Soon they were headed back to Kristin’s house. ‘Want to go parking?’ Mitch asked. ‘Why bother when we’ve got a bed we can use?’ Kristin replied. ‘Say no more,’ Mitch said, and stepped down on the accelerator. On the way back to Kristin’s house, Mitch was acutely aware of the pressure of her body against his as she snuggled against him on the truck’s seat. At her house, they got out of the truck and walked up on the porch, their arms around each other. Before they went into the house, Mitch pulled Kristin against him and kissed her. ‘If this is going to be the last night we have alone for a while,’ he said, ‘we better make it a good one.’ He scooped Kristin scooped her up in his arms, carried her through the door, kicked it shut behind him, and headed up the stairs to the bedroom. She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder and kissed him on the neck. He laid her on the bed, then walked around and lay down on the other side. Propped up on their elbows, they lay there looking. Why would James lie to him, he wondered. Whose dress was it?The horse's easy gait brought his bladder to his attention, and he stopped to relieve himself noting the still uncleared ditch at the roadside as he did. He wrote a note to himself to see Mansfield Clagett again and wondered if his memory was really getting bad. What had he forgotten about the earlier crime that might be important now? Had he heard about the overseer's knife before? He should have.He remounted and as he rode south saw Lem Clagett's crooked lane in his mind and the dog's body, its head at an impossible angle. Cut, clawed? He hadn't looked, that he could recall, and the crows and buzzards had taken care of the carcass by the time he thought about it. When was that, early autumn of '77. Arnold County was a year old, and he was its rather proud sheriff. He had walked into the rude summer kitchen, crudely put up by a non-carpenter, probably Lem Clagett himself, and there was the sprawled body, the dead woman. She.
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