“Sure,” Lillie said. “That’s logical. Right as we start shooting, I put down my weapon and pick up a new one. How much money exactly did we make off this little deal we masterminded?”

“Two hundred grand, give or take a few pennies.”

“Well, cut me in when you can,” Lillie said, sitting at the other side of Quinn’s desk. “I heard that new Walmart is definitely a go.”

Mary Alice gave Lillie the stink eye as she came in and laid a hot mug of coffee on Quinn’s desk. Mary Alice, who’d worked at the office for twenty years with Quinn’s uncle when he was the sheriff, seemed to have a problem with Lillie’s profanity and familiarity, all of a sudden. She looked a bit pious upon leaving the office.

“Stevens also thinks they might have a witness,” Quinn said. “Two rifles. Premeditation, to get that cash. You can find shitbirds to say anything for the right price.”

“Bring on some two-bit con saying he was squirrel-hunting in the hills,” Lillie said. “Love to hear what he says. Watch ole Sonny tear his ass up on the stand. He’s one hell of a lawyer when he’s not drinking. By the way, how’d he seem today?”

Quinn tilted his head. “Sober,” he said. “At least, while we discussed the important stuff.”

Lillie shook her head. She nodded, thinking about what he said and then grinned very wide. “But I’m right about Ophelia?” Lillie said. “You gonna move to town and let Jean and Caddy take over the farm? Hot meal. Hot bed. The coroner right there at your disposal.”

“Lillie,” Quinn said, motioning to the door. “I have work to do.”

“She’s all right, Quinn,” Lillie said. “She really is. Just because the woman embalms folks doesn’t make her an abnormal person. She’s the same as us only she’s dealing with the shit that no decent person would want to handle. I’d say she’s a stand-up person and loves the hell out of you. You can see that right off.”

Mary Alice walked to the door and peered in. “Sorry to interrupt y’all’s discussion of important matters but looks like Miss Thomas on County Road 112 had a break-in last night, says someone took her Sanyo television set and some clothing of a personal nature.”

Quinn winked at Mary Alice. Lillie scooted her butt off Quinn’s desk. She was strong and athletic, with curly light brown hair in a ponytail and wide hips and legs. She had on jeans and a SHERIFF’S OFFICE jacket today, lace-up boots, and a Glock on her hip, although as the former star of the Ole Miss Rifle Team she preferred a Winchester. If Lillie had wanted to take out every person at that airstrip last spring, she could’ve done it without much thought or effort. That’s what was going to make the DA’s argument make sense to a lot of folks.

“Why’d someone want to steal Miss Thomas’s panties?” Lillie said, walking to the door. “The woman weights nearly three hundred pounds.”

“Maybe they needed a tarp.”

“I’ll go with that theory,” Lillie said, walking from the office. “And think about what I said, Quinn. Life is all about simplification.”

•   •   •

Diane Tull had come back to Jericho fifteen years ago after her second marriage ended in Scottsdale, Arizona, and she found she could raise her teenage boys better back home. So she’d returned, trying to take back at least some of the crap she’d said about Tibbehah County, gritted her teeth, and started back to work at the Jericho Farm & Ranch. Her mother had run the place after she’d gotten remarried, this time to a gentle farmer named Shed Castle, whose family had owned some kind of dry goods store in Jericho since the early 1900s. Mr. Castle had died two years ago, and Diane’s mother used to come in with her to help out until her dementia meant she just put things on the wrong shelf. The Farm & Ranch was now Diane’s place, selling fishhooks, bullets, seeds, and feed every day of the year except Sundays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

Diane took down the sign for holiday hours but didn’t put up a new one, figuring most people should damn well know by now when she opened and closed.

She set to work separating a new order of Carhartt work pants to the right sizes on the shelves when Caddy Colson and her son, Jason, walked in the door. Jason, who was five, said hello, not really looking at her, and ran straight over to the glass case where she kept the pocket watches and knives. Since he’d been three, he’d had his eye on a huge bowie knife that he said his Uncle Quinn would love. The kid had a deep country accent, which always seemed a bit odd to Diane on account of the boy being black, or half black. Caddy had come home with him some time back after some trouble in Memphis.

“No guns, no knives,” Caddy said. “Don’t you even ask.”

Diane said hello and set down the pants. Caddy handed her a handwritten lists of things she needed to resupply The River Ministry: four bags of manure, twelve of mulch, two large bags of dog food, and one of cat food. She also planned to plant several rows of mustard and collard greens.

“When did y’all get a cat?” Diane asked.

“Showed up after the storm,” Caddy said. “Jason wanted to keep it. Quinn being Quinn, he couldn’t say no. Said we needed the help at the old house with the mice.”

“And how’s that working for you?”

“Having my place torn to shit with no insurance and then having to move in with my momma and brother into a house that was built in 1895? Not exactly heaven.”

Diane smiled and took the list behind the display counter. Jason was still enthralled with all the outdoor gear for fishing, hunting, and hiking. Quinn had told her the last time he was in that Jason may even be a better tracker at his age than Quinn had been. That was something. She’d heard Quinn Colson had been some kind of kid hero back in the day with his outdoor skills. Daniel Boone, Jr. There was a story about that, headlined Country Boy Can Survive, when he’d been lost in the woods as a kid.

Caddy was a couple years younger than her brother. Slender and fair, her blond hair recently cut boy-short. She wore a pair of Levi’s and a snug western shirt with snap buttons. No makeup and no jewelry. Still, Caddy Colson was feminine and petite, with men all over town liking to watch her walk.

Diane rang up the bill and told old Carl to get the manure and the feed and put them in back of Ms. Colson’s truck. Carl just grunted, as that seemed to be the limit of his vocabulary.

“I’ve been thinking . . .” Caddy said, writing out the check.

Diane held up her hand. She knew where this was headed.

“I want you to talk to Quinn,” Caddy said. “Something made you tell me what happened, and maybe it was the storm, or time, or pressure, or whatever, but people need to know.”

“Did I mention rubber boots are on sale this month?”

“I’m serious, Diane,” Caddy said, leaning in and whispering. “I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like to have evil in your life. If you don’t address what’s inside, it will eat away at you until you die.”

“My insides are fine,” Diane said. “I eat right, stay away from processed foods. Drink in moderation. By the way, I’m playing a set at the Southern Star with J.T. and a few other fellas. This band called Outlaw.”

“I thought it was Tull and Friends?”

“That didn’t sound as good,” Diane said. “Reminded me of a cruise ship revue or had people thinking Jethro Tull, which we’re not about.”

“You’re looking too good for the Farm & Ranch,” Caddy said.

Diane stepped back and did a little twirl. Even at fifty she’d kept herself in shape, giving up the cigarettes and the crap food, going for walks and hikes, healthy living she’d learned out west. The same place she’d developed an appreciation for good boots, turquoise, and silver. She’d become more in touch with her Cherokee side, finding out they weren’t just into worshipping trees and rocks like her daddy had said, finding out there was a lot of wisdom from her ancestors that had been kept from her. Besides, the whole western thing worked good for the cover band. When she wore feathers and turquoise against her dark skin and black hair, people still told her she looked and sounded just like Jessi Colter. And she’d always shoot back, “If only I could find my Waylon.”