•   •   •

There was talk, and then the keys in Stagg’s pocket, and then the fat girl walking away with Stillwell. That old man might be hard up, but that little pudgy piece of trash wasn’t worth the wax on that ’70 Plymouth. Lillie watched as the girl helped Stillwell, who was stumbling-wild drunk, into her little Chevy.

Stagg had disappeared quick, back into the Booby Trap.

And Lillie just sat there, thinking on Stillwell and Stagg. Stagg and Stillwell.

She checked the time, knew she needed to get home. But this was a hell of a good time to catch a man. Drunk and pissed-off.

Lillie waited until the girl circled the Chevy around and headed out to Cotton Road. Lillie pulled out behind them, following all the way over the Big Black River, all swirling and indeed black, and through and around the Square.

This was something. Just sit back and let the sonsabitches show you the way.

She reached for her cell to call Quinn. There was a lesson somewhere in this for him.

You don’t believe I love you?” Jason Colson said. “How about I climb to the top of the water tower and write it out in spray paint for all of Jericho to see?”

“How old are you?” Jean said.

“I can climb a tree better than a monkey.”

“And what if you break your neck, with all those people wandering the Square watching?” she said. “And then people will say, ‘There goes Jean Ann Beckett. She killed a man for love.’”

“I could climb that old water tower drunk and blind,” Jason said. “You know how I got my start doing stunts?”

“I do.”

“Well, it’s true,” Jason said. “Trimming trees. Taking on jobs that no one wanted to do. I never been afraid of heights, small spaces, or going faster than a speeding bullet. When I was a kid, my brother Jerry and me used to hop freight trains and ride ’em down to Meridian, find another, and ride it back. I liked to ride up on top of the cars. I liked the wind and bugs in my teeth.”

“If you’re trying to prove you love me, you haven’t succeeded,” Jean said. “But if you’re trying to tell me to watch out, you’re crazy, then you’re doing just fine.”

“God damn,” Jason said. “Look at you.”

Jean had on ragged cutoff jeans and a bikini top made from a red bandanna. She’d worn a T-shirt on the ride and tall cowboy boots, to play it safe, Jason taking her to his secret side of Choctaw Lake, in a little place away from the boaters and fishermen. This was a private place he’d been coming since he was a boy, nice and cool, covered in trees. He’d spread out a blanket and they’d eaten some cold fried chicken, beans, and slaw he’d bought in town. Jean lay back, head in his lap, and he stroked his fingers on her belly and rib cage, little goose bumps raising on her pale, freckled skin.

“My brother said if you made any passes at me, to let him know.”

“Is that a charge in Jericho?”

“He’s a lot older,” Jean said. “He’s very old-fashioned.”

“Just a nice little picnic, darlin’,” Jason said. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Jason slid Jean’s head from his lap and lay by her side, leaning into her and kissing her hard on the mouth. He held the kiss a long time. There was a nice cool breeze coming off the lake. On the portable radio they brought, they could hear music coming over state lines. A little station in Alabama playing an old Bob Dylan song.

Jason leaned onto his elbow and smiled down at this redheaded woman who’d come into his life. He moved his hand down around her belly and tried to move it into her cutoffs, Jean catching his hand by his wrist and bringing it north. Jason smiled.

“If you married me, there wouldn’t be any sin.”

“You ready for all that?” Jean said. “Mr. Hollywood. Let’s not lie to each other. It’s the Fourth of July, maybe our last couple days together. This is just a summer fling. Don’t lie to either one of us.”

“God damn it,” Jason said. “I got a can of red spray paint. I will crawl up that old water tower and spell it out.”

“And my brother will arrest your drunk ass.”

Jason smiled, sliding his bare feet against Jean’s, toes touching, leaning in for another kiss, smelling the sweetness of her hair. He came back up for air and touched her belly. “You like this song?”

“Sure,” Jean said. “But Bob Dylan is no Elvis.”

“‘The Mighty Quinn,’” Jason said. “I heard he wrote this song on account of Anthony Quinn being such a badass. Always liked the way it sounded tough. A man of no fear.”

“And what are we doing tonight?”

“You want to ride out to the clubhouse with me?” Jason said. “We don’t have to stay or nothing.”

Jean looked at him with those green eyes, above that small freckled nose. He saw something there he didn’t like, something akin to fear, and that’s not the way he wanted these days to end.

“Just us,” she said. “That’s what you said.”

“Just a few beers,” Jason said. “OK?”

“No,” Jean said, reaching up and gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down close for another kiss. She smelled so sweet, her big chest pushing against his as they breathed together. “This is our private club. And tonight, you stay with me.”

“All night?” Jason said, grinning. Not many women could resist his smile.

“If that’s what it takes.”

And how’d that go?” Quinn asked.

“Terrible,” Lillie said. “Just god-awful. Am I getting overtime for this shit?”

“What’d he say?”

“Before or after he threw up?”

“Does it matter?” Quinn said.

They’d met up at the Sonic around eleven, the Sonic already closed, Lillie crawling up into the cab of the Big Green Machine. Quinn had the motor going, blowing the heat on high, while they talked. The snow had slowed. Not a single car passed them on the road into town. Everything as quiet as Christmas.

“He said the lynching hadn’t been his idea,” Lillie said. “He said it had all been Chains LeDoux and some fella named Big Doug. You ever heard that name?”

Quinn shook his head. He reached down into the console between them and grabbed his Thermos. He poured some into his cup and offered it to Lillie.

“Hell, I want to go to bed,” she said. “Last thing I need is some caffeine, with this all pinging around in my head. Hank Stillwell may be the saddest man I’ve ever witnessed. He said he’s felt bad the rest of his life for what they did to that poor fella. He admits to being with the gang when they went up into the hills and grabbed him. But when they decided on more than a beating, he took his motorcycle and drove off. He said he went down to Gulf Shores, Alabama, and stayed there for almost two years. Said he worked on fishing boats.”