it, held it down with one paw and ripped at it with his teeth. It came apart like damp newspaper.

“That wasn’t funny, Sunset,” Willie said.

“It was for me,” Sunset said.

“That was a good hat.”

“Was,” Sunset said. “I can give it back to you if you want it.”

Ben darted around to the passenger side, began leaping up and down on his hind legs, snapping at the open window, tossing froth.

Henry rolled up the window. Ben bounced against the glass repeatedly, snapping, growling and biting the air. The glass grew wet with foam.

Willie started the car, stabbed the night with its lights, drove out of there at a high rate of speed.

“Bye now,” Sunset said.

Ben ran after the car for a good distance before he turned around and came back, and Sunset took him into the tent and gave him water and food and petted him and kissed him on his hard old head.

When she finished that, she let him outside, turned her attention to Karen.

“You okay?” Sunset asked.

Karen was sitting on the mattress on the floor, her knees pulled up, clutching them with her arms. Even in the lantern light Sunset could see she was holding so tight her hands were turning white.

“Did you kill her, Mama?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Did you kill her because of Daddy? Did you kill Daddy because of her?”

“I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t mean to kill your daddy. Not really. He was hurting me. Bad. And I reached for the gun.”

“But you got over being hit. You’re well. You’d have got just as well if you hadn’t shot him.”

“Unless he killed me.”

“The baby. One in that colored graveyard. Is that my sister or brother?”

“Honey, we don’t even know if the baby and the woman are connected, and if they are, that don’t mean it was your daddy’s baby.”

“They said she was Daddy’s girlfriend. Isn’t that what they were saying, and that you killed her on account of that? Was she really Daddy’s girlfriend?”

“That’s what they were saying. And yes, she was Daddy’s girlfriend. One of many, honey.”

“I thought Daddy loved you.”

“So did I. Once.”

“Do you like Hillbilly?”

“I like him. Yeah.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know anything for sure right now.”

“You kissed him?”

“I did.”

Karen was quiet for a long moment. Finally she said, “Why were those men so mean?”

“Henry wants me out of this job so he can put in who he wants. I don’t know why he’s so determined, other than I’m a woman and he doesn’t like the idea. And he doesn’t like your grandma much. She has more power at the mill than him. She could fire him, she took a mind to, and she might take one, now that your grandpa is gone. I think Henry wants to run for some kind of office. Thinks Holiday and Camp Rapture are going to unite into one town.”

“Are they?”

“I don’t know. Probably. I don’t know why he’s so sweated up over me.”

Karen rolled over on the mattress and lay down, without letting go of her knees. She lay in bed like that and cried so hard Sunset thought she might come apart.

Sunset moved to the mattress, sat down, reached out slowly and touched Karen’s hair, began stroking it.

Karen didn’t resist.

After a while, giving out a loud wail, Karen turned to Sunset and climbed into her lap like a child and clung to her neck.

Sunset held her, kissed her, and a half hour later Karen fell asleep in her arms.

When Karen was asleep, Sunset maneuvered her onto the mattress, covered her, returned to the business side of the tent to put away what she had been writing.

Sadness squatted down on her like a tired elephant. She sat down at the table and put her head in her hands and thought about what Henry and Preacher Willie had said.

Maybe she should just turn in the badge. That would make things easier. She hadn’t killed Jimmie Jo, but Henry and Willie sure wanted to make it look that way, and they wanted to make it look like she killed the baby too, cut it out of its mother’s belly for meanness.

How ridiculous.

They can have their damn badge, she thought. They can have their damn job. And I’ll…

I’ll what?

I won’t have any money.

Then people will feel certain I did it.

And even if Henry and Willie don’t tell-and that was unlikely- they’ll have their way.

No. I’m sticking.

I’m sticking and I’m going to find out who killed that woman and the baby, which has to be the baby in the colored graveyard. She hadn’t told Willie about that. Only she, Karen, Hillbilly and Clyde knew. Provided they hadn’t told anyone.

They want this job, they’ll have to take it from me, and I won’t give it up without a fight.

After being abandoned by their “boss,” the five men, three women and the young boy trudged along until the sun withered into a thin red line seen faintly through the trees. Then night fell and entwined moonlight through the limbs of the forest in the manner of fine gossamer, finally turned dark and dropped shadows. The moon glowed cool white in the crow-black heavens along with the sharp white points of the stars. Then came a wad of dark clouds, blowing in fast but hanging overhead. There was very little light then, except for that which crept through the gaps in the overcast.

Most of the group decided to camp beside the road, but the man with the suit coat and the boy kept walking toward Camp Rapture.

The trees held the day’s heat like an armpit in a seersucker suit. With the now limited moonlight it was difficult to see far ahead. They walked where the trees didn’t stop them, and this kept them on the road. Crickets chirped all around them, and down where the creek cut through the trees they could hear a bullfrog making a noise that made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up.

“Sounds like he’s got a busted horn,” the boy said.

“Them big ones always sound like that,” the man said. “You’d think after hearing that, you seen the one done it, he’d be ten feet tall. What’s your name?”

“Everybody calls me Goose, but that ain’t my real name.”

“Do you mind being called Goose?”

“It’s better than my real name and what they call my brother.”

“What’s he called?”

“Dump.”

“Dump? Why’s that?”

“I don’t rightly know. Well, I think it was because he was always messing his pants. He was doing that until he was eleven years old. He was older than me by a year.”

“Was?”

“He got something and died. Polio, I think. My mama and daddy had nine kids, and I decided I could do all right on my own. Give them others, my sisters, a better chance.”

“Some of them sisters had to be older than you.”

“Yeah. But they ain’t got the adventure in them like me.”

“You never did tell me why they call you Goose.”