The Forsaken

Royce lit up a cigarette. Lillie joined him.

“So y’all had nothing?” Lillie said. “Not even some rumors or something to go on?”

“Sheriff Beckett must’ve paid out nearly a thousand dollars to informants,” he said. “Doc Stevens offered a big reward. Judge Blanton got some highway patrol folks to come over and look into things, taking the man’s description across the state. This shit looks bad for a town. Looks worse for law enforcement. It made the papers and the TV station in Tupelo. I remember for a few years they used to have a candlelight vigil on the Square. That lasted for a while and then I guess people just forgot about that Stillwell girl.”

Lillie tilted her head and bit her lower lip, cigarette still in hand. She flicked her eyes at Qui

“There was a second murder about that time?” Qui

“Don’t recall that.”

Qui

“You wrote the report,” Qui

The old man’s eyes narrowed at Qui

“Didn’t y’all think maybe these two events were co

“What do you mean?”

Lillie swallowed and took in a very long breath. Lillie Virgil had trouble with patience but could wrangle her emotions when needed. “Victim was a black male in his late twenties,” Lillie said. “Perp in the rape was a black male in his late twenties.”

Royce had a wide look of confusion on his face, sort of like a man you’d see lost in a big city, wandering around, trying to find something familiar.

“I just don’t know, doll,” he said. “I just don’t know.”

“It’s Deputy Virgil,” she said. “My name is Deputy Virgil.”

“And this was a long time back,” Royce said. “Wish I could be more help. Y’all want some pie? I got two old women who bring me more pie than a dozen men could eat. I think I got some chocolate and maybe some pecan? Y’all stick around. I think Gunsmoke’s go

Qui

“The report on the second crime was incomplete,” Lillie said. “And we can’t seem to put our hands on the evidence you logged.”

“Forty years ago?” Royce said. “Hell. Come on, let’s eat some pie.”

“Thirty-seven,” Qui

“Long time.”

“Yep,” Qui

“What’s it matter now?” Royce said.

“One of the victims has made an inquiry,” Qui

“Kind of like shit rolling downhill?” Royce said.

Lillie nodded. She finished her cigarette, dropped it in a nearby Maxwell House can, and stood.

“Wish I could help y’all,” Royce said, “but I been retired for twenty years. Sure wish your uncle was still with us. He’d know. Lots of things he didn’t put in a report like they do now. He was a lawman, carried thoughts and ideas with him until he could follow through.”

“Until he ran out of time,” Qui

“He was a fine Christian man,” Royce said. “What people said about him being on the take was pure and complete bullshit.”

“Appreciate your time, Mr. Royce.”

“Did y’all try and ever talk to Stagg?” Royce said. “I know y’all’s history, but he might know something that could help.”

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“I don’t think a man can fart in this county without ole Joh

Lillie walked out of the shack without a word, tugging on her sunglasses as they walked back to the Big Green Machine. “Hmm” was all Lillie said before Qui

“That wasn’t much help,” he said.

“Sometimes I forget how much I hate this fucking county,” she said.

“You don’t mean that.”

Lillie was quiet, mirrored glasses reflecting the road ahead.

Qui

As they ate, they listened to Elvis’s Moody Blue album, a personal favorite of Jean’s. She especially liked “If You Love Me, Let Me Know,” a song she used to sing to Qui

“What happened to Boom?” Jean asked.

“He’s at The River,” Qui

“If it’s the one I’m thinking about,” Jean said, “he better watch out. She’s a fast operator.”

“He doesn’t tell me much,” Qui

“What stuff?”

“His personal life.”

“Y’all have known each other your whole life,” Jean said. “I find it hard to believe there are some subjects off-limits.”

Qui

“How old are they?” Qui

“Old,” Jason said. “I think they’re in first grade.”

“That old?” Qui

Jason shrugged. “They said I smelled.”

“Why’d they say that?”

Jason shrugged. He looked embarrassed.

“What’d you do about it?”

“I said I’d kick them in the privates.”

Qui

“Wednesday?”

“It’s Elvis’s birthday,” she said. “You know he would have been seventy-nine?”

“You don’t say,” Qui

“I bet next year they’ll have a big thing at Graceland,” she said. “But, for the life of me, I can’t imagine Elvis at eighty. I think maybe it’s best he died when he did and never had to get old. I saw him a year before he died. And, yes, he’d gained some weight. But that voice. That voice never left us.”

“No kidding, Momma,” Qui

Jean pretended she was about to throw a drumstick at Qui

“He did this song,” Jean said. “I saw it. I heard it.”

“You knew Elvis?” Jason said, eyes brightening.

“I saw Elvis Presley seventeen times in concert,” Jean said. “He once touched my hand.”