The Forsaken

Qui

“Goddamn Chester got drunk again and busted the window at the florist shop,” Lillie said. “He’s into some kind of feud with Miss Doris over that alley where he takes a piss now and then. And we got some kind of family squabble out in Providence with Missy Hayes. She says her uncle tossed all her shit out of a house where she was staying. The uncle says she was a renter who didn’t pay and that she’d been warned. Kin or not.”

“Who’s her uncle?”

“Levi Sims.”

Qui

“That whole family is fucked in the head,” Lillie said.

“Make sure to put that in the report,” Qui

“You bet.”

“I’ll talk to Boom,” Qui

“Are you saying people in the Ditch are mistrustful of white folks?” Lillie said, taking the cigar from Qui

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Damn,” Lillie said. “You’re turning into a pretty good investigator, Sheriff.”

Appreciate you stopping by, Sheriff,” W. D. “So

“Terrific,” Qui

They stood out on Stevens’s balcony on the second floor of his law office. The repair work and construction around the Square now a common racket during the week. Twenty or so contractor trucks were parked in and around the Square, filling in the holes and gaps that the tornado left. Lots of hammering and saws, big chunks of Sheetrock lifted off trucks and fitted on the studs. Blue tarps fluttered from a few rooftops still waiting for repairs. New permits being pulled every day.

“DA wants you in Oxford Friday for a sit-down,” Stevens said.

“OK.”

“This is a step up from the informal, friendly stuff,” Stevens said.

“Fine by me.”

“Getting ugly.”

“That’s expected,” Qui

“They also have a search warrant to check Lillie’s house,” he said. “I learned this from a trusted friend in Oxford. So tell her to act surprised when they show up.”

“Don’t worry,” Qui

“How’d it go last time?” Stevens said. “With that investigator in New Albany?”

“He was slicker than shit.”

“Friendly?”

“Too friendly,” Qui

“DA’s trying to tie you both to all that money,” Stevens said. “That’s it, right? You and Lillie ambush those two convicts making an exchange and, when the Jericho police showed, y’all shot them, too. So, I’d guess the DA either found a witness or they’re trying to show an uptick in your personal finances.”

“Hell,” Qui

“Shameful,” Stevens said, shaking his head. “Just shameful.”

Qui

“I never intended to go for second term anyway,” Qui

“But you don’t care for being forced out?”

“No, sir,” Qui

“Other fella was Sam Elliott,” Stevens said. “Before he grew the mustache.”

“That’s pretty much how I feel.”

“I don’t like it, either,” Stevens said. “And don’t care for the way it smells.”

“Like bullshit and diesel?”

“Got Joh

“Yep.”

“You need to inform Miss Virgil that she’ll be served with a search warrant sometime later today,” Stevens said. “We’ll all head over to Oxford tomorrow and see what the DA is about to throw down. Maybe he has a deal on the table.”

“No deals.”

“You’d like to be asked to stay awhile.”

They watched all the activity on the Square for a bit. Neither of them spoke until Qui

“Yes, sir.”

“This may be off topic,” Qui

“Diane Tull,” he said. “And Hank Stillwell’s daughter.”

“Do you know what happened after?” Qui

Stevens swallowed. His fine gray hair blowing wild and scattering over his head. He leaned into a space by Qui

“So who were they?” Qui

Stevens shook his head, reaching up and patting down his scattering hair. They both stood there, young man and old man, leaning over the railing and watching the rebuilding of the new and improved Jericho. The American flag flying next to the gazebo and an old ca

“That’s been quite a while.”

“Doesn’t make things any better.”

“I might know someone who can help y’all out,” he said. “Let me ask around.”

•   •   •

“Someone wants me to shut my goddamn mouth,” Diane Tull said. “They wanted it so badly, they wrote it on the side of my pickup truck.”

“That don’t seem right,” Hank Stillwell said. “Maybe someone’s just joshin’ you.”

“And they slashed my tires and came up to my home, peeping in the windows,” Diane said. “No, sir. They’re not joshing me. They mean business, and, at this point, I’m a little confused by your motivation here. Do you want to find out who killed your daughter or just stir all this shit back up?”

Diane had called the old man to meet her on the Natchez Trace at noon. That way, she could get loose from the store without anyone asking a bunch of questions. And the more Hank Stillwell’s muscle car was parked outside her house or at the feed store, the more people would start thinking they were having an affair. Just what she needed, folks think she was hopping in bed with a man twenty years her senior. Hank Stillwell. Jesus, she sure hoped not.

“I just want to help,” Stillwell said. “I figured you’d want the same.”

“Who’s doing this pushing?” she said. “Who doesn’t want this to come out?”

“That’s a hell of a long list,” Stillwell said. They stood under a covered viewing area where you could look out at Indian mounds rising up from the flat, grassy ground. This was the place, according to the official park map, where the Choctaws came to bury their dead with pieces of pottery, weapons, and tools. There were two different viewing points and a building with public restrooms.