Sunset and Hillbilly went out, the box under Hillbilly's arm. They left their car in front of the sheriff's office, walked over to the courthouse, threading their way through people, many who stared at Sunset with her badge and gun as if she might be playing dress up and was part of the festival's hijinks.

"What are you supposed to be?" a man said, grabbing her shoulder.

"A constable," she said.

"Well, you look right cute. You don't work out of Dodge Street, do you?"

"No."

"Sorry, then," and he went away.

"Dodge Street?" Sunset said.

"It's where the whorehouses are," Hillbilly said.

Sunset jerked her head toward the retreating man. "Well, that sonofabitch," she said.

Hillbilly laughed.

"How do you know about Dodge Street?" she said.

"Word gets around," Hillbilly said.

The courthouse was set in the middle of Main Street. The street forked around it and gathered together again on the other side. The building was made of smooth pink stone. It had long wide steps in front of its long wide doors, and it was the only large and only pretty construction in town, one of the few made of stone. All the windows on the street sides were scabbed in spots with dried mud.

In spite of the heat outside, it was cool in the courthouse, and when Sunset put her hand against the edge of the stone doorway, it too was cool, like a dead body. There were only the sounds of their heels as they made their way to a wide stone desk that curved around an attractive woman wearing a black pinned-on hat.

When she looked up she saw Sunset, but quickly shifted her gaze to Hillbilly. Hillbilly smiled, and Sunset could see the woman swallow, and she had an idea how she felt in her stomach because she felt that way herself the first time she saw him.

Sunset explained her purpose, law business, but didn't go into detail.

The badge and Hillbilly's looks did it. The woman walked them down a long corridor, and on either side of the corridor were laced-up boxes. As the lady walked, her hams shifted beneath her black dress in a way that made Sunset think she might be trying to throw her ass out of her clothes.

Sunset noted Hillbilly was watching this with appreciation, and she gave him an elbow. He gave her a grin.

"Everything you want is in these rows, and there are some tables and chairs in the back. You can look at whatever, but you can't take anything. You don't plan to put anything in that box, do you?"

"We got some law business in the box," Sunset said. "I'm not going to put anything else in it."

"All right, then. You are the law. But I had to ask. That's my job."

The woman went down the corridor, and Hillbilly watched her go. So did Sunset. It was an impressive departure that warranted the music of a marching band, certainly plenty of bass drum.

At the table in the rear, Sunset opened the tin box and took out the two maps. At the top of each was a letter and a number. One read "L-1999." The other read "L-2000."

Sunset used the pad and pencil on the table, wrote the numbers down, put the maps back in the box. They went down the corridor looking until they came to a row low down containing boxes with those numbers written on them. They each took a box to the table. There were strings attached to a clasp, and these held down a cardboard flap. They removed the strings and opened a box and poured the contents on the table.

Inside were maps that looked like the maps they had.

Almost.

They were marked up different. Hillbilly said, "I can't make head or tails of this."

"It's the same maps."

"I know that. But so what?"

"It must mean something, or why else would Pete have put them in the grave. Wait a minute. Same maps, but they're marked different. See this. It doesn't quite match. The land is cut up different by this red line."

"Maybe the reason there are two maps is someone bought a piece of the land, cutting it up."

"Could be."

Sunset opened the other box and studied the papers inside. There were numbers written on the papers too. She studied these and studied what else was in the cardboard box, similar papers.

"This is giving me a headache," Hillbilly said.

"Look here. These numbers are the same on the maps, they're cut up different on the courthouse maps, but the names of ownership are the same."

"Where are you seeing that?"

Sunset showed Hillbilly some papers she had gotten out of the cardboard box. "The names are Zendo Williams for one piece of property, and for the other a list of names: Jim Montgomery-he's the mayor of Holiday. Or was till he disappeared. Well, I'll be damned. Henry Shelby."

"From the mill?"

"One and the same. John McBride. I don't know him."

"What's it mean?"

"I don't know."

"You said the mayor disappeared. To where?"

"No one knows. Some think he ran off with a woman. It's anybody's guess." Sunset frowned. "Now my head is starting to hurt."

Sunset studied the maps, studied the dates on the papers that declared ownership.

"They charged Zendo more an acre than was paid for this other land, which is right next to him. See?"

"So?"

"They charged him more because he's colored."

"That happens," Hillbilly said.

"It shouldn't."

"World is full of shouldn'ts, dear. Most of the time what goes on is what folks can get away with. That's my rule of thumb."

"Something else. Zendo's land shows two hundred and seventy-five acres. That's how it's drawn out on the map from the grave. But on this other map, it shows a piece of Zendo's land being part of the land owned by Henry, the mayor and this McBride fella."

"Maybe Zendo sold it to them."

"Maybe. But the dates on all the papers are the same. Looks to me, Pete had the originals in the grave, and these are the replacements, and they've slightly altered Zendo's land."

"Wouldn't he notice?"

"Buy a chunk that big, someone else wants it, white men, they could have had it surveyed the way they want. That way, Zendo wouldn't know they shaved off what looks like twenty-five acres. It's all trees along the border there, or mostly, so he could get fooled. He's pretty much got to take their word for things anyway. They robbed him with some little red flags and a marker on a piece of paper, and he probably doesn't even know it."

"So this whole map thing is about stealing some nigger's land."

"Looks that way-Hillbilly, don't call Zendo that. 'Colored' is polite."

"Whatever you like. But I still don't see why your husband was hiding this in a dead baby's grave."

"Me either."

Sunset folded up the maps from the cardboard boxes and put them in the tin box.

"You lied," Hillbilly said.

"Law business. I'm not going to bother to explain to Miss Pendulum. I don't want any more folks knowing about this than need to know. Whatever it means."

"You are a sneaky one."

"And pretty too. Plug says so."

"Plug is right."

Sunset laced the cardboard containers up, put them back in place, and left, Hillbilly carrying the metal box from the grave.

23.

When Clyde got out to Zendo's place, most of his anger had gone away. He could see why Sunset would prefer Hillbilly to him in the looks department, but she wasn't considering his worth. Course, he had a burned-down house and an about-to-fall-apart pickup and was living under a tarp, but inside he was as good as anybody and better than most. He had plenty of goddamn worth. He was certain of that. Or pretty certain. Certain enough.

He drove with the windows down so that the wind blew away some of his stink. The night before he had slept under the tarp on a pallet on the ground, and during the night he had rolled off of it and gotten filthy, and when morning came, he wasn't up to washing off in cold well water and didn't have time to heat it, and if he had, all the bathtub he had was a number ten tub. Sometimes, he got in that tub, he had a hard time getting out, big as he was. It was like that damn tub stuck to his ass. The larger tub, the long one he kept on the back porch, he'd forgotten to save in the fire. It had melted.

That aside, one thing was certain, he wasn't going to win any points with Sunset if he didn't bathe.

When he got to Zendo's field, Zendo was in a row, plowing. It was a narrow row between corn high as an elephant's eye and green as fresh grass. Zendo was using only one mule. He was plowing in the opposite direction, so Clyde leaned against the tree where Zendo ate his lunch and waited until he came to the end of the row and started back around another.

As he came, Clyde saw Zendo raise a hand in greeting, and keep plowing. Clyde waited for the long run to end, and when Zendo pulled the mule out of the field and tied the lines to the plow, Clyde came forward and shook his hand.

"How you doing, Clyde?"

"Hanging low and to the left."

"Least you hanging. Get out there, plow a few rows of this business, them doodads will suck up."

"No plowing for me," Clyde said. "I had that job once and the mules run off. I was working for Old Man Fitzsimmons, and he wasn't none too happy. I spent the day chasing mules and didn't get no real plowing done. He fired me."

Zendo chuckled. "Well, now, you come all the way out here to tell me about chasing mules?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so."

"Constable sent me. Who owns the land next to you, Zendo?"

"I don't rightly know. Ain't never seen anyone over there, but I heard trucks along the road back there. Well, I did see Mr. Pete there a couple times, riding along."

"How'd you see him?"

"Now, don't tell on me, Clyde, but there's a little pond over there, and I thought I'd try some fishing. It's fed from a creek, so I thought it might be ripe with fishes. Wasn't. But I was down there fishing when I heard a car and seen it was Mr. Pete."

"There's a road there?"

"That's what I'm saying."

"Is that where you took the baby's body?"

"I'm ashamed to say it was."

"Hey, I was in your shoes, knowing how white people can be, I might have done the same."

"You're white."

"Partly. Part of me is Indian. And lot of me is contrary. Can you show me where you put the baby? It might be important. I'm not sure why, but it might be, and Sunset-the constable-wants me to look around."

Zendo took Clyde for a walk through the woods. It was a long walk and it was so warm, breathing was like sucking in cotton balls. It was some time before they came to the pond Zendo told him about. It wasn't very large, and you could see where the creek fell into it. The pond water was dark and scummed over and no vegetation grew in it and growth was thin around it.

"Can't believe you thought anything was in that hole. A snake maybe."

"I was just hoping."

They went around the pond, through some brush, came out through a split in the trees. A narrow road twisted between the pines, curved into them again, ran out of sight.

"I put the pot with the baby in it right here," Zendo said. "Figured maybe Mr. Pete would see it. Or someone. Didn't think about it being tracked back to me. Clyde, you think maybe we could go back? I ain't never been no farther than this, and shouldn't have been that far. Could be a white man's property."

"You're with me."

"I am, but you're different. Some other white man see me over here, might think I'm getting too big for my britches. Besides, I got lots of plowing to do, and that ole mule only stand so long before it wants to try and get loose of that tree I tied it to."