The Forsaken

“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 pe

“Well, cut me in when you can,” Lillie said, sitting at the other side of Qui

Mary Alice gave Lillie the stink eye as she came in and laid a hot mug of coffee on Qui

“Stevens also thinks they might have a witness,” Qui

“Bring on some two-bit con saying he was squirrel-hunting in the hills,” Lillie said. “Love to hear what he says. Watch ole So

Qui

Lillie shook her head. She nodded, thinking about what he said and then gri

“Lillie,” Qui

“She’s all right, Qui

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.”

Qui

“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, Qui

•   •   •

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 Qui

“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 pla

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

“Showed up after the storm,” Caddy said. “Jason wanted to keep it. Qui

“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. Qui

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 Qui

“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.”