"Could have gone all day without saying that," Virgil said.

VIRGIL FOLLOWED JENSEN back into town, cut away when Jensen turned north toward the courthouse. The motel clerk had recommended two lunch spots, Ernhardt's Cafe and Johnnie's Pizza, both on Main Street. Virgil decided Italian might be too much, and checked out Ernhardt's.

The cafe turned out to be a combination German deli and bakery, cold meat, fresh-baked potato bread, pickles, and sauerkraut. Virgil got a roast beef on rye with rough mustard, a pickle, and a half pound of bright yellow potato salad, and took it to one of the low-backed booths that lined the wall opposite the ordering counter.

A minute or so after he sat down, the sheriff's sister stepped in, blinked in the dimmer light, said hello to the woman behind the counter, ordered a salad and coffee, spotted Virgil in the back booth and nodded to him. He nodded back, and a moment later, she carried her lunch tray over and slid into the seat on the other side of the booth.

"Are you going to save Jimmy's job?" she asked.

She was not perfectly good looking-her eyebrows might have down sloped a little too much, her mouth might have been a quarter-inch too wide-but she was very good-looking, and certainly knew it. She was smiling when she asked her question, but her green eyes were serious.

"Does it need saving?" Virgil asked.

"Maybe," she said. And, "My name's Joan Carson. Jimmy said you had some nice things to say about my ass."

"Jimmy's job just got in deeper trouble," Virgil said, but she was still smiling and that wasn't bad. "Tell me about that, though. His job."